Rejections and Sword Fights

April 26, 2006 | Writing, family

Received another rejection yesterday. After reading it, my five-year-old asked what it was, and I explained that the letter was from someone who didn’t want my book. He then asked what the book was about. I told him it was about people solving a mystery. Since he equates all mystery-solving with Scooby-Doo, he was suitably impressed.

Then he asked, “Does your book have any sword fights.”

“No,” I told him. “No sword fighting.”

“People like sword fighting. You should put a sword fight in your book.”

I thanked him for his advice and giggled to myself after he left the room. But let’s face it, at this stage of the game I’m willing to try just about anything. So I started toying with fitting a sword fight into the paranormal I’m writing.

Now wouldn’t it be terribly funny if that was the book that sold?

Mood: Up
Music: The Arcade Fire

Neglecting the Blog

April 20, 2006 | Writing

Okay, so I’ve been a little out of touch. I’m sure both my readers are devastated.

Busy week so far. I finished Dark Water (or Blood and Bone as I’m likely to re-title it) on Friday. Started my first attempt at a paranormal on Monday. So far so good, though I’m only 20 pages in. Also followed up with the Knight Agency about the Partial I sent them for Living Lies. I should have an answer with in the week.

Rewriting Witch continues, albeit slowly. I’m stuck on chapter 14. To delete, or not to delete. That is the question. Reading thru it, I can’t help but wonder if I’d been watching too many Flip This House type shows when I wrote that scene. Oh, well, tomorrow is another day.

Mood: Mellow

Stupidity and Submissions

April 4, 2006 | Writing

I want to swear. I want to curse in big tall caps. Today I sent out a partial for Living Lies. (I received a rejection Friday so I had to send out a new query. I usually have about five out at a time. For every rejection I get, I send out a new query. It’s my own strange, little system, pay me no mind.)

So after battling my piece-of-crap printer until I have something clear and legible, I finally put the package together and drop it in the mailbox. There, all done. But when I get back to my desk, I find the SASE sitting next to my keyboard instead of in the envelope I just mailed.

Now in the grand scheme of things this is not the end of the world. If the editor would like to read more of the book, they could certainly contact me through some alternate means of communication. If they don’t, well after a length of time I would assume the work had been rejected. And with my mounting pile of rejection letters there is a certain level of expectation that this will be the end result, anyway.

What truly bothers about the situation is that when said editor receives my little package and realizes that I have neglected to include a SASE they’ll think that A) I am an idiot and can not read or follow basic instructions. –Granted, not including the SASE certainly doesn’t make me a genius.– or B) I just couldn’t be bothered to read or comprehend the basic instructions. Either way, not my finest moment.

Mood: Grrr!
Music: None

The Muse

Writing

As any writer who’s been at it longer than five minutes will tell you, divine inspiration is wonderful, but the only thing that gets the book written is planting your butt in the seat and keeping it there.

Still, I have a muse. A lot of writers do. And while traditionally most muses are women, mine is a man. I would like to say that my muse is a beautiful Adonis, lounging about my brain on silk and velvet pillows, dressed in some sort of loincloth. He smiles and says encouraging things, cheering me on. But, alas, my reality is quite different.

My muse can only be found in an empty pub, the late afternoon sun pouring in the windows and glinting off the beer bottle clutched in his fist. He might be attractive, but in all honesty I can’t see his features through the perpetual cloud of blue-gray cigarette smoke, clinging to him.

For the most part, Muse laughs and heckles me from his barstool. He shouts things like, “You talentless hack!” Or the slightly less original, “You suck!” I do my best to ignore him, responding occasionally with an, “I don’t need you, anyway.” Or the slightly less original, “Shut up!”

But sometimes I throw my hands up and say, “You’re right. I do suck. I am a talentless hack!” Then, just when I’m about to give up and forget that I ever wanted to be a writer, Muse winks, stubs out his cigarette and leans forward.

Oh, the wonderful things he whispers.