Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts

Friday, November 23, 2007

Slow Going. Again.


Progress Meter Courtesy of Writertopia



For some reason, I felt burnt out yesterday. The words just wouldn't come. After two days in which I pounded out approximately 11,000 words, I simply ran out of plot, and I couldn't think of filler. Not that there's really room for filler in a 50,000 draft. Let's just say I felt mentally exhausted.

Read this New York Times article Publishers Seek to Mine Book Circles. It's about publishers' rather belated discovery of the power of book clubs. I'm really surprised that they didn't catch on earlier. There have been a number of books that really owe their success to the early and sustained support of book clubs, the Ya-Ya Sisterhood being one of them.

The importance of book clubs was brought home to me with HARLEM REDUX. Both Simon & Schuster and Random House showed little enthusiasm in the book, but then the Go On Girl! Book Club picked it up and made it their novel of the month. All of a sudden both houses were pitching for it. It was astounding.

I think most African-American authors and self-published writers have been doing the book club thing for a while now. Where else can you go to find genuine book lovers? The bookstores aren't interested in giving unknowns a chance, and even some celebrity authors find thinner and thinner crowds awaiting them at every book reading.

Furthermore, I personally never saw much sense in bookstore signings. The bookstores only want you in there to attract buyers. You're hoping that once the buyers get in the store, they'll buy your book, but many store owners simply hope that the visitors will be a book, period. Any book. It doesn't have to be yours.

Although it pains me to say it, a writer has to deal with the possibility that someone who ostensibly entered the store to hear you speak ends up buying someone else's work. They'd have to be very loyal and determined not to. Just think of what they're walking through? It's no accident that bookstore events are usually set up in the back of the store, forcing buyers to wander past tables and through aisles laden with a tempting potpourri of beautifully designed covers and tantalizing titles -- all designed to grab your buyer before he or she gets to you.

From the bookstore owner's point of view, this is great. But from the author's standpoint, this is terrible. So I ask you, why would you, the writer, want to set yourself up for business in the middle of the competition?

Last, but not least, is my personal beef with larger, i.e. chain, bookstores, that practice something I call literary apartheid. Some, not all, but some, have this marvelous little system of assigning all books by African-American, Native American, gay, etc. authors to respective shelves at the back of the store. If you're a member of any of those "marginal" groups, as they're so euphemistically termed, then your book will be categorized and displayed according to your ethnic or sexual affiliation rather than by genre. I find this really repugnant. It's a system of institutionalized racism. When books are separated out this way, their authors miss the spontaneous sales generated by being at the front of the store, or at least closer to the front.

None of those concerns apply with a visit to a book club.

With a book club appearance, you have a loyal audience. True it can be a small one, but these days, with the decreasing attendance at bookstore signing events, many authors would be happy to have a room of "only" seven or more readers. Those readers, at least, have definitely purchased your book. They're interested in what you're writing about. They have opinions and often give wonderful feedback. The event is often in someone's home, so you get to meet with your readers on an individual basis and have a chance to make a memorable impression.

Big bookstores still remain a wonderful venue for the really big names, but there are fewer and fewer big names these days, and those few either don't need or want to constantly be on the road.

Let me note that visits to independent bookstores often offer the same personal touch as a visit to a book club. The owner is someone who loves books and often goes out of his or her way to make you feel welcome.

Anyway, it does sort of upset me to see that big publishers will be throwing lots of books at book clubs and money at Internet advertising. Small presses can't afford to send out tons of Advanced Readers' Copies and the price of Internet advertising could be driven way up, destroying the two characteristics that makes it so wonderful: its affordablity and it's basic return on investment (i.e., the fact that you get so much more bang for your buck).

Oh, well. I refuse to worry about it. The fact that the big publishers are just now realizing what they should've realized a while ago (or maybe the Times only just now decided to cover it), only confirms the wisdom of my marketing plan.

I've got to get back to work now. It's late in the day and I've only just reached the number that was yesterday's goal. Tomorrow there'll be little writing since I'll be out all day with my son.

I should be thrilled to have reached 45,000 words+, but all I can think about is how I meant to reach that number yesterday and finish up today.

Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!

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Friday, November 16, 2007

NaNoNoNo

Okay, I admit it. I've fallen desperately behind in my novel writing for NaNoWriMo. In part, because I can't think of anymore to write, and in part because I've been dedicating hours to promoting DARKNESS AND THE DEVIL BEHIND ME on the Internet.

The better part of the last two days has gone toward designing an "Announcement Card." It's now done and has been sent off to about 150 friends and acquaintances.



I've also spent bucks on advertising on the African-American Literary Book Club site, bought an email campaign from some online company that promised to send out 4,000,000 emails and am in the process of trying to rejuvenate my page on Ning.

We'll see.

The next couple of days are full of appointments, some of them having to do with real estate, one with advertising the book.

Oh and yes, I finally received stock of my books yesterday. Two boxes were supposed to have been delivered. I had to run out for an appointment. When I returned home, I found a note from UPS saying that they had tried to deliver a package. I was furious because I knew that my mom was at home when they supposedly tried to deliver it, so I went upstairs and called UPS. I hate it when deliverers are too lazy to do their job, but claim to have done it. UPS apologized and said they'd have someone come back to deliver it the same day. Well, guess what? They didn't.

In the meantime, another UPS man had delivered the second box of books. I really appreciated that. I mean, the guy did his job. I know it isn't an easy job, but if you're gonna take it, then do it.

So I'm hoping the box that wasn't delivered yesterday will be delivered this morning. Again, I have to run out. But my mom's here and she's on the lookout. If I come back and find another note, some poor soul at UPS is going to get a very annoyed phone call.

Back to writing. It'll calm me down. I hope.
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Thursday, November 08, 2007

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)

I am so ashamed of myself. I only wrote about 1,000 words today. My goal was 5,000. A laughable failure. For NaNo, I actually only needed to plug out an additional 667. But instead of writing, I spent the afternoon updating my website. Now, it's nearly 1 o'clock in the morning and my eyes are burning and I don't really have the energy to write, but I'd better do it, huh? I'd better do it.

The thing is ... the thing is I'm bored. Yes, bored with my story. I know, however, that this doesn't mean that the story is boring, just that I'm so d*rn tired that I can't make an accurate assessment of my own work. But oh, yes, I feel bored and tired and absolutely lacking in clarity and inspiration.

But I'm going to keep plugging. I have 11,000 words written. Only another 39,000 to go. I can handle that. I can do it. Yes, I can!
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Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Announcing the SAW (Story-A-Week) Project

I was so impressed by this recent New York Times article on musician Jonathan Coulton that I not only decided to swipe his idea of using Payloadz for online processing, but -- and more importantly -- emulate his commitment to producing a finished product once a week. In his case, it was a song. In mine, it'll be a short story. He's a fullt-timer, of course, (full-time musician, I mean) while I have three jobs, so I have less time to dedicate to my SAW Project, but that's OK. I'll grind one story out a week, anyway, and post them on the newly-created "Dark Tales Presents" blog.

If you go to Dark Tales, you'll find that I've already uploaded a few short stories, horror stories actually. Every now and then I go in for a nice spooky story. They're actually easier for me to write than mystery stories (no evidence or clues to worry about).

For a while, I couldn't decide whether to post the stories on my main author's website or to post them on the blog. I finally opted for the blog because I liked the template. Great basis for a decision, huh?

The stories being posted on Dark Tales are obviously free to read. They're even free to copy and redistribute, as long as the copier and distributer links back to me, either at Dark Tales or at my main author's site. Obviously, I need to pay rent and put food on the table, so I'd really appreciate if any of you guys makes a donation (via the donation button next to the stories). The stories will also be available in softcover -- at which point, they will no longer be posted to read for free. So read up people and please feel free to share your comments!
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Monday, February 05, 2007

On My Own Again ...

So I spoke with my agent just now ... and she's now my former agent. I made the decision, said I wouldn't make further changes to the manuscript (for the reasons mentioned earlier). The decision is bittersweet. She's a lovely lady (as was my other agent), but well, ... She was funny and kind, actually. And like, my first agent, I'd recommend her to anyone seeking representation. But I'm ready, willing and able to go out on my own! YES!!!!!!!
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Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Self-Critique

So I've been reading the Palmer Affair, from start to finish, and I'm not happy with it. It lacks velocity and emotion. It definitely reflects the fact that while writing it, I was consumed, drained and distracted by other tasks (like moving my family back from Europe and getting resettled in the United States). I'm going to have to rewrite a good portion of it, and inject the atmosphere and feeling I feel when I tell the story to myself. At the moment, it's written in third person. I might change that to first person. That alone would make it more immediate, might remove the emotional wall that separates the author from the main character. It would be interesting, though, a woman writing a first-person narrative in which the "I" is the voice of a man. On the other hand, that seems to be part of the problem: the female characters are strong; while my male characters ... hmmm, I don't know. I'm not happy with it.
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Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Trying to Get Back In the Zone Again

The last few days have been hectic -- even for me. I've got one real estate deal going on -- phone calls coming right, left and center, and my man complainin that I don't have enough time for him. Now I only met him a few weeks ago, at New Year's Eve. But he's already complainin. Last night he sat me down and said that when I prayed to the Good Lord for a fine fella like him, I shoulda also prayed that God would make me ready for him -- cause givin my schedule, I just wasn't. Well, I am ready and I don't have time and if he can't deal with it then, well, I gots to ask, is he the right one???

Never mind.

He's a sweetie, but d**n, he is demanding.

Ticked me off so badly, I nearly changed my mind about leaving a copy of my Black Pearls with him. Really. After all, that Kinko copy cost me some bucks and it didn't make no sense leaving it with somebody I wasn't gonna see no more. ('Cause, hey, when he started giving me the 'talkety-talk,' it was like, Are you breakin up with me, or what? But he just skirted that. He couldn't do it. He came close, but he didn't. So then I said, Let the man complain. Maybe he's got reason. But then he said something that really annoyed me, so I had to wait til I was calm again. And then I said, Go on, girl. Leave your story with him. Maybe he'll appreciate you more. (Did you hear that? Here I am thinkin he don't appreciate me, and he basically said the same thing about me not appreciatin him. I tell ya, there's always two sides to every story. Sometimes only one of them got something to do with "objective reality," but that don't mean it ain't real for the person holding that side. Now where was I ...?)

Oh, yeah. So leavin my ms (short for manuscript, by the way) with RT was part of my plan. Remember, I mentioned deciding to have some folks read it? Well, he's one of them. At first, he tried to get all psychological on me. Asked me why I wanted him to read it. I hate that psychobabble stuff, especially when I can see it a mile away. I just told him to stow it. Was he gonna read it or not? That made him laugh. He's one of them strange men like to be talked back to. If you're nice to him, he'll push and prod and say little nippy things til you come back -- come back hard, come back fast and you ok. Makes him feel good.

So this was all yesterday evening. Today he called and 'thanked me' oh so politely for leaving my ms with him. Hmmm ... I was half asleep at my desk, so I couldn't come back. Then he told me I had him laughing last night. That was nice, I guess. I wasn't meaning to be funny. I was just tired. But I was in a good mood too. I'd just spent an hour talking to my girl, Mammoo. And she was so supportive. It was good to hook up with her again. Had suggestions about getting my books out there again. Gave me energy. Conveyed God's blessings. Of course, there ain't no surprise there. Mammoo's a healer by profession, a nurse at Harlem Hospital. Anyway, I'll be sending her the ms, too. I know she ain't goin to give me no nonsense bout why I want her to read it.

I just got to get it copied. I ain't going near no Kinko. Unh-unh. Gots to find me another solution ... and then ... well, the post office is gonna be seeing me!

Now I called this entry, Trying to Get Back in the Zone Again, and that's cause I'm finally back at the writing. I printed me out a copy of The Palmer Affair and I'm reading through it right now.
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Thursday, January 25, 2007

Cross Over


OK, here it goes again. You don't realize this, of course, 'cause you can't see it, but I just wrote this really, really long entry to this blog and I was so darn proud of myself -- and then I looked at it in preview and darn if I didn't press the wrong button, but it suddenly evaporated and now here I'm left with trying to come up with the whole thing again.

First, let me try to remember what I was saying .... Oh, yeah.

Generally, I try to keep my life as a real estate agent and as a writer separate. I don't know why -- yeah, I do actually. I think I'm ashamed that I haven't succeeded in earning enough as a writer and have to work as a real estate agent. (Never mind, that I didn't earn enough as a real estate agent and so now, in ADDITION to selling real estate, I'm working in a law office -- madness -- but I'm getting away from my story...) Anyway, I'm usually pretty successful at keeping these two sets of identities separate, but every now and then, someone discovers my secret.

Last week, I showed this beautiful townhouse on Strivers' Row -- an incredible, historic section of central Harlem -- to an agent and his little crowd of customers. After they left, I locked up and thought no more about it. They were appreciative, but they didn't give off vibes of interest (which is a shame 'cause the house is fantastic, and well-priced to boot!).

But a couple of days later, my cell phone rings and it's this lady -- one of the people the agent brought over. She said she'd picked up one of my little personal brochures (personal as in it's about me, as opposed to one of the bigger, prettier brochures about the house) and she'd read in it that I was a writer and the author of Harlem Redux. (Yes, I do mention the fact that I'm a writer in the brochure, but that's about the only place I ever mention it.) Anyway, she said she'd read the book. "I absolutely loved it," she said. "And I told all my friends about it." Words to warm a writer's heart. If only my agent could hear her, I thought, she'd see, she'd realize that there's someone somewhere out there, just waiting to read me again ...

But then she had to go and ask the 64-million-dollar question: "Are you working on anything now? When's your next one coming out?"

Ouch!

So you know what I did? I can't believe I did it, but I must've cause I've still got the evidence: a sheet from a yellow memo pad with this lady's address. What I did was this: I cleared my throat and then took a step out of my body, while I heard this strange woman using my cell phone say: "Well, actually I am working on something. Only my agent is having a problem with it. Would you be interested in reading it -- and giving me some feedback?"

The question stunned her -- as evidenced by her silence.

"Hey, your name might even appear in the acknowledgments," I said.

That did it. She agreed.

In for a penny, in for a pound. I'm now putting together a list of people to whom I intend to forward my manuscript. Regular people.

Meanwhile, I'm going batty with my regular author's website. I thought to take advantage of the new Blogger beta's offer to have this blog appear under my "custom" domain name (i.e. my name), but after a week of noodling (i.e. struggling) with DNS and CNAME and Google taking my site off and error messages, I give up. For now, this site's gonna have to stay under the less than prosaic but perfectly good URL it has: persiawalker.blogspot.com. I'm thinking about resuming the site I had under the Author's Guild. I dropped it because I was bored, bored, bored with the AG's site builder. The AG says it'll be announcing a new sitebuilder this week. I can hardly wait. If it isn't up to snuff, though, then I'll go with GoDaddy. That's the registrar for my URL. It's affordable and it probably makes sense to host with the registrar. That way I don't have to worrying about forwarding, masking, transferring or losing my emails. Yup ... but I really wanna see what the AG's gonna offer.

Writing -- or rewriting -- one The Palmer Affair, my sequel to Harlem Redux -- has slowed down considerably. I've reached that point when I'm bored with the story and am thinking about totally revamping it. But when an author is bored with the story, it could be because he or she has reread it so many times that it no longer has any surprises -- and the boredom stems from the rereading, not from any lack in the story itself. Too bad. I think I'll revamp it.

Meanwhile, check out two new blogs I discovered: The Lipstick Chronicles and Poe's Daughters.
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Monday, January 22, 2007

Frustration ...

When I last wrote on this blog, I believe I was waiting to hear back fromy my agent concerning the latest rewrite of Black Pearls. I ended up phoning her again. Apparently, she'd been sick for nearly two weeks and naturally fell behind in reading. At any rate, she promised to reread the manuscript herself (up until then, only her assistant had read it -- and I'd gotten to the point at which I REFUSED to make any more changes based upon what the assistant was saying). The agent promised to get back to me -- in a week. Well, she didn't. I gave her a week and a day, and then I called her myself. She told me that having read the manuscript, she 'believed' I'd done the research to show that people in 1926 in Harlem had personal telephones (one of the items that came into question), but that she had parts of the story. Parts of the manuscript were wonderful, she said. Other parts were boring, if not "dead." She couldn't understand why the writing was so "uneven," she said.

I could've told her: It was hard to write "evenly" when one has two full-time jobs and two kids and ... well, need I say more? Actually, I didn't say anything. I simply told her that I would not go back into the manuscript and do any further rewrites without more specific feedback. Privately, of course, I was thinking that some of the best-selling books I've ever read had pages and pages of dead space that I would've gladly cut if I'd had a blue pencil. But I didn't say that. Instead, I reminded her that I've had the experience of changing something to make an agent happy, only to have an editor reject a manuscript and mention that very 'something' as a reason for his/her decision. So I've learned to be very leery of agent "suggestions." She was kind enough to agree that manuscript evaluation is a subjective affair. However, she still felt that parts of the story just didn't do it for her.

I asked her for examples. "Did you put tick marks on the margins of the manuscript maybe? You know, mark scenes that bothered you?"

She hesitated, then said, no, she hadn't.

I just couldn't understand it. How in the world can you give a writer such vague criticism and expect them to do anything constructive with it? From the writer's point of view, it's like battling shadows.

She said that in order to give me any more specific criticism, she'd have to sit down and take the book apart. I thought, duh ... She said she'd get back to me this week.

I don't know. I like her very much as a person, but her constant hesitations are killing my enthusiasm.

I have already decided that this is the last manuscript I will put with an agent. The whole system of agents vetting for publishers works -- for some people. Indeed, it even worked for me. However, for many writers, it's a monumental waste of time. And time after time, agents and editors have shown that they too, are just human, and do make mistakes -- sometimes costly ones. It's hard to get excited about writing when I know I'm going to have to run this gamut every single time. God, I'm so sick of these people.

I've decided to set up on my own small press -- and publish my own work. I've bought my own ISBN numbers and will design my own book covers. Writing will be fun again -- not the miserable torturous exercise it has become.
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Monday, January 08, 2007

Response to a Query Sent Long Ago

The other day, I checked my email on Hotmail and found an invitation from an agent to submit the first 50 pages from Black Pearls. It was a very nice invitation -- ok, maybe it was from a 'template.' -- but it was a nice template. The thing is, I sent this guy a query nearly a year ago. I was astounded. On the one hand, it stunned me that it would take an agent nearly a year to respond. On the other, it knocked me out that any agent would be so diligent as to still be trolling queries that he received so long ago. Wow!
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Saturday, January 06, 2007

New Year, New Resolutions? Not Really

I would like for us to move to a different apartment this year.
I would like to see Black Pearls published.
I would like to finish The Palmer Affair, which is the sequel to Harlem Redux.

Okay, let's go over that again, and tweak it a bit.

I intend for us to move to a different apartment this year.
I intend to see Black Pearls published.
I intend to finish The Palmer Affair, which is the sequel to Harlem Redux.

Hmmm ... better. But not quite there yet. How about:

We will move to a better apartment this year.
I will see Black Pearls published.
I will finish The Palmer Affair, which is the sequel to Harlem Redux.

Much better!



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Tuesday, April 18, 2006

The Backlist

I looked at my hard drive the other day and saw a list of novels/stories I never completed. They are all crying out for completion. They're like children summoned to the dinner table and then left unfed. Or worse, babies I became pregnant with and never fully birthed. It's a terrible feeling. The worse part is that the story ideas keep coming and coming. I would so love to lock myself in a room with my laptop and go through the list. Just start with one of the stories and work my way through. Finishing them, one by one, delivering them whole, even if raw, one by one. That's my wish.

I wish I had the financial resources to stay in a cabin -- or a hotel -- where I had minimal housekeeping worries -- and just take care of this. It sounds like a wonderful fantasy, doesn't it? But in reality, it's one of the most frightening things a writer can do -- lock herself away from distraction -- lock herself in with the blank page and a list of ideas, novels, short stories that need fruition. It's terrifying when you've intentionally left yourself no place to hide. But I would so appreciate the opportunity to do that. To write what I want to write irrespective of how successful it might be. Part of the reason I stumbled with every story was that inner voice, the mean-spirited inner editor that taunted me, that said with increasing ferocity, "It's not good enough. No one will be interested. No one will be interested. Who will care?" That voice wore me down. The only way to counter it, I think, is to say: "I care. I'm writing it without expectation."

Maybe, if I could get through the "backlist," I would feel free. Maybe these stories were never meant to be published -- they were just mean to make me strong. Think about that ...
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Characters In My Mind

I recently met a new one -- and he's got a story to tell. For the time being, the story will be a short story, but I've got a feeling he's good for a series. Then, just as I was finished interviewing (or actually being spoken to by) the first character, another character spoke up: a woman from a novel I wrote (but never finished) years ago. "What about me?" she asked. "Where do I stand? When are you going to get back to me?"
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Friday, April 14, 2006

There are times ...

when I can barely put two words together, much less an entire thought -- or should that be written in reverse? I've had my laptop open for hours, but how much have I actually written? And now I'm looking at the story ... for the umpteenth time, mind you, and I suddenly don't care, don't care a thing about it. I've got to finish this thing. And finish it so that I'm happy with it, but when and how ...?

The thing is I should be writing more short stories, since my capacity for extended concentration is so minimal, I shouldn't be trying anything as major an exercise as writing a full-blown novel, even one that I started nearly four years ago. Or should I say especially one that I started so long ago? It's the unfinished stories that tax you. Your initial enthusiasm is gone, that first flush of inspiration, and now you're dragging yourself through the story, wondering how what you've put down on paper could fall so far short of what you envisioned.
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Rejection: Keeping It In Perspective

From the website of IMPG:

If your manuscript gets rejected, consider the company you are in when you get rejected by an agent or publisher who lacks the foresight to see just how great your work may be. The following list is compiled from Michael Larsen's book, Literary Agents.

- The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck was returned 14 times, but it went on to win a Pulitzer Prize.

- Norman Mailer's The Naked and the Dead was rejected 12 times.

- Patrick Dennis said of his autobiographical novel Auntie Mame, "It circulated for five years through the halls of fifteen publishers and finally ended up with Vanguard Press, which, as you can see, is rather deep into the alphabet." This illustrates why using the alphabet may be a logical but ineffective way to find the best agent or editor.

- Twenty publishers felt that Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull was for the birds.

- The first title of Catch-22 was Catch-18, but Simon and Schuster planned to publish it during the same season that Doubleday was bringing out Mila 18 by Leon Uris. When Doubleday complained, Joseph Heller changed the title. Why 22? Because Simon and Schuster was the 22nd publisher to read it. Catch-22 has become part of the language and has sold more than 10 million copies.

- Mary Higgins Clark was rejected 40 times before selling her first story. One editor wrote: "Your story is light, slight, and trite." More than 30 million copies of her books are now in print.

- Before he wrote Roots, Alex Haley had received 200 rejections.

- Robert Persig's classic, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, couldn't get started at 121 houses.

- John Grisham's first novel, A Time to Kill, was declined by 15 publishers and some thirty agents. His novels have more than 60 million copies in print.

- Thirty-three publishers couldn't digest Chicken Soup for the Soul, compiled by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen, before it became a huge best-seller and spawned a series.

- The Baltimore Sun hailed Naked in Deccan as "a classic" after it had been rejected over seven years by 375 publishers.

- Zelda wouldn't marry F. Scott Fitzgerald until he sold a story. He papered his bedroom walls with rejection slips before he won her hand.

- Dr. Seuss's first book was rejected 24 times. The sales of his children's books have soared to 100 million.

- Louis L'Amour received 200 rejections before he sold his first novel. During the last 40 years, Bantam has shipped nearly 200 million of his 112 books, making him their biggest selling author.

- If you visit the House of Happy Walls, Jack London's beautiful estate in Sonoma County, north San Francisco, you will see some of the 600 rejection slips that London received before selling his first story. If you want to know how much easier it is to make it as a writer now than it was in London's time, read his wonderful autobiographical novel, Martin Eden. Your sufferings will pale compared to what poor Martin endured.

- British writer John Creasy received 774 rejections before selling his first story. He went onto write 564 books, using 14 names.

- Eight years after his novel Steps won the National Book Award, Jerzy Kosinski permitted a writer to change his name and the title and send a manuscript of the novel to 13 agents and 14 publishers to test the plight of new writers. They all rejected it, including Random House, which had published it.

"Every no gets you closer to yes." Best selling author, Joe Girard
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Sunday, April 09, 2006

A Modest, But Thrilling Success




In late March, the Mystery Writers of America informed me that they've selected my short story Such a Lucky, Pretty Girl for inclusion in their anthology, Burden of the Badge. I'm thrilled -- and stunned. When I first learned about it, I could barely believe it. I really only began to believe when 3rd Degree, the MWA newsletter, came out and made the announcement, listing my name with the other selectees!!!

True to my self-imposed exile from writers' gatherings -- and my limited funding -- I wasn't planning on attending the MWA's 2006 Edgar® Awards Banquet. But ... with this kind decision by MWA to accept my story, I've changed my mind. I will be going to the banquet after all, despite the economic challenge.

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Thursday, March 09, 2006

Recent Results to A Submission

Dear Writer,

Thank you so much for being patient with me while I read Novel B.

I've enjoyed your work; you're a really, really good writer and this novel has terrific atmosphere, tight construction, thoughtful characters and strong pacing. It's beautifully done, but my sense is that it fits pretty squarely in the historical mystery category, that it would be tough to break this out to a general audience beyond that somewhat narrow niche, and build beyond Novel A.

I wish my instinct were different, dear Writer, because I like your writing a great deal; please know that I would be happy to see your work in the future or consider other ideas from you, And thank you, again, for allowing me to consider this and giving me the time to do so.

My best to you,
Literary Agent
BIG, BIG Agency
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Saturday, January 07, 2006

Putting a Spin on It

By the standards of any normal, sane person, today was not a particularly good day. By the standards I choose to adopt, however, it was a marvelous day. It was a day of emotional release (heated arguments, in other words) and unintentional irony.

After getting a phone call from a weeping woman who was not my client, but was the buyer for a property I represented and sold to her and her husband, I then had a horribly emotional fight with the seller -- who was my client -- and ended up weeping myself. I then spent another very unproductive three hours at the office, too emotionally drained to think clearly, but too physically exhausted to even think about making the trek home. I had just gotten myself together and was about to leave when the telephone rang -- again.

This time it was a girlfriend calling to ask me to help her work on her mother's obituary -- her mother died Wednesday, alone in a hospital, while her daughter (my girlfriend) and I were having lunch. I've been miserably upset about her mother's death, and finally let myself feel the pain today -- while screeching at my client, no less. I told my friend I couldn't work on the obit with her. I was too tired, I said and meant it. So I came home, in a daze, walked in the door and got some mail. Among them was a rejection letter from the Chelius agency. Oddly enough, the only thing I thought of was, "Where's my nail?" To hang up the letter, I mean.

So now, I'm propped up in bed with my trusty but overworked Apple laptop, trying to get a grip on my feelings. I feel heartsick. Not over the rejection letter, but over the denouement of the relationship with my seller. I loved that man. Really loved him. No, he wasn't my lover or anything like that. But I thought of him in truly heroic terms. I guess I still do, but more in the Shakespearean sense of the word.

If I remember my high school English correctly, Shakespeare's characters were often wonderful people whose major flaw, often a fatal one, was an extreme overdevelopment of one particular virtue. My seller's "extreme" virtue seems to be loyalty. He'll defend his friends -- or those he considers as such -- to the bitter end. And I do mean bitter. It seems to be more important to him to hold on to his illusions about them and bear the consequences, than surrender his illusions, learn the truth and move on.

But I don't want to get sucked into talking or writing about that, anymore. I just wanted to admit ... that I'm heartsick.

I once read, with great envy, that Stephen King had a collection of more than 400 rejection letters. I had a collection in Munich. But I abandoned them once I got published. Now, I could start them all over again, I suppose.

But do I want to?

I felt an odd sense of relief at opening that letter. Being published is important to me -- but not all that important. I feel as though I'm due some kind of nudge from the universe -- sort of a sign, if you will. Maybe, this is not the direction in which I'm meant to go. I mean, I really do love writing. It's an end in and of itself. It's only when I'm among published writers that I remember the other part of it -- the celebrity, the money, the awards, the busyness (tours, signings, interviews, etc.). It's only then I think, "Why that's what I should be aiming for, isn't it? It certainly looks nice -- from here."

But I'm tired now, and don't care. I wanted an agent in New York, not someone on the other side of the country. I wanted an agent who will keep me with an editor. Now, I have no agent at all, and it doesn't bother me.

I'm relieved. I can write now, in peace, for myself, the way I wanted to. It's back to me, myself and I again. And that's not a bad way to be.
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Thursday, January 05, 2006

A Clash of Commas

I attended my first MWA dinner of the year last night and boy was it fun. It was just great to be among writers again. As I said to the lady sitting next to me, "Now I can come out of the closet and be me!"
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Monday, January 02, 2006

A Day Well Spent

Oh, I'm so tired tonight. We spent hours going back and forth to the airport, so our little visitor from Germany could board her flight home. Terribly emotional parting. It took us nearly three hours to get home. When we did so, my little son was waiting for the first new episode of "Wildfire" and enjoined me to watch it with him. Now, an hour later, it's half past nine. I've tried to do some reading of a friend's manuscript, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I'd also opened to do some work on a short story I plan to submit to an MWA Anthology. I don't expect the story to be selected, but the anthology provides a good reason to write it. Plus, the whole thing has a deadline (Feb, I believe) so I know I have to get it done.

--CUT--

Oh, my goodness, I just checked the MWA site. The story isn't due in February. It's due on January 15. I got my deadlines mixed up!!! So that means, I have to hop to it. Boy that shock was like a cup of coffee. It woke me up -- thoroughly. I felt so comfortably sleepy before. Now, I keep thinking, "You've got to write that story and write it NOW!"
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Unwelcome Message

Oh, my! What are you doing here? Obviously, you took a wrong turn on the great information highway. No one reads this blog, absolutely no one, for good reason. It's simply the musings of a writer. Goodness knows, there are plenty of those around, most of them more interesting than this one. So move on. Go on. Shoo!

Still here? Well, if you must stick around, then do be quiet. Make no comments. Don't send out little alerts and invite your friends. This is my place and you're in it. You're welcome to take a seat in the peanut gallery, but don't utter a sound. Not a peep.

Don't let me know you're there. Or else.

About the Author

None of your business. You're not supposed to be reading this, remember? Consider what curiosity did to the cat. You're being curious and that's not good.

Go Away!

Try reading about Sara. She just signed with a big literary agent. Unlike me, she might be kind enough to tell you how she did it.

Don't you have something better to do?

Why don't you go here and learn how to make money online, or here and learn something about men? House is right. You're a nitwit.

Don't Email Me

IWontRespond@CriminalMusings.com

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