It’s high time I stop complaining and get back to the game of wielding writerly wisdom.
*stoically ignores all sniggers from the blogging auditorium*
I am serious. I am tired of fussing about doing this or that to sell my last book. The fact that I have a.) the opportunity, b.) the time and c.) the completed novel in the old coffer to actually peddle are all blessings so many would-be writers don’t yet have that whining about them seems to be rather brattish of me.
I apologize for that.
While I reserve the right to complain when rejections flutter in, I will try my best not to fuss about the querying process in general anymore.
So, Wednesday, expect wisdom.
A whole steaming heap of it.
With that expectation hanging threateningly over your head now, I depart.
After taking a much needed weekend off from querying, it’s back in the pandering saddle today.
Somebody please tell me this process isn’t all some weird act of masochism my warped imagination has cooked up for me?
Postmark all replies to “Hopeful, but Weary in Tallahassee.”
Scuffling about on my hands and knees, digging through historical what-not’s and fictional what-if’s trying to find that one centerpiece to my next novel that would make the story shine like the dickens, I was literally (please, notice the pun) floored to find it.
Everyone, please, join me in a communal jig.
With the end of the month upon us, I proudly present to you my grab bag of blog scraps!
Try as they might, these little tidbits of posting ideas could never quite bulk up enough to become a full blog. Perhaps one or two of these might be of some use. Enjoy… or dispose of accordingly.
1.) When creating characters for a new story, I inevitably turn to contemporary actors for my male roles. They act as placeholders until my own fictional fleshing out occurs.
2.) On the other hand, when creating female characters for a new project, silent movie actresses are called upon as the seat-fillers. Delving into the reasons for this discrepancy I leave to my psychiatrist.
3.) Every query letter seems to require a different length of synopsis. Understandable, I suppose. I’m flexible. I was a gymnast. I can deal. However…
4.) Why does my 3 paragraph synopsis sound like its describing an entirely different book than my 5 paragraph synopsis? Don’t even get me started on my 1 paragraph summary versus the colossal 2 pager. Excuse me, but… AARGH!
5.) With all this querying, crafting, researching and worrying about said-querying, etc., my brain feels like a limp lasagna noodle. Just saying.
In an effort to exploit my OCD-ness for good, here is a list of late 18th century surnames present in the western half of Connecticut during the American Revolution…
(Yes, I’m serious. Now, stop laughing before I develop a new complex.)
So, please, allow my eccentric, psychiatrically unsound approach to research aid you in finding that elusive character name.
Post-note: Of course this list is far from complete, but it’s a nice start.
Surnames of Late 18th Century Connecticut
While Novel #18 sits uncomfortably in literary agent limbo, Novel #19 is thriving! Like a six week old Lab, it’s all eager, wagging butt and big, laughable feet. It’s wonderful…
Of course, my 14 year old, four-legged furry muse who has been on the job centuries and is wise to the ways of young manuscripts is not yet impressed.
“Trust not an eager tail,” my Yoda-like muse imparts. “Trust only an eager heart.”
Good advice, I’m sure, but… I’m still eating up the puppy kisses.
One rejection down.
Ok, yes, it smarted… (It came darn close to grotesquely wounding but I shook myself out of that self-pitying wallow before allowing myself near this blog. There are standards of exaggeration by which even I abide.)
So, it indeed smarted.
But far worse has been had… (“And far worse is likely to come,” the grotesquely wounded part of me pipes in cheerily.)
I think I’ll leave it there where the glass of milk sits as much half-full as half-empty.
Back to the grind today.
Query letters this morning.
Machete to backyard at noon.
Shower and wire brush to body around 2.
New novel exploits until catastrophic physical collapse and messy mental ungluing by 10.
It’s good to be home.
Post-note: Seriously, it is indeed good to be back home, but my yard didn’t need to go quite so primeval on me.
Backpedaling is allowed.
It may not be encouraged.
It may even be frowned upon by certain parties in your life.
But backpedaling is most definitely allowed.
Sometimes standing still, gathering a much needed breath is simply not enough. Sometimes, a head of steam is required to travel that next mile, and if that requires you to briefly revisit already trodden trail, do it.
Do whatever you must to ultimately gain that most treasured ground.
Until Tuesday (travel day Monday, I hope)…
Post-note: Apply this entry however you like. Be it career or mental health or simply a trip to a new laundromat, it was just something the little nutters in my head thought needed saying.
With the fluidity of my travel plans in evidence again, I am here, instead of not.
Hooray, I suppose. I’ll leave that determination up to you.
After a wonderfully nice birthday, I ended the evening foraging Colonial-era graveyards for names.
Creepy, I suppose. But since I was doing it online and not on foot with a flashlight and a nubby pencil, I will again leave that determination up to you.
I should be here tomorrow (Sunday), but who knows? Like Mary Poppins, I go where the wind and my umbrella take me.