The wait is killing me. I sent another query to Fifi Oscard's agency, using the form on the website. The auto-response said they'd get back to me in two weeks. As you've guessed, they didn't.
I had sent a query to them before, when Ms. Oscard was still walking the earth, and got the same auto-response and same lack of results. As instructed, I sent an e-mail asking about the status of the query, but again there was no answer. After that, I tried snail mail, with SASE, but Ivy Fischer Stone never answered that either. Now I hear that she's retiring, so I'd say there's no hope of every getting a response. Time to write off that agency, I suppose.
The short stories I've sent off to literary magazines have been equally ignored. The Indiana Review says they need two to four months, and they only accept 1% of the submissions. Thanks for that bit of info, but will you contact the other 99%? We're coming up on the four month mark, and I'm wondering if I'd be better off sending the submission elsewhere. It's hard to honor their need for exclusivity when I don't know if I'm wasting four months of my writing life.
As for the other three pieces, the journals are fine with multiple submissions, and in a way, it's more charitable on their part. If someone out there will print my novel excerpts, it's in my interest to cast a wide net. Now with the summer upon us, most of the literary journals aren't reading, connected as they are to university English departments who close down in the heat. What to do? Sit tight, perhaps, and be ready to fire up the laser printer for September and October. Cocktails, anyone?
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Clothes Make the (Wo)Man
Until today, I had no idea that it was against the law in Italy to dress up in clerical garb, unless of course one is, indeed, a cleric. And apparently, the crew from RTE's Would You Believe didn't know that fact either.
Oh, and did I mention that the person adorned in a bishop's robes was a woman? And did you know that The DaVinci Code movie is opening - in fact, it's already been shown at the Cannes Film Festival. Which is closer to the Vatican, in terms of miles, than Dublin.
So there they were, these innocent young Irish television people, creating some lovely footage for the folks back home. A program about the role of women in the Church, apparently, so what would be more entertaining than a few clips of an Italian actress in the guise of a bishop? I can see the comic possibilities, or even the surrealistic art house feeling that could have been invoked.
Well, the police pounced on this law-breaking crew, hauling them off to the station for questioning. What might the lawmen have asked?
Chastised, the film crew shuffled out of the station, only to learn that their permission to film the Pope's audience had been abruptly cancelled. Their excuses must have fallen on deaf ears. After all, they pointed out, no one could believe that they were trying to fool people into believing the person in a bishop's coat was really a bishop. That person was a woman, you see. A female member of the species. To no avail. No filming of the Papal audience, and so they are returning home, to cut and splice and put together their television program as best they can.
Now, if they were to pop up to Galway and ask Bishop Casey what he thinks of the whole thing....now there's a sound bite for the late night news.
Oh, and did I mention that the person adorned in a bishop's robes was a woman? And did you know that The DaVinci Code movie is opening - in fact, it's already been shown at the Cannes Film Festival. Which is closer to the Vatican, in terms of miles, than Dublin.
So there they were, these innocent young Irish television people, creating some lovely footage for the folks back home. A program about the role of women in the Church, apparently, so what would be more entertaining than a few clips of an Italian actress in the guise of a bishop? I can see the comic possibilities, or even the surrealistic art house feeling that could have been invoked.
Well, the police pounced on this law-breaking crew, hauling them off to the station for questioning. What might the lawmen have asked?
"This actress, does she represent Annie Murphy? Are you making a comment about Bishop Eamon Casey fathering a child with the woman who came to him for counseling?"
"Bishop Casey has returned to Galway and the parishioners are comfortable with it. He has reconciled with his bastard son. Are you trying to stir up trouble?"
Chastised, the film crew shuffled out of the station, only to learn that their permission to film the Pope's audience had been abruptly cancelled. Their excuses must have fallen on deaf ears. After all, they pointed out, no one could believe that they were trying to fool people into believing the person in a bishop's coat was really a bishop. That person was a woman, you see. A female member of the species. To no avail. No filming of the Papal audience, and so they are returning home, to cut and splice and put together their television program as best they can.
Now, if they were to pop up to Galway and ask Bishop Casey what he thinks of the whole thing....now there's a sound bite for the late night news.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Solving the Mystery
Thank heavens for the wise members of the European Parliament. They are convinced that the U.S., or more accurately, the CIA, has been "outsourcing torture" to paraphrase Dick Marty.
Dead-eye Dick is a Swiss investigator with the Council of Europe human rights group, and by God, he's got the smoking gun now. Admissions of guilt, if you turn your head the right way and squint a bit. They're all in on it, the whole world, and the CIA is at the center of this cruel universe.
Plane spotters have tracked several private jets that are leased to the CIA. These planes have landed all over Europe, thousands of flights, and the Council of Europe just knows that these are rendition flights, hauling so-called terrorists from one place to another where they can be tortured into confessions. Except, unfortunately, that there is no proof. No one has seen a shackled, boiler-suited and bearded gent on any of the flights. No one has seen the same type of character disembark in a torture-friendly nation. But Dick Marty is not one to let facts get in the way of his theory, oh no indeed.
In regard to the rendition of Abu Omar from Milan, Dicky-boy has evidence that the Italians were in on it. Because someone in the CIA said that the rendition could not have happened if the Italians weren't in on it. But the Italians are saying they don't know a thing about it. In Marty's world, the fact that someone in the CIA said what they said is tantamount to a confession. Poor man doesn't know a smartass comment when it rears up and bites him on the arse.
Portugal's M.E.P., Carlos Coelho, also believes that European countries are colluding with the U.S., since someone in the know told him that renditions could not work without the knowledge of the European country in question. Are you just now figuring that out, son? It's not the evil old U.S. of A. going off on its own, willy-nilly, riding roughshod over the innocent souls of Europe. In fact, it's beginning to sound like the heads of state in Europe understand the dangers of Islamo-Nazism and they're more than happy to come to the aid of the Yanks, just don't tell the neighbors.
Talk of human rights is fine, but it's always a good idea to remember that other people have rights too. Like the right to worship God as they see fit, dress as they like, that sort of thing. That sound you hear is Dick Marty, hopping up and down on his soapbox, ranting about the imagined abuse of terrorists. No one seems to be listening to him. Must be frustrating.
Dead-eye Dick is a Swiss investigator with the Council of Europe human rights group, and by God, he's got the smoking gun now. Admissions of guilt, if you turn your head the right way and squint a bit. They're all in on it, the whole world, and the CIA is at the center of this cruel universe.
Plane spotters have tracked several private jets that are leased to the CIA. These planes have landed all over Europe, thousands of flights, and the Council of Europe just knows that these are rendition flights, hauling so-called terrorists from one place to another where they can be tortured into confessions. Except, unfortunately, that there is no proof. No one has seen a shackled, boiler-suited and bearded gent on any of the flights. No one has seen the same type of character disembark in a torture-friendly nation. But Dick Marty is not one to let facts get in the way of his theory, oh no indeed.
In regard to the rendition of Abu Omar from Milan, Dicky-boy has evidence that the Italians were in on it. Because someone in the CIA said that the rendition could not have happened if the Italians weren't in on it. But the Italians are saying they don't know a thing about it. In Marty's world, the fact that someone in the CIA said what they said is tantamount to a confession. Poor man doesn't know a smartass comment when it rears up and bites him on the arse.
Portugal's M.E.P., Carlos Coelho, also believes that European countries are colluding with the U.S., since someone in the know told him that renditions could not work without the knowledge of the European country in question. Are you just now figuring that out, son? It's not the evil old U.S. of A. going off on its own, willy-nilly, riding roughshod over the innocent souls of Europe. In fact, it's beginning to sound like the heads of state in Europe understand the dangers of Islamo-Nazism and they're more than happy to come to the aid of the Yanks, just don't tell the neighbors.
Talk of human rights is fine, but it's always a good idea to remember that other people have rights too. Like the right to worship God as they see fit, dress as they like, that sort of thing. That sound you hear is Dick Marty, hopping up and down on his soapbox, ranting about the imagined abuse of terrorists. No one seems to be listening to him. Must be frustrating.
Dreams Of Fat Advances
Now there's a dream, the life of the author, sitting around with pen in hand, thinking and scribing away the days. The cash comes rolling in, great waves of money, as royalty checks fill the overflowing mailbox.
What would anyone do if they found literary success? Quit the day job, straight away, and not look back. Could the stress of producing the next NYT bestseller be any greater than the stress of a dull occupation, the clients demanding more and the boss putting on the pressure to produce? To spend one's days in creating would be bliss indeed, even though the process of writing is mentally painful. Like an addiction, the urge to write becomes stronger with every passing minute, and putting pen to paper brings blessed relief. But the relief does not last, the urge comes back, and the writer must face the blank page, physically in need of written words that do not always come easy. In spite of that, the sweet misery of writing cannot compare to the drudgery of the day job.
And after the daily grind is left behind? A room of one's own would be a delight, to shut the door and shut out the world and compose prose. No one telling you to run this one there and pick up that and we're out of medicine over here. Is that why it is so difficult to write a complete novel? A universe of distractions and duties are pulling at you, tugging from one end to the other until you find that something has to give, and that something is writing.
But there is a way to savor the pleasures of writing. There is time in the day, or rather, the night. Who needs sleep?
What would anyone do if they found literary success? Quit the day job, straight away, and not look back. Could the stress of producing the next NYT bestseller be any greater than the stress of a dull occupation, the clients demanding more and the boss putting on the pressure to produce? To spend one's days in creating would be bliss indeed, even though the process of writing is mentally painful. Like an addiction, the urge to write becomes stronger with every passing minute, and putting pen to paper brings blessed relief. But the relief does not last, the urge comes back, and the writer must face the blank page, physically in need of written words that do not always come easy. In spite of that, the sweet misery of writing cannot compare to the drudgery of the day job.
And after the daily grind is left behind? A room of one's own would be a delight, to shut the door and shut out the world and compose prose. No one telling you to run this one there and pick up that and we're out of medicine over here. Is that why it is so difficult to write a complete novel? A universe of distractions and duties are pulling at you, tugging from one end to the other until you find that something has to give, and that something is writing.
But there is a way to savor the pleasures of writing. There is time in the day, or rather, the night. Who needs sleep?
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Got MFA?
The competition's fierce out there if you're trying to land an agent. How can you get your manuscript under a literary agent's nose, when all they go by for a first impression is that query letter?
Let's say that you'd like to join Jennifer Cayea's stable. She's left Nicholas Ellison and gone off on her own, so she must be looking for talent to help pay the rent. The first thing to do is see who she reps, and if you have a subscription toPublishers Marketplace you can do a quick search.
Ah, so she is the agent for a certain Mr. Cook, author of The Girl From Charnelle. Off to the public library with you, unless you're flush with cash and can afford to buy. And if you've that much to throw away, you've no business being a struggling writer.
You read the book. It opens with the heart of the action, a mother abandoning her children, from the POV of the daughter. And then? Well, this is literary fiction. Nothing happens. Of course, the author paints a picture of a lost little girl, without her mother, but as for action, nothing happens. It's literary, you see.
But that's how I write, so why can't I get an agent to rep me? Turn to the back flap, my little friend, and you will see that Mr. Cook teaches writing. In a Master of Fine Arts program. How could an agent not take up such a one, the teacher being superior to the pupil.
There you have it. Write as well as you have been, but get a position in Iowa or Nebraska or Columbia and crank out other creative writers who follow the formulas and produce mass media. And you thought it was difficult to get published.
Let's say that you'd like to join Jennifer Cayea's stable. She's left Nicholas Ellison and gone off on her own, so she must be looking for talent to help pay the rent. The first thing to do is see who she reps, and if you have a subscription to
Ah, so she is the agent for a certain Mr. Cook, author of The Girl From Charnelle. Off to the public library with you, unless you're flush with cash and can afford to buy. And if you've that much to throw away, you've no business being a struggling writer.
You read the book. It opens with the heart of the action, a mother abandoning her children, from the POV of the daughter. And then? Well, this is literary fiction. Nothing happens. Of course, the author paints a picture of a lost little girl, without her mother, but as for action, nothing happens. It's literary, you see.
But that's how I write, so why can't I get an agent to rep me? Turn to the back flap, my little friend, and you will see that Mr. Cook teaches writing. In a Master of Fine Arts program. How could an agent not take up such a one, the teacher being superior to the pupil.
There you have it. Write as well as you have been, but get a position in Iowa or Nebraska or Columbia and crank out other creative writers who follow the formulas and produce mass media. And you thought it was difficult to get published.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Back To Business As Usual
Hurrah, and praise be, the Northern Assembly is going to meet again after a four year hiatus. Yes, the august body that was brought down by the Stormont spy ring affair is back in business.
Funny about the spy ring, though, when it turned out that the man who was arrested as a spy was none other than the late Dennis Donaldson, a man in the employ of the Special Branch. Just when they were getting up and going in 2002, the police staged a raid and claimed that Sinn Fein was spying, and that took care of any power sharing for awhile. Looking back, it appears to have been a cod, a ruse concocted to put an end to home rule and have London run things, like they have for the past two hundred years. Now the Assembly is due to reconvene, so what do the lovers of the status quo have up their sleeves for this session?
How can they wreck the agreements and put a stop to home rule this time? Maybe a bit of late breaking news about that bank robbery. You remember, surely, it was nearly two years ago and everyone insisted it was Sinn Fein's doing. Well, no, they haven't actually demonstrated a link, although they did arrest a couple of criminals who aren't exactly frothing at the mouth republicans, but we're talking about the Northern Assembly now.
Ian Paisley is giving it his all, latching on to one excuse after another, only to be shot down by the wily Gerry Adams. Now the man who loves to hate is refusing to share power unless the Shinners recognize the police force in the north. That would be the same police force that staged the raid that nabbed their own spy in Stormont. Yes, yes, and that colluded with the loyalist gangs and protected thugs who murdered Catholics for sport.
So, the assembly will meet, they will get nothing done, and then the loyalists will trundle off to a lovely wee garden party with Chuck and Camilla. All in all, a delightful day for the gerrymandered majority, and the political pundits will at last have something new to pundit about. All that matters to some is that nothing ever changes.
Funny about the spy ring, though, when it turned out that the man who was arrested as a spy was none other than the late Dennis Donaldson, a man in the employ of the Special Branch. Just when they were getting up and going in 2002, the police staged a raid and claimed that Sinn Fein was spying, and that took care of any power sharing for awhile. Looking back, it appears to have been a cod, a ruse concocted to put an end to home rule and have London run things, like they have for the past two hundred years. Now the Assembly is due to reconvene, so what do the lovers of the status quo have up their sleeves for this session?
How can they wreck the agreements and put a stop to home rule this time? Maybe a bit of late breaking news about that bank robbery. You remember, surely, it was nearly two years ago and everyone insisted it was Sinn Fein's doing. Well, no, they haven't actually demonstrated a link, although they did arrest a couple of criminals who aren't exactly frothing at the mouth republicans, but we're talking about the Northern Assembly now.
Ian Paisley is giving it his all, latching on to one excuse after another, only to be shot down by the wily Gerry Adams. Now the man who loves to hate is refusing to share power unless the Shinners recognize the police force in the north. That would be the same police force that staged the raid that nabbed their own spy in Stormont. Yes, yes, and that colluded with the loyalist gangs and protected thugs who murdered Catholics for sport.
So, the assembly will meet, they will get nothing done, and then the loyalists will trundle off to a lovely wee garden party with Chuck and Camilla. All in all, a delightful day for the gerrymandered majority, and the political pundits will at last have something new to pundit about. All that matters to some is that nothing ever changes.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Caveat
Agent Query has always been a reliable source of information for good, legitimate agents, and I never felt that I had to tread carefully before sending a query to one of their listees - until now.
Recently they added Susan Graham of About Words Agency. The name was familiar, and I recalled seeing it on a romance writer's site. Any time an agency name rings a bell, and a negative one at that, I'm off toPreditors & Editors
to check things out. Sure enough, About Words Agency is listed as NOT RECOMMENDED.
If you're looking for an agent, you have to do your homework to avoid the scammers and the well-intentioned losers, and Agent Query is no longer the shortcut it once was. Why, you might ask, is this agency not recommended?
The simple fact is, they seem to be tied at the hip to an editing service, and such a parasitic relationship should send up the red flags. Agents should not be sending your work off to an editor who is sitting at their right hand, and you as a writer should be aware that most of the time, said agent will tell you that you need editing and here's the bill. That's not how it's done in the legitimate agenting world.
By all means, use Agent Query to help in your search. Just don't forget to vet your selections. Let the writer beware, and avoid the sharks.
Recently they added Susan Graham of About Words Agency. The name was familiar, and I recalled seeing it on a romance writer's site. Any time an agency name rings a bell, and a negative one at that, I'm off to
If you're looking for an agent, you have to do your homework to avoid the scammers and the well-intentioned losers, and Agent Query is no longer the shortcut it once was. Why, you might ask, is this agency not recommended?
The simple fact is, they seem to be tied at the hip to an editing service, and such a parasitic relationship should send up the red flags. Agents should not be sending your work off to an editor who is sitting at their right hand, and you as a writer should be aware that most of the time, said agent will tell you that you need editing and here's the bill. That's not how it's done in the legitimate agenting world.
By all means, use Agent Query to help in your search. Just don't forget to vet your selections. Let the writer beware, and avoid the sharks.
Friday, May 12, 2006
When Does It End?
Last Sunday, Michael McIlveen went out for a pizza with some friends. They were on their way home, close to midnight, when a gang of ten attacked them. The gang came armed with baseball bats, clearly out for a night of fighting.
Michael and his friends ran, but after about half a mile, the gang had Michael cornered in a dark alley. The fifteen-year-old boy was beaten, and when he was down, members of the gang stomped on his head. He was able to make it home, but his family rushed him to the hospital, where he died the following morning.
There's been an outcry, as expected, from religious leaders and politicians. Aghast, they are, and the hand wringing and wailing and moaning are near deafening. This is wrong, they all say, to beat a lad to death because he is Catholic. We must learn to live together, can't we all just get along?
Protestants and Catholics live in separate communities, little ghettos, and never have anything to do with each other. They attend separate schools, and attempts to build integrated facilities has been met with claims of tight budgets and there's enough desks out there already.
It's amazing, how the North of Ireland is exactly like America's south during the Jim Crow era. Two groups of people eye one another through a lens of stereotypes and false notions. Those in power live in fear that the downtrodden will take over and then the world will end, surely. The downtrodden live in fear of those in power, fearing for their very lives if they say the wrong thing or wear the wrong clothes.
There are plenty of folks who are up in arms over the use of Shannon Airport by the American military, in hysterics about all the poor innocent Iraqis who are killed by the brutal soldiers. But the occasional Catholic beaten to death or pounded to a pulp in the homeland? They've bigger fish to fry, apparently. There's no glamour in protesting the murder of innocent children in Ballymena.
Michael and his friends ran, but after about half a mile, the gang had Michael cornered in a dark alley. The fifteen-year-old boy was beaten, and when he was down, members of the gang stomped on his head. He was able to make it home, but his family rushed him to the hospital, where he died the following morning.
There's been an outcry, as expected, from religious leaders and politicians. Aghast, they are, and the hand wringing and wailing and moaning are near deafening. This is wrong, they all say, to beat a lad to death because he is Catholic. We must learn to live together, can't we all just get along?
Protestants and Catholics live in separate communities, little ghettos, and never have anything to do with each other. They attend separate schools, and attempts to build integrated facilities has been met with claims of tight budgets and there's enough desks out there already.
It's amazing, how the North of Ireland is exactly like America's south during the Jim Crow era. Two groups of people eye one another through a lens of stereotypes and false notions. Those in power live in fear that the downtrodden will take over and then the world will end, surely. The downtrodden live in fear of those in power, fearing for their very lives if they say the wrong thing or wear the wrong clothes.
There are plenty of folks who are up in arms over the use of Shannon Airport by the American military, in hysterics about all the poor innocent Iraqis who are killed by the brutal soldiers. But the occasional Catholic beaten to death or pounded to a pulp in the homeland? They've bigger fish to fry, apparently. There's no glamour in protesting the murder of innocent children in Ballymena.
NSA Calling
Good morning, Mr. O hAnnrachainn. You don't seem to be making any calls from your land line.
Ah, no, sorry. I've got the mobile, you see, and with the competition, the deals are too good to pass up. No roaming charges, no extra fee for the long distance. I could call anywhere in the world with the mobile.
Like Tehran? The West Bank? Moscow?
Why would I call there? I don't know anyone east of Dublin. There's the brothers in California, if the call were to be routed to Europe and then across China I suppose my signal might be going east, but I don't know anything about the technicalities. Oh, yes, and e-mail. I do e-mail them often. Share a laugh, forward a joke, the usual banter.
But no calls on the land line?
Does anyone use that telephone attached to the wall by a wire? If I had to call the police or the firemen, of course. Although some people are using voice over internet protocol, and that really annoys the public servants. They say they can't use their caller I.D. to get a fix on the address, and if you're in the middle of a heart attack and can't speak, well, isn't everyone in a muddle then?
If you could see your way to using your land line? We're trying to compile statistics and it's terribly difficult if people aren't making calls.
But you've got all those poor people who can't afford a mobile - they'll be using the land line. And old people. The grannies like to call people; they're much more sociable, and they don't seem to like modern technology. Ah, yes, I see. The data gets skewed when the sample isn't random. It's all pretty meaningless then, unless the terrorists you're looking for are poor or old or just technologically challenged.
Thank you for your time.
You're very welcome indeed. Before you go, though, if I could ask a question. I thought I read somewhere that the CIA was rumbled over in Milan when they lifted that Muslim fella. Something about the SIM cards in their cell phones giving away their location. Have you lads thought about looking into that to help trace your terrorists?
Have a good day, sir.
Ah, no, sorry. I've got the mobile, you see, and with the competition, the deals are too good to pass up. No roaming charges, no extra fee for the long distance. I could call anywhere in the world with the mobile.
Like Tehran? The West Bank? Moscow?
Why would I call there? I don't know anyone east of Dublin. There's the brothers in California, if the call were to be routed to Europe and then across China I suppose my signal might be going east, but I don't know anything about the technicalities. Oh, yes, and e-mail. I do e-mail them often. Share a laugh, forward a joke, the usual banter.
But no calls on the land line?
Does anyone use that telephone attached to the wall by a wire? If I had to call the police or the firemen, of course. Although some people are using voice over internet protocol, and that really annoys the public servants. They say they can't use their caller I.D. to get a fix on the address, and if you're in the middle of a heart attack and can't speak, well, isn't everyone in a muddle then?
If you could see your way to using your land line? We're trying to compile statistics and it's terribly difficult if people aren't making calls.
But you've got all those poor people who can't afford a mobile - they'll be using the land line. And old people. The grannies like to call people; they're much more sociable, and they don't seem to like modern technology. Ah, yes, I see. The data gets skewed when the sample isn't random. It's all pretty meaningless then, unless the terrorists you're looking for are poor or old or just technologically challenged.
Thank you for your time.
You're very welcome indeed. Before you go, though, if I could ask a question. I thought I read somewhere that the CIA was rumbled over in Milan when they lifted that Muslim fella. Something about the SIM cards in their cell phones giving away their location. Have you lads thought about looking into that to help trace your terrorists?
Have a good day, sir.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
The Adventure Log-Book
Number of Queries sent over a three year period: 325
Number of requests for material: 34
The query letter was revised at least fifteen times, and the manuscript was tweaked and primped about eight times, with major revisions. Some of the changes came about because of agent evaluation, while some came about from my own analysis of story structure in current novels.
There are still six partials out there. Can this novel be published? When the agents wrote to me with their comments and claimed that they were torn, or that this was a close one, were they sincere, or just blowing smoke?
If anything, I have a much better understanding of how modern novels are constructed than I did when I first began to write. My current WIP is in better shape on the first draft than any previous manuscript was after two re-writes. Even though I still don't care for most of the publishers' offerings, I force myself to read the latest, the best sellers and the small press works, all in a bid to understand and perfect my skills.
Jesus, 325 queries. Talk about persistence. Or madness.
Number of requests for material: 34
The query letter was revised at least fifteen times, and the manuscript was tweaked and primped about eight times, with major revisions. Some of the changes came about because of agent evaluation, while some came about from my own analysis of story structure in current novels.
There are still six partials out there. Can this novel be published? When the agents wrote to me with their comments and claimed that they were torn, or that this was a close one, were they sincere, or just blowing smoke?
If anything, I have a much better understanding of how modern novels are constructed than I did when I first began to write. My current WIP is in better shape on the first draft than any previous manuscript was after two re-writes. Even though I still don't care for most of the publishers' offerings, I force myself to read the latest, the best sellers and the small press works, all in a bid to understand and perfect my skills.
Jesus, 325 queries. Talk about persistence. Or madness.
Inspector Clouseau
Funny movies, weren't they, with Peter Sellers playing a bumbling French police inspector. Apparently, he based his characterization on real people, judging by the mess in French internal affairs these days.
Chief Inspector Chirac set out to discredit his adversary, the sly political operative Sarkozy. After all, Chirac's hand picked successor, the debonair Dominique, was fading in the polls and someone had to put a stop to the wily Sarko. Bring in le red herring, monsieur!
Seeking to discredit Sarkozy and tie him in with a kickback scheme that came to light a few years back, someone in authority turned some documents over to the judge who was investigating. There was the name of Sarkozy, splattered all over the list of those involved in accepting bribes and other nefarious deeds. Mon Dieu, such a scandal. Turn that man out of office, would be the cry from le monde.
How unfortunate that the documents were false. Dapper Dominique is accused of using the French intelligence service to throw mud on his arch rival, Nicolas Sarkozy. Why, after the documents were released, Dominique was convinced that he had gotten the better of Sarko, but this is the French intelligence service we are speaking of, after all.
Now the socialist ministers are calling for Chirac's resignation. Quel domage. Why does that damned Clouseau always come out ahead?
Chief Inspector Chirac set out to discredit his adversary, the sly political operative Sarkozy. After all, Chirac's hand picked successor, the debonair Dominique, was fading in the polls and someone had to put a stop to the wily Sarko. Bring in le red herring, monsieur!
Seeking to discredit Sarkozy and tie him in with a kickback scheme that came to light a few years back, someone in authority turned some documents over to the judge who was investigating. There was the name of Sarkozy, splattered all over the list of those involved in accepting bribes and other nefarious deeds. Mon Dieu, such a scandal. Turn that man out of office, would be the cry from le monde.
How unfortunate that the documents were false. Dapper Dominique is accused of using the French intelligence service to throw mud on his arch rival, Nicolas Sarkozy. Why, after the documents were released, Dominique was convinced that he had gotten the better of Sarko, but this is the French intelligence service we are speaking of, after all.
Now the socialist ministers are calling for Chirac's resignation. Quel domage. Why does that damned Clouseau always come out ahead?
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Not Right How?
You've done the research. You find a literary agent that reps your genre. You look at their website, to find something similar to what you're offering. Your weighty tome could be considered literary fiction, but someone else might call it historical fiction, or even women's fiction on a good day, so you fire off the query and call your manuscript that which best fits.
And the agent replies: "Sorry, not right for our agency. Good luck elsewhere."
All the research can't tell you what exactly the literary agent is looking for, because that changes based on the market demands, and only they know what the market will be down the road because they've sold the future publications. The best that you can do is make a good guess and then give it a try.
Just because the agent has repped literary fiction in the past does not mean they want it today. If the market is contracting, they won't be after more to stuff down a narrow pipeline, but if you happen to have a cozy mystery, why, that's exactly what they could use.
Right now, I've got fifteen e-mail queries waiting for an answer - although I believe that most of them have been read and passed, with a no reply to indicate lack of interest. After a few weeks, I'll cull the dead weight and after a few more weeks I'll send a snail mail query. Wear them down and sooner or later they'll ask for a partial just to stop the pain. Am I in violation of international law forbidding torture?
And the agent replies: "Sorry, not right for our agency. Good luck elsewhere."
All the research can't tell you what exactly the literary agent is looking for, because that changes based on the market demands, and only they know what the market will be down the road because they've sold the future publications. The best that you can do is make a good guess and then give it a try.
Just because the agent has repped literary fiction in the past does not mean they want it today. If the market is contracting, they won't be after more to stuff down a narrow pipeline, but if you happen to have a cozy mystery, why, that's exactly what they could use.
Right now, I've got fifteen e-mail queries waiting for an answer - although I believe that most of them have been read and passed, with a no reply to indicate lack of interest. After a few weeks, I'll cull the dead weight and after a few more weeks I'll send a snail mail query. Wear them down and sooner or later they'll ask for a partial just to stop the pain. Am I in violation of international law forbidding torture?
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
The Magic Touch
I've got it, emanating from the tips of all ten fingers. Yes, it's my magic touch, my ability to drive literary agents out of the business with my queries.
A few days ago, I fired off a letter to Hilary Rubin at Trident Media, and then sat back to wait for a response. Or no response, which is a response, in a manner unique to literary agency.
Much to my surprise, I got a reply, but it was from the charming young lady who has apparently replaced Ms. Rubin. Yes, you've guessed it. I queried Hilary Rubin and she ran off like a frightened hare chased by a pack of hounds.
At this rate, I could conceivably eliminate half the agents in New York City. There must be something in the way I turn a phrase or parse a verb that causes such drastic changes in employment. Maybe I'm only lucky, in being the one overly heavy straw that breaks the agent's back, the last in a long string of horrifying missives that drives them over the edge and out of the door.
Where have they all gone? Is there perhaps some halfway house on Fifth Avenue, offering a hot meal, a cot and retraining for future gainful employment? For the wannabe author, they have the option of giving up the search for an agent and publication because they can simply keep their day job. Therein lies the tragedy of the literary agent - nowhere to turn when they lose their way on the rocky road to publishing.
A few days ago, I fired off a letter to Hilary Rubin at Trident Media, and then sat back to wait for a response. Or no response, which is a response, in a manner unique to literary agency.
Much to my surprise, I got a reply, but it was from the charming young lady who has apparently replaced Ms. Rubin. Yes, you've guessed it. I queried Hilary Rubin and she ran off like a frightened hare chased by a pack of hounds.
At this rate, I could conceivably eliminate half the agents in New York City. There must be something in the way I turn a phrase or parse a verb that causes such drastic changes in employment. Maybe I'm only lucky, in being the one overly heavy straw that breaks the agent's back, the last in a long string of horrifying missives that drives them over the edge and out of the door.
Where have they all gone? Is there perhaps some halfway house on Fifth Avenue, offering a hot meal, a cot and retraining for future gainful employment? For the wannabe author, they have the option of giving up the search for an agent and publication because they can simply keep their day job. Therein lies the tragedy of the literary agent - nowhere to turn when they lose their way on the rocky road to publishing.
Travel Plans
Thinking of visiting the Emerald Isle this summer? Soft days, lush golf greens, and the craic going ninety - sure and it's a tourist's dream. Just don't be flying in an airplane on a Sunday.
In an effort to reach out to the homebound, the priests have gone on the air, doing the Mass for shut-ins, but wouldn't you know, there's a wee problem with their brilliant notion. According to today's Irish Times:
The priests know all there is to know about God, about penance and redemption, but they're not technical wizards by any means. Unfortunately, they also didn't know that broadcasting the Mass required a license, so these well-meaning men of God are actually operating pirate radio stations, in clear violation of the law.
So now they've been told to stop the show, which has upset those folks who depended on the radio to participate in Sunday services. Martin Long, Director of the Catholic Communications Office, was put out by the government's ban, as if it were all the fault of ComReg that the Church's radio transmissions were interfering with air traffic control, to say nothing of disrupting communications for the gardai and fire brigades. Even though ComReg has not come, hat in hand, to talk things over, the government body has promised to find some radio waves out there for the parishes to use. Until then, I'd stick to flying Monday through Friday, afternoons only to avoid morning Mass, and maybe check the holy days of obligation schedule just to be safe.
Looking forward to a good pub crawl? You might have to crawl a bit further than planned. It seems that over six hundred pubs have closed their doors in the past few years, driven out of business by low profit margins and sky high fees. For some locals, the cost of water and refuse hauling put them over the edge as overhead began to eat into the bottom line and then consume it completely. The Vintners Federation estimates that one a day is going out of business, so the longer you delay your departure, the harder it will be to find a pint and a lovely plate of boiled bacon and cabbage.
Get those bags packed; don't forget a raincoat, and enjoy your trip!
In an effort to reach out to the homebound, the priests have gone on the air, doing the Mass for shut-ins, but wouldn't you know, there's a wee problem with their brilliant notion. According to today's Irish Times:
The Irish Aviation Authority complained to ComReg that it was experiencing interference with the radio frequency used for air traffic control and suggested that Catholic church broadcasts could be causing the problem.
The priests know all there is to know about God, about penance and redemption, but they're not technical wizards by any means. Unfortunately, they also didn't know that broadcasting the Mass required a license, so these well-meaning men of God are actually operating pirate radio stations, in clear violation of the law.
So now they've been told to stop the show, which has upset those folks who depended on the radio to participate in Sunday services. Martin Long, Director of the Catholic Communications Office, was put out by the government's ban, as if it were all the fault of ComReg that the Church's radio transmissions were interfering with air traffic control, to say nothing of disrupting communications for the gardai and fire brigades. Even though ComReg has not come, hat in hand, to talk things over, the government body has promised to find some radio waves out there for the parishes to use. Until then, I'd stick to flying Monday through Friday, afternoons only to avoid morning Mass, and maybe check the holy days of obligation schedule just to be safe.
Looking forward to a good pub crawl? You might have to crawl a bit further than planned. It seems that over six hundred pubs have closed their doors in the past few years, driven out of business by low profit margins and sky high fees. For some locals, the cost of water and refuse hauling put them over the edge as overhead began to eat into the bottom line and then consume it completely. The Vintners Federation estimates that one a day is going out of business, so the longer you delay your departure, the harder it will be to find a pint and a lovely plate of boiled bacon and cabbage.
Get those bags packed; don't forget a raincoat, and enjoy your trip!
Monday, May 08, 2006
Will David Blaine Drown?
One can only hope. Does anyone honestly care about his silly trick? Having a rough time of it, he says, trying to generate some publicity.
Look at me, everyone! I'm in a fishbowl for your amusement, so look at me.
If he said he was grand, would anyone keep watching? If he didn't act as though this stunt might be his last, oh, the danger, holding his breath, chains and locks and straitjackets and he might not escape, oh, the humanity...hype by any other name would smell as nasty.
Too much information, there, David. I really don't want to envision your peeling skin, or the possibility that you are becoming Swamp Thing. By the by, you might want to have an aquarium maintenance crew stop by periodically to change your water and adjust the salinity. We are, after all, a clump of cells bathed in salt water.
If only he would go away, and leave us all in peace. The World Cup starts up again soon - now there's an event to get excited about. I suppose his great escape will be featured on some television channel or other. As long as ESPN avoids coverage, I'll have a place to go where I don't have to hear about the nonsense.
Look at me, everyone! I'm in a fishbowl for your amusement, so look at me.
If he said he was grand, would anyone keep watching? If he didn't act as though this stunt might be his last, oh, the danger, holding his breath, chains and locks and straitjackets and he might not escape, oh, the humanity...hype by any other name would smell as nasty.
Too much information, there, David. I really don't want to envision your peeling skin, or the possibility that you are becoming Swamp Thing. By the by, you might want to have an aquarium maintenance crew stop by periodically to change your water and adjust the salinity. We are, after all, a clump of cells bathed in salt water.
If only he would go away, and leave us all in peace. The World Cup starts up again soon - now there's an event to get excited about. I suppose his great escape will be featured on some television channel or other. As long as ESPN avoids coverage, I'll have a place to go where I don't have to hear about the nonsense.
Reruns At the Movies
The talk is all over the internet today - Tom Cruise's new movie is a flop. Analysts have multiplied and divided, added and subtracted and found the cosine, all to say that fewer people went to see the third installment of his series than saw the second.
At least the television shows, like 24, come up every seven days and the audience can follow the changing scenes with little time in between episodes to forget what happened earlier, or why they started watching in the first place. Poor Mr. Cruise has had to wait years for this third sequel, and the audience may have lost interest when it took too long to get the movie out.
Aren't they all just breathless with anticipation for the next blockbuster of the upcoming summer season? So much hype for the Poseidon Adventure! Ooops, sorry, I think they adjusted the name so that the idiots in the audience would never guess that it's a rerun of an old film. What are we all so keen to see in this second version? Why, what fat and dumpy Hollywood actress is going to play the Shelly Winters role,of course.
Play it again, Sam, the Hollywood moguls plead. Make it again, when it was successful the first time around, for surely it will succeed again. Unfortunately for those who sit on high, they never get out of L.A. to find out what the unwashed masses are pining for. How can it not be clear to them that reruns are not going to bring us to theatres, to pay out our hard earned, needed to buy gasoline money? After they got over being horrified that The Chronicles of Narnia was a money-maker, you'd think that they'd cop on, but, hey, they're in Hollywood, land of artificial contrivances and facades. They'll tell you what to go see, and that's the end of it. And when you don't go see it, why, they'll tell you that you're the Philistine, without taste or sense, but at least you've still got that ten bucks in your pocket.
At least the television shows, like 24, come up every seven days and the audience can follow the changing scenes with little time in between episodes to forget what happened earlier, or why they started watching in the first place. Poor Mr. Cruise has had to wait years for this third sequel, and the audience may have lost interest when it took too long to get the movie out.
Aren't they all just breathless with anticipation for the next blockbuster of the upcoming summer season? So much hype for the Poseidon Adventure! Ooops, sorry, I think they adjusted the name so that the idiots in the audience would never guess that it's a rerun of an old film. What are we all so keen to see in this second version? Why, what fat and dumpy Hollywood actress is going to play the Shelly Winters role,of course.
Play it again, Sam, the Hollywood moguls plead. Make it again, when it was successful the first time around, for surely it will succeed again. Unfortunately for those who sit on high, they never get out of L.A. to find out what the unwashed masses are pining for. How can it not be clear to them that reruns are not going to bring us to theatres, to pay out our hard earned, needed to buy gasoline money? After they got over being horrified that The Chronicles of Narnia was a money-maker, you'd think that they'd cop on, but, hey, they're in Hollywood, land of artificial contrivances and facades. They'll tell you what to go see, and that's the end of it. And when you don't go see it, why, they'll tell you that you're the Philistine, without taste or sense, but at least you've still got that ten bucks in your pocket.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Shot Down Again
Based on some recommendations made by a literary agent, I had fooled around with the manuscript and rearranged some things, cut a bit here and there, and sent out new queries. In my heart, I felt that the manuscript was weaker, rather than stronger, because I artificially moved a section from chapter four to chapter three and I did not love the way the story flowed.
Sure enough, Barbara Rosenberg and Elisabeth Weed both had the same thing to say when they rejected the partial - good premise, loved the writing, but....don't think they could sell it.
Too much advice from too many different quarters is not always helpful. I went back to the manuscript and went back to the original opening, a scene that takes place in the middle of the story. I cut a different scene out and moved it back to the middle, getting into the heart of the conflict a little sooner.
Will it help? Who knows? I'll take a break and keep writing the new WIP, then look at the earlier manuscript again to see if it comes out the way I want it to read. In the meantime, there's a few partials outstanding from Manuscript #2, and I've got a third novel fermenting away, ready to be distilled while the WIP goes into the barrel to age.
Then again, maybe Ms. Rosenberg turned the manuscript down because I didn't have a marketing plan that met her expectations. Is that it? She couldn't sell it because I couldn't flog it adequately? Better luck next time.
Sure enough, Barbara Rosenberg and Elisabeth Weed both had the same thing to say when they rejected the partial - good premise, loved the writing, but....don't think they could sell it.
Too much advice from too many different quarters is not always helpful. I went back to the manuscript and went back to the original opening, a scene that takes place in the middle of the story. I cut a different scene out and moved it back to the middle, getting into the heart of the conflict a little sooner.
Will it help? Who knows? I'll take a break and keep writing the new WIP, then look at the earlier manuscript again to see if it comes out the way I want it to read. In the meantime, there's a few partials outstanding from Manuscript #2, and I've got a third novel fermenting away, ready to be distilled while the WIP goes into the barrel to age.
Then again, maybe Ms. Rosenberg turned the manuscript down because I didn't have a marketing plan that met her expectations. Is that it? She couldn't sell it because I couldn't flog it adequately? Better luck next time.
Filling A Gap
With the infamous 'Opal Mehta' book getting pulled by Crown, they had an enormous gap in their offerings, and thank God that someone eminently photogenic stepped up to fill the space.
Valerie Plame of outing fame has landed a very, very big deal with Crown Books, reportedly in the low seven figures. That's millions of dollars, for those of you who are math and/or financially challenged. And what might she have to say?
Do you honestly think Crown is caring right now? In the corporate boardroom, they're praying to the windfall gods that the CIA makes a bit of a to-do over the book's contents. Seeing as to how the CIA has to approve anything that former agents submit to publishers, the good folks at the big publishing house are very much in need of some pre-release publicity, and a ruckus over censorship or banning key passages would be a boon beyond measure.
And of course Ms. Plame is going to write the memoir herself - now, is that anything like Kaavya writing her own novel? (That was uncalled for, lad. Back off, now.)
Will she earn her big advance? Of course not. That's where the rest of Crown's stable comes into play. The authors who sell well, but who lack the cachet of a former CIA agent, are footing part of the bill. Christ Almighty, I'd take up a collection for the woman if Crown would publish my manuscript. That's just how the publishing world works - the big names get the big advance, they don't earn out, and the mid-list grunts pick up the slack. Did anyone ever say that life was fair, now?
Will I buy the book? Who's got that kind of money to waste on nonsense? I won't even bother reading it. There's too many good writers out there who need support, and the celebrities can make their own way. A woman making it in a man's world, yeah, yeah, yeah, heard it before. Valerie Plame's living in a posh house near Washington D.C. and my house is tumbling down around my ears. Ah, sure and my heart bleeds for you.
Valerie Plame of outing fame has landed a very, very big deal with Crown Books, reportedly in the low seven figures. That's millions of dollars, for those of you who are math and/or financially challenged. And what might she have to say?
Do you honestly think Crown is caring right now? In the corporate boardroom, they're praying to the windfall gods that the CIA makes a bit of a to-do over the book's contents. Seeing as to how the CIA has to approve anything that former agents submit to publishers, the good folks at the big publishing house are very much in need of some pre-release publicity, and a ruckus over censorship or banning key passages would be a boon beyond measure.
And of course Ms. Plame is going to write the memoir herself - now, is that anything like Kaavya writing her own novel? (That was uncalled for, lad. Back off, now.)
Will she earn her big advance? Of course not. That's where the rest of Crown's stable comes into play. The authors who sell well, but who lack the cachet of a former CIA agent, are footing part of the bill. Christ Almighty, I'd take up a collection for the woman if Crown would publish my manuscript. That's just how the publishing world works - the big names get the big advance, they don't earn out, and the mid-list grunts pick up the slack. Did anyone ever say that life was fair, now?
Will I buy the book? Who's got that kind of money to waste on nonsense? I won't even bother reading it. There's too many good writers out there who need support, and the celebrities can make their own way. A woman making it in a man's world, yeah, yeah, yeah, heard it before. Valerie Plame's living in a posh house near Washington D.C. and my house is tumbling down around my ears. Ah, sure and my heart bleeds for you.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Celebrity Gossip
The name of Mr. T, B-list celebrity, is a name that lives in infamy in Chicago's posh northern suburbs. With the piles of cash he garnered as a television star, your man did what any up and coming Chicagoan would do - he moved to Lake Forest. Once upon a time, it was the town of choice for the meat-packing Armours and Swifts, the mercantile barons of Carson, Pirie, Scott & Co., and everyone knows that F. Scott Fitzgerald's Daisy was patterned on a Lake Forest society debutante.
Once he moved in, though, Mr. T broke some cardinal rules. Yes, he did indeed cut down every tree on his five acres, leaving a gaping hole in the canopy that once spread solidly up the street. The neighbors hated him. New laws were passed, barring tree removal at will.
Sadly, Mr. T was not as financially astute as one would need to be to maintain the Lake Forest lifestyle. As his bank account thinned, the house was sold, and everyone cheered. Ah, but surely the place was cursed now, because the couple that bought it, after promising to restore the elegant mansion to its former Arts and Crafts glory, promptly divorced.
A new developer came forward, tarting up the place and then offering it for sale. The price is no doubt astronomical, but this is Lake Forest after all, dear. Who will buy such a pricey property? The house is well off the road, perched in the middle of its vast open prairie, in a place that values privacy.
Who, you ask, who would be rumored to be seeking such a grand kip? What famous actor hails from Lake Forest? Need another clue? He's linked with a certain actress whose husband dumped her for a certain whacky actress who is fond of Africa.
Yes, you've got it. The latest celebrity rumor has Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn buying up Mr. T's former home, an enormous mansion in toney Lake Forest. Close to town and shops, only steps from the Catholic Church, excellent school system. Location, location, location!
Once he moved in, though, Mr. T broke some cardinal rules. Yes, he did indeed cut down every tree on his five acres, leaving a gaping hole in the canopy that once spread solidly up the street. The neighbors hated him. New laws were passed, barring tree removal at will.
Sadly, Mr. T was not as financially astute as one would need to be to maintain the Lake Forest lifestyle. As his bank account thinned, the house was sold, and everyone cheered. Ah, but surely the place was cursed now, because the couple that bought it, after promising to restore the elegant mansion to its former Arts and Crafts glory, promptly divorced.
A new developer came forward, tarting up the place and then offering it for sale. The price is no doubt astronomical, but this is Lake Forest after all, dear. Who will buy such a pricey property? The house is well off the road, perched in the middle of its vast open prairie, in a place that values privacy.
Who, you ask, who would be rumored to be seeking such a grand kip? What famous actor hails from Lake Forest? Need another clue? He's linked with a certain actress whose husband dumped her for a certain whacky actress who is fond of Africa.
Yes, you've got it. The latest celebrity rumor has Jennifer Anniston and Vince Vaughn buying up Mr. T's former home, an enormous mansion in toney Lake Forest. Close to town and shops, only steps from the Catholic Church, excellent school system. Location, location, location!
Thursday, May 04, 2006
What Are the Odds?
From literary agent Andrew Zack comes this quote:
During the month of November, we received 107 query letters and declined fifty-nine. We received twenty-five requested sample chapters and declined twenty-six. We requested six more. We also received one requested proposal and asked to see three more. We received one manuscript that we’d requested. During the month of November, we offered representation to one author.
Mighty slim, isn't it? 2% of the letters lead to a request for more.So let's say an agent gets 100 per week, that's two requests for more. In raw numbers, there's Mr. Zack's data of 107 queries leading to only six requests for more. Therefore, in any given week, the odds are astronomically tilted towards rejection, and it's not much better after leaping the initial hurdle to catch an agent's eye. See the last line in the above quote? Yep, that number is one. One manuscript good enough to offer representation.
So I should be proud of myself, getting requests for partials from time to time. The fact that an agent has asked for a full straight off should be a cause for some back-patting. Twice I sent more material after an initial review, a good thing again.
Guess what? Not one agent has ever offered representation. All those other positive notes are only stepping stones on the rocky road to publishing, and I've fallen in the drink on every attempt. Not enough steps to get over, you see, so who gives a rat's arse about the partial requests? I'll be happy when an agent offers to take me on and sells my manuscript. Until then, the odds are so stacked against me that I'm proving myself a right idiot to keep at it. God suffers fools gladly, though. I've got that going for me.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
What A Difference...
...a request for a partial makes. Took a chance and sent an e-query to an agent who's recently gone off on her own. As per the requirements, the query letter was one page and the synopsis was brief.
Now, if I'd sent a snail mail query, I would have included the first fifteen to twenty pages, in line with the submission policy. That tells me that the agent wants to judge the author's ability to write, which is good in case my query letter was particularly lame. To tack fifteen pages into the body of the e-mail, on the other hand, isn't going to work out very well, and I'm not about to re-type that much material.
What would Miss Snark say? Paste in the first two or three pages, which is not a lot of extra reading and which demonstrates some basic command of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and general cohesion. Fair play to you, Miss Snark.
The agent asked for a sample of fifty pages, not the fifteen or twenty of the submission requirements. Sure, I know it might not indicate anything, but I'd like to believe that the first three pages were good enough to lead her to ask for a little more. She knows how the story plays out, having read the synopsis, and if the sample pages truly sucked rotten eggs, she would have taken a pass.
Then again, she's just getting off the ground with her own agency and the poor thing's maybe desperate for clients. Once she reads the fifty page sample, she's liable to experience a cerebral vascular accident, or her eyes may pop out of her head and flee in terror.
Until I hear from her again, I can live contentedly in my lovely little dream world, a reverie of royalty checks and the other three manuscripts being snatched up by a drooling publisher who hosts book release cocktail parties in a posh Manhattan brownstone. I'll have some of what you're having.
Now, if I'd sent a snail mail query, I would have included the first fifteen to twenty pages, in line with the submission policy. That tells me that the agent wants to judge the author's ability to write, which is good in case my query letter was particularly lame. To tack fifteen pages into the body of the e-mail, on the other hand, isn't going to work out very well, and I'm not about to re-type that much material.
What would Miss Snark say? Paste in the first two or three pages, which is not a lot of extra reading and which demonstrates some basic command of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and general cohesion. Fair play to you, Miss Snark.
The agent asked for a sample of fifty pages, not the fifteen or twenty of the submission requirements. Sure, I know it might not indicate anything, but I'd like to believe that the first three pages were good enough to lead her to ask for a little more. She knows how the story plays out, having read the synopsis, and if the sample pages truly sucked rotten eggs, she would have taken a pass.
Then again, she's just getting off the ground with her own agency and the poor thing's maybe desperate for clients. Once she reads the fifty page sample, she's liable to experience a cerebral vascular accident, or her eyes may pop out of her head and flee in terror.
Until I hear from her again, I can live contentedly in my lovely little dream world, a reverie of royalty checks and the other three manuscripts being snatched up by a drooling publisher who hosts book release cocktail parties in a posh Manhattan brownstone. I'll have some of what you're having.
Young Man's Fancy
Ah, springtime, and a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of ... marching? Yes indeed, another marching season is approaching and nothing has changed.
Leaders of the loyal orders will not talk to any nationalist group about being a bit more courteous in their choice of marching venues. No, not when it's their glorious 'culture' being disrespected. They want to send their parades and drums down the streets of Catholic neighborhoods, what with their 'culture' consisting entirely of rubbing the noses of the downtrodden into their defeat four hundred years ago. We'll show you who's boss around here, their beating drums declare. Some culture to be proud of.
Trying to avert the violence that has marked marching seasons for decades, the powers that be set up a Parades Commission to regulate the routes. Well, the loyal orders won't deal with them either, because all the Parades Commission wants to do is keep them from marching down the street of Catholic neighborhoods, and there's that 'culture' thing again.
And it's all the fault of the republicans, too, by the by. As reported in today's Irish Times:
What does the Independent Monitoring Commission know about anything? They say that all the violence and crime is being done by loyalist gangs, but that would mean that the IRA really has renounced the armed struggle and the problem lies with the loyalists. That's disrespecting their 'culture', surely?
Funny, how everyone else in the world sees sectarianism and outright bigotry and they see their 'culture.' While they're out there all summer long, marching from one end of the Six Counties to the other, they don't seem to notice that their little corner of the empire is falling so far behind both Ireland and England that they're little more than a welfare state, dependent on London's handouts. Not much of a victory in the end.
Leaders of the loyal orders will not talk to any nationalist group about being a bit more courteous in their choice of marching venues. No, not when it's their glorious 'culture' being disrespected. They want to send their parades and drums down the streets of Catholic neighborhoods, what with their 'culture' consisting entirely of rubbing the noses of the downtrodden into their defeat four hundred years ago. We'll show you who's boss around here, their beating drums declare. Some culture to be proud of.
Trying to avert the violence that has marked marching seasons for decades, the powers that be set up a Parades Commission to regulate the routes. Well, the loyal orders won't deal with them either, because all the Parades Commission wants to do is keep them from marching down the street of Catholic neighborhoods, and there's that 'culture' thing again.
And it's all the fault of the republicans, too, by the by. As reported in today's Irish Times:
William Long, head of the Royal Black Institution, said he could not "in conscience" talk to republicans who endorsed violence. David McConaghie of the Independent Orange Order went further. "The Orange Order, during the course of the Troubles, had 310 members murdered. In July last year, when the IRA stood down, it said that the campaign was entirely legitimate."
This failure to apologize for "this slaughter" deserved to be utterly condemned, he added.
What does the Independent Monitoring Commission know about anything? They say that all the violence and crime is being done by loyalist gangs, but that would mean that the IRA really has renounced the armed struggle and the problem lies with the loyalists. That's disrespecting their 'culture', surely?
Funny, how everyone else in the world sees sectarianism and outright bigotry and they see their 'culture.' While they're out there all summer long, marching from one end of the Six Counties to the other, they don't seem to notice that their little corner of the empire is falling so far behind both Ireland and England that they're little more than a welfare state, dependent on London's handouts. Not much of a victory in the end.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Not Right For My List
At last, I have found insight into the literary agent's thought process. I picked up Joanna Scott's Liberation at the public library, and suddenly all is made clear.
How did I select this one? As usual, I opened to the book flap, where the story's premise is laid out. First thing I notice is that the novel is historical fiction, just my cuppa tea, so I read further. A child in Italy at the time of liberation, and later an adult in New Jersey - sounds like it has the potential to be an intriguing book. The adult's narrative might even use flashbacks to present the story, and I'm fine with that device. I like literary fiction, far more than commercial drek, and I'm still on a literary buzz from The Widow of the South. Home we go.
Opening with the little girl hidden in a cupboard while the British and French forces slog it out with the Nazis, the author does many pages of navel gazing, but I'm willing to push ahead to the good stuff.
Fast forward to the present, and the child is now an old woman having a heart attack. Read the words, man, get on with it, you can do it, get past the slow parts and....slower....slower still....grinding to a halt....can't take it anymore.
After 27 pages of contemplation that are boring as hell, I have given up. This is labeled literary fiction, but it is just a bunch of words strung together to make pretty rhythmic sounds that go nowhere. I don't care about the characters. If the old woman were to die right now, it would be a blessing. Put an end to the suffering.
The flap copy was the query. It caught my eye. The manuscript, however, was not right for my list.
How did I select this one? As usual, I opened to the book flap, where the story's premise is laid out. First thing I notice is that the novel is historical fiction, just my cuppa tea, so I read further. A child in Italy at the time of liberation, and later an adult in New Jersey - sounds like it has the potential to be an intriguing book. The adult's narrative might even use flashbacks to present the story, and I'm fine with that device. I like literary fiction, far more than commercial drek, and I'm still on a literary buzz from The Widow of the South. Home we go.
Opening with the little girl hidden in a cupboard while the British and French forces slog it out with the Nazis, the author does many pages of navel gazing, but I'm willing to push ahead to the good stuff.
Fast forward to the present, and the child is now an old woman having a heart attack. Read the words, man, get on with it, you can do it, get past the slow parts and....slower....slower still....grinding to a halt....can't take it anymore.
After 27 pages of contemplation that are boring as hell, I have given up. This is labeled literary fiction, but it is just a bunch of words strung together to make pretty rhythmic sounds that go nowhere. I don't care about the characters. If the old woman were to die right now, it would be a blessing. Put an end to the suffering.
The flap copy was the query. It caught my eye. The manuscript, however, was not right for my list.
The Warmth of Wool
Think you paid a small fortune to heat your house last winter? Natural gas is the fuel of choice in these parts, and it has gotten expensive. Looks like things are about to get worse.
Bolivia's president, Evo Morales, has just declared that the natural gas fields in his country are the property of the people of Bolivia. The foreign companies that built the infrastructure and pump the gas are being told to get out.
What a brilliant strategy. Why waste time with increased taxes, or even mess about with creating some new bureaucracy to channel funds from the government's coffers to the people in need. If Evo did that, he would actually have to pay out to the downtrodden, and where's the benefit in that?
Much better to take over an industry, thereby creating more job openings for Bolivians. Who happen to be friends. Of Evo Morales.
All are equal, aren't they, there, Evo? Except that some are more equal than others. See, that's the pesky problem with Marxism and socialism. Humans aren't quite the generous organisms that the ivory tower residents would have you believe. Greed gets in the way, that drive to survive and stomp on the competition. The poor of Bolivia will cheer you on, but in the end, they won't be any better off. You're a friend of Fidel Castro, but can you ignore all those Cubans who are desperate to leave? Ever wonder why he won't let his people go?
Let the foreigners run the companies and take a little more off the top. Then use the windfall for good. If you truly believe in your dream, you can push legislation through, and provide free education, affordable housing, and all that other stuff that the poor would like to have. Your friends will reap no benefit from such programs, unless they set up school book publishing houses or construction companies. Got the guts to take the hard road?
Bolivia's president, Evo Morales, has just declared that the natural gas fields in his country are the property of the people of Bolivia. The foreign companies that built the infrastructure and pump the gas are being told to get out.
Mr Morales said foreign companies would be evicted from the country unless they give the Andean nation control over the entire chain of production.according to an account in The Irish Times.
What a brilliant strategy. Why waste time with increased taxes, or even mess about with creating some new bureaucracy to channel funds from the government's coffers to the people in need. If Evo did that, he would actually have to pay out to the downtrodden, and where's the benefit in that?
Much better to take over an industry, thereby creating more job openings for Bolivians. Who happen to be friends. Of Evo Morales.
All are equal, aren't they, there, Evo? Except that some are more equal than others. See, that's the pesky problem with Marxism and socialism. Humans aren't quite the generous organisms that the ivory tower residents would have you believe. Greed gets in the way, that drive to survive and stomp on the competition. The poor of Bolivia will cheer you on, but in the end, they won't be any better off. You're a friend of Fidel Castro, but can you ignore all those Cubans who are desperate to leave? Ever wonder why he won't let his people go?
Let the foreigners run the companies and take a little more off the top. Then use the windfall for good. If you truly believe in your dream, you can push legislation through, and provide free education, affordable housing, and all that other stuff that the poor would like to have. Your friends will reap no benefit from such programs, unless they set up school book publishing houses or construction companies. Got the guts to take the hard road?
Monday, May 01, 2006
Do They Vote?
All the news today is nothing but illegal immigrant rallies, up and down the land. Everywhere, it seems, illegals are boycotting work, marching and marching, demanding rights.
Except for the Irish, of course. Low key group, heads down, don't rock the boat, don't cause a fuss. Being a politically minded people, they beg and plead with Ted Kennedy and John McCain to do something about their status. All they ask is the opportunity to work, pay their taxes and raise their children, but if they could please go home to visit and be allowed back in, it would be grand. Many a mammy's gone to her grave without a last kiss from the child struggling to make a living in New York or Boston. Good citizens all, keeping quiet while praying for Congress to have pity, they've been at work today.
And then we have the Hispanic element, millions of Mexican migrants who are demanding to be granted special status because they are working for low wages. The Democrats are on their side, with them one hundred percent, and pay no attention to George Bush and the guest worker program he's proposed. We'll let you stay, we'll let you be citizens. Just remember who gave you these handouts.
What power do the illegal migrants have? Why, none whatsoever. There's others sneaking in or coming over the border legally, sponsored by families who were amnestied in the last time around. Protest, stay away from work, and if you get fired, there's someone else waiting to fill the position.
Do you think the politicians really care? About a group of people who can't vote? Ho, ho, ho rubbish - you have no power here.
Secure the borders, that's what the American people are demanding. And they vote. Eventually, the politicians will listen. Or they'll lose their jobs, and there's always another fella waiting in the wings to fill the position.
Except for the Irish, of course. Low key group, heads down, don't rock the boat, don't cause a fuss. Being a politically minded people, they beg and plead with Ted Kennedy and John McCain to do something about their status. All they ask is the opportunity to work, pay their taxes and raise their children, but if they could please go home to visit and be allowed back in, it would be grand. Many a mammy's gone to her grave without a last kiss from the child struggling to make a living in New York or Boston. Good citizens all, keeping quiet while praying for Congress to have pity, they've been at work today.
And then we have the Hispanic element, millions of Mexican migrants who are demanding to be granted special status because they are working for low wages. The Democrats are on their side, with them one hundred percent, and pay no attention to George Bush and the guest worker program he's proposed. We'll let you stay, we'll let you be citizens. Just remember who gave you these handouts.
What power do the illegal migrants have? Why, none whatsoever. There's others sneaking in or coming over the border legally, sponsored by families who were amnestied in the last time around. Protest, stay away from work, and if you get fired, there's someone else waiting to fill the position.
Do you think the politicians really care? About a group of people who can't vote? Ho, ho, ho rubbish - you have no power here.
Secure the borders, that's what the American people are demanding. And they vote. Eventually, the politicians will listen. Or they'll lose their jobs, and there's always another fella waiting in the wings to fill the position.
Hide and Seek
While browsing in search of an agent who accepts e-mail queries, I stumbled into the website for Dystel & Goderich, but Michael Adelman was not there any more.
What's happening at Jane Dystel's firm? Kate McKean disappeared into a black hole when she went there, and now Michael Adelman has been erased from the staff list. Are they floating out in space, along with Lynn Whittaker and Kristen Auclair from the old Graybill and English agency?
Publishers Marketplace is always running notices for job openings in publishing. Can one presume that these disappearing agents turn up at the big houses, transforming into acquisitions editors so that they can be the ones to dispense the rejections? Can you blame them? After getting turned down on manuscripts they love, don't you think they'd like the chance to be the ones discovering those hidden gems?
Then again, maybe they've had it with the whole business, where rich girls hire book packagers to put together something that nets a hefty advance while good writers get ignored because they aren't 'marketable' or celebrities.
Anyone with information on the whereabouts of all these agents who have gone missing? Have they been seen on the sidewalks of New York, willing to work for food as long as the labor does not involve publishing or books? Begging for loose change, living in flophouses - or possibly backpacking across Europe, in search of themselves and wondering what ever possessed them to get into the literary agent game.
What's happening at Jane Dystel's firm? Kate McKean disappeared into a black hole when she went there, and now Michael Adelman has been erased from the staff list. Are they floating out in space, along with Lynn Whittaker and Kristen Auclair from the old Graybill and English agency?
Publishers Marketplace is always running notices for job openings in publishing. Can one presume that these disappearing agents turn up at the big houses, transforming into acquisitions editors so that they can be the ones to dispense the rejections? Can you blame them? After getting turned down on manuscripts they love, don't you think they'd like the chance to be the ones discovering those hidden gems?
Then again, maybe they've had it with the whole business, where rich girls hire book packagers to put together something that nets a hefty advance while good writers get ignored because they aren't 'marketable' or celebrities.
Anyone with information on the whereabouts of all these agents who have gone missing? Have they been seen on the sidewalks of New York, willing to work for food as long as the labor does not involve publishing or books? Begging for loose change, living in flophouses - or possibly backpacking across Europe, in search of themselves and wondering what ever possessed them to get into the literary agent game.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Response Time
It's been a month since an agent has requested a partial manuscript - but I haven't been sending out too many queries, either. Gotten fully distracted by the WIP that's going along better than ever.
Of the partials still being reviewed, what does it mean that Martha Hoffman has had the material since mid-January? Is she liking what she sees and letting it fester, then going back to be sure she does, indeed, like it? Or is she so busy with other things that she has yet to get to the manuscript? Jessica Regel rejected the partial so quickly that the ink was barely dry before she was turning it down. On the other hand, three other agents have had stuff for over a month with no response.
What does it mean? Absolutely nothing. Some literary agents are highly organized, or they have staff to do the grunt work. They can respond fast, one way or the other. Some literary agents(based on my experience with Robert Guinsler) will do a read and then put the manuscript aside, looking it over much later rather than going by their first impression.
Every agent is different. If they are busy, they can't get back to you quickly. If they like, maybe, the partial, they'll get back to you quickly. Or slowly. Depends. Drives you mad, doesn't it?
Of the partials still being reviewed, what does it mean that Martha Hoffman has had the material since mid-January? Is she liking what she sees and letting it fester, then going back to be sure she does, indeed, like it? Or is she so busy with other things that she has yet to get to the manuscript? Jessica Regel rejected the partial so quickly that the ink was barely dry before she was turning it down. On the other hand, three other agents have had stuff for over a month with no response.
What does it mean? Absolutely nothing. Some literary agents are highly organized, or they have staff to do the grunt work. They can respond fast, one way or the other. Some literary agents(based on my experience with Robert Guinsler) will do a read and then put the manuscript aside, looking it over much later rather than going by their first impression.
Every agent is different. If they are busy, they can't get back to you quickly. If they like, maybe, the partial, they'll get back to you quickly. Or slowly. Depends. Drives you mad, doesn't it?
Friday, April 28, 2006
If You Build It...
Front page news in the Irish Times today - a product long awaited may soon be available.
Yes, form a line, gentlemen, take a number, the demand will surely be great. Haven't we all been begging the medical researchers for a male contraceptive? The good news has come from Dr. Peter Liu of the prestigious Anzac Research Institute, located at the University of Sydney. That's Sydney down under, where the quest for artificial male contraception has been pursued with vigor.
I know that you've all been concerned about your fertility and what happens to it if you tamper with nature. That's the beauty of Dr. Liu's discoveries. After three or four months, your swimmers are back to full strength, ready for a fallopian marathon. According to the report, this is the true breakthrough in male contraception research, finding a drug that won't cause permanent damage.
One shot and you're good for ... doesn't say how long it lasts. And that shot business, you'd have to see a doctor for the injection, and that would mean making an appointment. Of course, you could just turn up at A & E but the wait would be hours and you'd not be in the mood by then and why bother with contraception when you're exhausted from the waiting?
Still another problem to work out, Dr. Liu. Getting men to use your invention. I'd recommend a home-injection kit, and market it to women. After all, they're the ones most interested in avoiding pregnancy. Unless you could come up with a powder or something that could be dispensed at the local.
You're a brilliant scientist, Dr. Liu, but you can't honestly believe that men are demanding to fairly share any burden. Now, there was a man a few weeks back, who claimed his partner tricked him into a pregnancy. I'll bet he'd be your first customer. Yes, it's all in the marketing, finding the right niche. Who's first in line, now, lads?
Yes, form a line, gentlemen, take a number, the demand will surely be great. Haven't we all been begging the medical researchers for a male contraceptive? The good news has come from Dr. Peter Liu of the prestigious Anzac Research Institute, located at the University of Sydney. That's Sydney down under, where the quest for artificial male contraception has been pursued with vigor.
I know that you've all been concerned about your fertility and what happens to it if you tamper with nature. That's the beauty of Dr. Liu's discoveries. After three or four months, your swimmers are back to full strength, ready for a fallopian marathon. According to the report, this is the true breakthrough in male contraception research, finding a drug that won't cause permanent damage.
One shot and you're good for ... doesn't say how long it lasts. And that shot business, you'd have to see a doctor for the injection, and that would mean making an appointment. Of course, you could just turn up at A & E but the wait would be hours and you'd not be in the mood by then and why bother with contraception when you're exhausted from the waiting?
Still another problem to work out, Dr. Liu. Getting men to use your invention. I'd recommend a home-injection kit, and market it to women. After all, they're the ones most interested in avoiding pregnancy. Unless you could come up with a powder or something that could be dispensed at the local.
"These findings thereby increase the promise of new contraceptive drugs allowing men to share more fairly the satisfaction and burden of family planning," Dr Liu said.
You're a brilliant scientist, Dr. Liu, but you can't honestly believe that men are demanding to fairly share any burden. Now, there was a man a few weeks back, who claimed his partner tricked him into a pregnancy. I'll bet he'd be your first customer. Yes, it's all in the marketing, finding the right niche. Who's first in line, now, lads?
Thursday, April 27, 2006
In Praise of Government Watchdogs
The big city is a dangerous place, where ruthless criminals prey upon the old, the weak and the gullible. Our only hope is the vigilance of our elected representatives, those wise few who make the laws that protect our rights.
And so, I sing the praises of the Chicago City Council, an august body that has taken a daring step.
Have they banned automatic weapons or assault rifles? Well, not yet, no. That's a difficult nut to crack, what with the amendments and the Constitutional lawyers splitting hairs. But they have declared the city a nuclear weapon free zone. Just let some terrorist try to set off a dirty bomb at State and Madison, and see what happens. Chicago's finest would be on it like flies on shite.
Is it a charity initiative, you might ask? Has the council set up a taskforce or a committee to help the bums who were kicked out of Skid Row when the area was gentrified? Maybe the aldermen are doing something to provide Single Room Occupancy housing for those on the bottom of the economic ladder? Ah, well now, you see, not just yet. There's zoning issues that gum up the works, and when you talk real estate, it's location, location, location. I'm sure they're working on the problem.
Hurrah for the Chicago City Council. The town that gave the world Bathhouse John Coughlin and Al Capone has banned foie gras,the fatty goose liver delicacy that was invented in France.
Yes, it's true, they've taken that major step to protect the livers of Illinois' geese. Well, not the geese that are raised in Illinois. There's not one farm that produces foie gras in the entire state.
Come the first of June, those who serve and protect will be entering the top restaurants, inspecting the kitchens and arresting chefs who dare to put goose liver on a plate with a notion to serve it to someone who wants to eat it. Praise the Lord! We've been in dire need of such legislation. You want to spread that goose liver pate on toast points? Go on out to the suburbs with the rest of the gourmands, but you'll not be eating that in the city.
What's next? A ban on black pudding because it contains pig blood? Let them eat cake instead of czarnina, as long as that cake is duck blood free!
Ah, Chicago. The schools are crumbling, the students go in dumb and come out dumber, the streets are full of potholes, and the administration is on the take. Come June, though, you won't be able to order foie gras in the restaurants or buy it in the specialty shops. Glad to see the aldermen have their priorities in order.
And so, I sing the praises of the Chicago City Council, an august body that has taken a daring step.
Have they banned automatic weapons or assault rifles? Well, not yet, no. That's a difficult nut to crack, what with the amendments and the Constitutional lawyers splitting hairs. But they have declared the city a nuclear weapon free zone. Just let some terrorist try to set off a dirty bomb at State and Madison, and see what happens. Chicago's finest would be on it like flies on shite.
Is it a charity initiative, you might ask? Has the council set up a taskforce or a committee to help the bums who were kicked out of Skid Row when the area was gentrified? Maybe the aldermen are doing something to provide Single Room Occupancy housing for those on the bottom of the economic ladder? Ah, well now, you see, not just yet. There's zoning issues that gum up the works, and when you talk real estate, it's location, location, location. I'm sure they're working on the problem.
Hurrah for the Chicago City Council. The town that gave the world Bathhouse John Coughlin and Al Capone has banned foie gras,the fatty goose liver delicacy that was invented in France.
Yes, it's true, they've taken that major step to protect the livers of Illinois' geese. Well, not the geese that are raised in Illinois. There's not one farm that produces foie gras in the entire state.
Come the first of June, those who serve and protect will be entering the top restaurants, inspecting the kitchens and arresting chefs who dare to put goose liver on a plate with a notion to serve it to someone who wants to eat it. Praise the Lord! We've been in dire need of such legislation. You want to spread that goose liver pate on toast points? Go on out to the suburbs with the rest of the gourmands, but you'll not be eating that in the city.
What's next? A ban on black pudding because it contains pig blood? Let them eat cake instead of czarnina, as long as that cake is duck blood free!
Ah, Chicago. The schools are crumbling, the students go in dumb and come out dumber, the streets are full of potholes, and the administration is on the take. Come June, though, you won't be able to order foie gras in the restaurants or buy it in the specialty shops. Glad to see the aldermen have their priorities in order.
Tracking Submissions
What a flurry of submissions in one day.
Sent a novel excerpt to the Blue Mesa Review and The Artful Dodge after I reworked the opening chapter. Three months wait, at a minimum, but at least there's something out there. Not having much luck with the partials from the other manuscript, my unmarketable masterpiece.
Sent off another short story to the Mississippi Review. The issue is closing on submissions in the middle of June and prints July 1. Let's see, do the math, carry the one, and there's a wait of...three months again.
As long as the printer was warmed up thoroughly, I ran off two copies of the first chapter, and sent queries to Ms. Cartwright-Niumata at Folio Literary and Joy Harris. Got nothing to lose in this subjective game, with a revised query, new title and tweaked manuscript.
It feels so good to have more queries to send that I've got fresh inspiration for the current WIP, the one I was getting stuck on and blocked on and what all. Write on?
Sent a novel excerpt to the Blue Mesa Review and The Artful Dodge after I reworked the opening chapter. Three months wait, at a minimum, but at least there's something out there. Not having much luck with the partials from the other manuscript, my unmarketable masterpiece.
Sent off another short story to the Mississippi Review. The issue is closing on submissions in the middle of June and prints July 1. Let's see, do the math, carry the one, and there's a wait of...three months again.
As long as the printer was warmed up thoroughly, I ran off two copies of the first chapter, and sent queries to Ms. Cartwright-Niumata at Folio Literary and Joy Harris. Got nothing to lose in this subjective game, with a revised query, new title and tweaked manuscript.
It feels so good to have more queries to send that I've got fresh inspiration for the current WIP, the one I was getting stuck on and blocked on and what all. Write on?
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Pay To Play
Your boy's quite the athlete. You've got a six figure income at your disposal. Put the two together, and the lad's off to sports camp, sessions with personal trainers and private coaches. In my part of the country, I see it all the time.
There's a booming business in athletic training, and it's not necessarily geared up to get the lad into college on a scholarship. When money meets a child's spark of interest, the fire's stoked and set to blazing. Pitching coaches, hitting coaches, shooting coaches, defense coaches, offense coaches, rebounding coaches, and on it goes ad infinitum. Junior's performance is a reflection of his parents' financial means.
So what becomes of the little lassie who's not so sporty? Mammy and Daddy want to indulge her interests as well, and so the girl who thought maybe she might like to be a writer or something like that when she's old, around thirty, gets a book packager to give her a leg up.
Unfortunately for Kaavya Viswanathan, her book packager led her down the garden path and straight into a charge of plagiarism. The accusations are flying, but isn't this just a case of the parents getting what they paid for? Their lovely daughter became a published author and got into Harvard, and that's what the money was invested in. It is said that the girl couldn't actually write very well, but the book doctors of 17th Street Productions churned out a best-seller. Okay, so they had to use some stuff from someone else's best seller, but they were hired to fix a manuscript, and, well, accidents happen.
Did Kaavya have Megan McCafferty's books on the brain when she penned her first draft? Highly possible in an impressionable young woman who was undoubtedly under tremendous pressure from her parents to excel. Well meaning folks, Mr. and Mrs. Viswanathan, but sometimes a competitive parent can push too far and send their fragile youth into a tailspin.
How many boys have been coached out of a sport, pressed to do well when all they want is to have fun? Kaavya may have been ghost-written out of Harvard and out of any future publishing deals.
Or she might just write a memoir of the ordeal and show up on Oprah's couch, whinging about her overbearing parents and the mess they've made of her young life.
There's a booming business in athletic training, and it's not necessarily geared up to get the lad into college on a scholarship. When money meets a child's spark of interest, the fire's stoked and set to blazing. Pitching coaches, hitting coaches, shooting coaches, defense coaches, offense coaches, rebounding coaches, and on it goes ad infinitum. Junior's performance is a reflection of his parents' financial means.
So what becomes of the little lassie who's not so sporty? Mammy and Daddy want to indulge her interests as well, and so the girl who thought maybe she might like to be a writer or something like that when she's old, around thirty, gets a book packager to give her a leg up.
Unfortunately for Kaavya Viswanathan, her book packager led her down the garden path and straight into a charge of plagiarism. The accusations are flying, but isn't this just a case of the parents getting what they paid for? Their lovely daughter became a published author and got into Harvard, and that's what the money was invested in. It is said that the girl couldn't actually write very well, but the book doctors of 17th Street Productions churned out a best-seller. Okay, so they had to use some stuff from someone else's best seller, but they were hired to fix a manuscript, and, well, accidents happen.
Did Kaavya have Megan McCafferty's books on the brain when she penned her first draft? Highly possible in an impressionable young woman who was undoubtedly under tremendous pressure from her parents to excel. Well meaning folks, Mr. and Mrs. Viswanathan, but sometimes a competitive parent can push too far and send their fragile youth into a tailspin.
How many boys have been coached out of a sport, pressed to do well when all they want is to have fun? Kaavya may have been ghost-written out of Harvard and out of any future publishing deals.
Or she might just write a memoir of the ordeal and show up on Oprah's couch, whinging about her overbearing parents and the mess they've made of her young life.
Control Freaks
Ever been hired by someone, only to find that they have done a bit of research and consider themselves experts in your field?
"We'd like to redecorate," they might say. "We took a class on interior design at the local junior college. We must know more than you."
And then they'll tell you your business and you very politely point out what great feckin' eejits they are. What a shock to their system to learn that you've been at your job for a dog's age or you've got a graduate degree or you have a license that requires knowledge of the field.
People who rise to the top in the corporate world did not get there through faint hearts and shy withdrawal. Once they get on top, they cannot separate their lives from their corporate entities, the boss in control, running the show. They might delegate some work to you, but you can be sure that they're there, right over your shoulder, watching every move to make sure you do things right. Problem is, they don't have a clue as to how things ought to be done. No matter to our intrepid executives - they'll supervise just the same.
Is there anything more ugly than a whole group of control freaks whose children play sports? Why would any sane person choose to coach for such offspring, when the know-it-all adults are off on the sidelines, questioning every substitution and second-guessing every strategy.
The source of their expertise? Sure and they've read the sports pages every day for the past twenty years and listened to every post-game interview to garner a wisp of knowledge. They played the game as children and they know how it should be played. Oh, and their own child should be playing all the time. Little one's the best on the team, bar none, and what's the coach thinking to pull my star out and put in someone else?
Fingers on the pulse of business - control freaks who cannot ever relinquish control. You'd like to tell them to sit back and watch the show, but they're hell bent to run it, and they'll run over anyone who gets in their way.
"We'd like to redecorate," they might say. "We took a class on interior design at the local junior college. We must know more than you."
And then they'll tell you your business and you very politely point out what great feckin' eejits they are. What a shock to their system to learn that you've been at your job for a dog's age or you've got a graduate degree or you have a license that requires knowledge of the field.
People who rise to the top in the corporate world did not get there through faint hearts and shy withdrawal. Once they get on top, they cannot separate their lives from their corporate entities, the boss in control, running the show. They might delegate some work to you, but you can be sure that they're there, right over your shoulder, watching every move to make sure you do things right. Problem is, they don't have a clue as to how things ought to be done. No matter to our intrepid executives - they'll supervise just the same.
Is there anything more ugly than a whole group of control freaks whose children play sports? Why would any sane person choose to coach for such offspring, when the know-it-all adults are off on the sidelines, questioning every substitution and second-guessing every strategy.
The source of their expertise? Sure and they've read the sports pages every day for the past twenty years and listened to every post-game interview to garner a wisp of knowledge. They played the game as children and they know how it should be played. Oh, and their own child should be playing all the time. Little one's the best on the team, bar none, and what's the coach thinking to pull my star out and put in someone else?
Fingers on the pulse of business - control freaks who cannot ever relinquish control. You'd like to tell them to sit back and watch the show, but they're hell bent to run it, and they'll run over anyone who gets in their way.
Monday, April 24, 2006
If It's Broke, Fix It
What do you do when you get a bunch of rejections on the partial manuscript? Why, compose a new query letter, change the title, and hit the naysayers again.
I dusted off an old manuscript, revised and reworked a few chapters. I cut out a couple of big sections and pasted them elsewhere, always on the lookout for that pesky backstory that, God forbid, must never turn up at the beginning. As for the query, I tried to follow Miss Snark's advice (can't make the link work to her blog of 4/24/06, but check it out) about the makings of a query letter.
A hook, a couple of sentences about the overall plot, the word count, the genre, and I'm done. There's no publishing credentials to include, so that saves a few drops of ink or a couple of retina cells. Sent four of the new and improved version off to agents who accept e-mail queries.
Do I have renewed hope? Well, the manuscript is safe, sort of. All right, yeah, the concept behind the plot is not the most commonly accepted norm, but can't an author present an alternate universe? What am I saying? Have I sent out queries for another novel that will not be marketable? Have I drifted too far afield once again?
Paula Balzer of Sarah Lazin Books rejects the partial because the fiction market is too tough and she can't sell the fiction that she's already taken on. Are we to all start writing non-fiction? Ah, but if you've no platform, no expertise or teaching post with matching Ph.D., you don't stand a chance either.
What's to be done? I need the anxiety of the waiting to keep focused on the current WIP, a bit of fiction that's the sort of story I like to read. There's no choice but to carry on. Either that, or I'll have to go back to the drinking and smoking.
I dusted off an old manuscript, revised and reworked a few chapters. I cut out a couple of big sections and pasted them elsewhere, always on the lookout for that pesky backstory that, God forbid, must never turn up at the beginning. As for the query, I tried to follow Miss Snark's advice (can't make the link work to her blog of 4/24/06, but check it out) about the makings of a query letter.
A hook, a couple of sentences about the overall plot, the word count, the genre, and I'm done. There's no publishing credentials to include, so that saves a few drops of ink or a couple of retina cells. Sent four of the new and improved version off to agents who accept e-mail queries.
Do I have renewed hope? Well, the manuscript is safe, sort of. All right, yeah, the concept behind the plot is not the most commonly accepted norm, but can't an author present an alternate universe? What am I saying? Have I sent out queries for another novel that will not be marketable? Have I drifted too far afield once again?
Paula Balzer of Sarah Lazin Books rejects the partial because the fiction market is too tough and she can't sell the fiction that she's already taken on. Are we to all start writing non-fiction? Ah, but if you've no platform, no expertise or teaching post with matching Ph.D., you don't stand a chance either.
What's to be done? I need the anxiety of the waiting to keep focused on the current WIP, a bit of fiction that's the sort of story I like to read. There's no choice but to carry on. Either that, or I'll have to go back to the drinking and smoking.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
What Does It Take?
Should my lips grow dry, would you wet them, dear?
Would you go away to another land, walk one thousand miles through the burning sand?
Wipe the blood away from my dying hand?
Will you love (the manuscript) when I'm down and out?
In my time of trial, will you stand by me?
Would you go to the wall for me? Take a bullet for me?
All that and more must be required for literary agents these days. Eve Bridburg declines the manuscript because she only takes on novels for which she would face down a Mack truck. Nearly every standard rejection I have seen for partials and fulls carries the same theme. The agent does not feel that they could sell the manuscript.
On the shelves of my local independent bookseller and the free (after you've paid your property tax which covers the cost) library, I have encountered one novel after another that really does not have anything to say. Where are the Trollopes and Dickenses of our era? Not marketable is where, sitting in the pile of manuscripts to be rejected. Don't be controversial, don't skewer the high and mighty, because an agent would not risk their life for such subjects.
What does it take to get published? Well,if you write women's fiction, let the Lifetime channel be your guide. Don't forget your checklist of diseases of the week, so that you can include a few characters with bulimia/anorexia/self-mutilation/ shopaholism et al. Add in a hefty dose of some saccharine sentiment - I feel your pain - and you're off to the races.
The manuscript I've been submitting is not marketable. The plot pokes a stick in the eye of those on high. It is topical, it is timeless, but no one would take a bullet for it. Back to the current WIP. Agents have told me I have writing talent. I'll have to use it to bland purposes to get one of them to say yes.
Technorati tag: Kirsten Manges
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Cold Mountain Gets Hot
Everyone searching for an agent asks how they can get one of those high-powered elite types, like Binky Urban. The secret has been revealed, and it has been splashed all over the pages of the New York Times.
You don't have to write a complete and polished manuscript. A one page outline will do, and you could take four years to write the novel if you liked. The publisher will pay you a ginormous advance, and Binky will represent you and the choirs of angels will sing in heaven.
Of course there's a catch. To gain all of the above, you only have to write a best seller to prove your street creds. That's what Charles Frazier did with his blockbuster literary work Cold Mountain. Sold like mad, became a movie, and everyone was happy. Mr. Frazier got a fairly hefty advance on it as well, so he must have had a respectable agent before he settled into Binky's stable.
His editor, Elisabeth Schmitz, was dropped by the wayside because the one-page outline and all its promise was sold at auction to a different house. Her little nestling, nurtured and coddled into bookselling glory, tried his wings and flew away to Random House. And you worry about the propriety of sending your agent a box of chocolates for Christmas? They should be grateful that you haven't sent them packing, leaving them for the 'other woman'.
He was all talk, oh, my darling, I want you to edit my next book, we'll be together always, and then, slam bam. He runs off with Binky, who leads him astray and off to another publisher and a different editor. Ah, she's a homewrecker, that one, coming between a happy couple and sharing in the bounty of a big advance while Ms. Schmitz sits at home with nothing but her memories.
Needless to say, Random House is holding its corporate breath, having paid out a few million on a gamble. They are betting that the readers of Cold Mountain will fall equally in love with the next novel, and there's no guarantee of that. There's an equal chance that the public will reject the book as thoroughly as agents have rejected mine, and the editor at Random House must have found plenty of unimpressive writing when he worked on the first draft of the manuscript. According to the NYT article, Mr. Frazier was due to complete the novel in time for a 2005 release, but he's been working on revisions. And it's half past 2006 nearly.
Can the lad sell 625,000 copies to justify the advance and justify the publication of a third novel? Binky's dazzled him, to be sure, but she won't stick around if he can't deliver the goods.
So, how do you get a top agent like Binky Urban? Prove yourself. She won't waste her time on the small beer. And here you thought there was a way for a first timer to nab the leading lady. No, no, to acquire a trophy agent, you have to have the success first, and then the world is your oyster. As long as you keep producing,that is.
You don't have to write a complete and polished manuscript. A one page outline will do, and you could take four years to write the novel if you liked. The publisher will pay you a ginormous advance, and Binky will represent you and the choirs of angels will sing in heaven.
Of course there's a catch. To gain all of the above, you only have to write a best seller to prove your street creds. That's what Charles Frazier did with his blockbuster literary work Cold Mountain. Sold like mad, became a movie, and everyone was happy. Mr. Frazier got a fairly hefty advance on it as well, so he must have had a respectable agent before he settled into Binky's stable.
His editor, Elisabeth Schmitz, was dropped by the wayside because the one-page outline and all its promise was sold at auction to a different house. Her little nestling, nurtured and coddled into bookselling glory, tried his wings and flew away to Random House. And you worry about the propriety of sending your agent a box of chocolates for Christmas? They should be grateful that you haven't sent them packing, leaving them for the 'other woman'.
He was all talk, oh, my darling, I want you to edit my next book, we'll be together always, and then, slam bam. He runs off with Binky, who leads him astray and off to another publisher and a different editor. Ah, she's a homewrecker, that one, coming between a happy couple and sharing in the bounty of a big advance while Ms. Schmitz sits at home with nothing but her memories.
Needless to say, Random House is holding its corporate breath, having paid out a few million on a gamble. They are betting that the readers of Cold Mountain will fall equally in love with the next novel, and there's no guarantee of that. There's an equal chance that the public will reject the book as thoroughly as agents have rejected mine, and the editor at Random House must have found plenty of unimpressive writing when he worked on the first draft of the manuscript. According to the NYT article, Mr. Frazier was due to complete the novel in time for a 2005 release, but he's been working on revisions. And it's half past 2006 nearly.
Can the lad sell 625,000 copies to justify the advance and justify the publication of a third novel? Binky's dazzled him, to be sure, but she won't stick around if he can't deliver the goods.
So, how do you get a top agent like Binky Urban? Prove yourself. She won't waste her time on the small beer. And here you thought there was a way for a first timer to nab the leading lady. No, no, to acquire a trophy agent, you have to have the success first, and then the world is your oyster. As long as you keep producing,that is.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Not Over Yet
Just because Gerry Adams has spoken does not mean that everyone is on the same page. In County Armagh today, the PSNI arrested four men who were in possession of 250 lb. of bomb making materials, including fertilizer, and a shiny red car.
The Provisional IRA has laid down its arms and is following along behind Gerry, going the political route. The Continuity IRA, on the other hand, will not give up the bloody battle until Ireland is a nation once again, undivided and unoccupied by the Brits.
Can't fault the CIRA entirely, considering the fact that the loyalist paramilitary groups have been pretty decisive about not putting away their guns. And since the IRA was formed in response to loyalist groups creating armed militias, the CIRA does not wish to be the first to go in a new direction.
Police in the Six Counties are saying that the bomb was going to be put in the car and set off fairly soon, given that the bomb being planned would be of an unstable nature. Where the shiny red car was going to be driven to is anyone's guess at this point, but it sounds like the CIRA was planning a show of force, perhaps going back to the days of the Troubles.
The threat of bloodshed will not end until the British occupation is ended. Political pundits have suggested that Gerry Adams may accomplish this to an extent. If the DUP will not sit in government with Sinn Fein, then local councils will take over the work of running the colony. The councils with majority Sinn Fein representation are along the border, and with enough cross-border initiatives and cooperation, the Six Counties could be further divided along sectarian lines, leaving the Protestant loyalists even more isolated and more dependent on London's handouts.
There's little doing in the Six Counties. The linen industry is gone, the textile mills long shuttered, and Harland and Wolff is an historical artifact. Gerry Adams will cling to the Republic of Ireland and the Celtic Tiger. The little DUP zones will continue to wither, devoid of opportunity and hope. And the Continuity IRA will carry on with the futile gestures of a war that cannot be won by guns and bombs.
The Provisional IRA has laid down its arms and is following along behind Gerry, going the political route. The Continuity IRA, on the other hand, will not give up the bloody battle until Ireland is a nation once again, undivided and unoccupied by the Brits.
Can't fault the CIRA entirely, considering the fact that the loyalist paramilitary groups have been pretty decisive about not putting away their guns. And since the IRA was formed in response to loyalist groups creating armed militias, the CIRA does not wish to be the first to go in a new direction.
Police in the Six Counties are saying that the bomb was going to be put in the car and set off fairly soon, given that the bomb being planned would be of an unstable nature. Where the shiny red car was going to be driven to is anyone's guess at this point, but it sounds like the CIRA was planning a show of force, perhaps going back to the days of the Troubles.
The threat of bloodshed will not end until the British occupation is ended. Political pundits have suggested that Gerry Adams may accomplish this to an extent. If the DUP will not sit in government with Sinn Fein, then local councils will take over the work of running the colony. The councils with majority Sinn Fein representation are along the border, and with enough cross-border initiatives and cooperation, the Six Counties could be further divided along sectarian lines, leaving the Protestant loyalists even more isolated and more dependent on London's handouts.
There's little doing in the Six Counties. The linen industry is gone, the textile mills long shuttered, and Harland and Wolff is an historical artifact. Gerry Adams will cling to the Republic of Ireland and the Celtic Tiger. The little DUP zones will continue to wither, devoid of opportunity and hope. And the Continuity IRA will carry on with the futile gestures of a war that cannot be won by guns and bombs.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Fairy Tale of Illinois
Once upon a time, a man with little education and no skills to speak of was looking for a job. "Can you drive a truck?" he was asked. He could drive. Even though he did not speak the native language very well he could interpret the road signs. "Yes," he said.
The man drove a big, heavy truck, transporting goods from Illinois to Wisconsin. One day, while he was driving his truck, some people honked their horns at him and sped up to come alongside him. He kept driving. The people in the cars waved their hands, saying things that he could not hear. It was very noisy in the truck cab.
As he was heading north, his truck made a strange noise, but none of the indicator lights went on, so he continued his work of driving the truck. After a while, the truck made a funny bumping sort of motion and the noise disappeared. Behind him, cars screeched and stopped. He thought he saw a fire, but he was afraid and he kept driving.
On the news that night, the reporter told viewers about a terrible accident that occurred on the same highway that the truck driver had traveled that day. A metal part had fallen off a truck and the van following behind the truck could not avoid the large piece of debris. The truck assembly pierced the gas tank, the friction of the road set off sparks, and the van burst into flames. Six children were burned alive.
In an office in another part of town, a bureaucrat heard of the accident. When the police uncovered the identity of the truck driver, the bureaucrat checked the records and discovered that the man had paid a bribe to obtain his license. The bribe money was used to fund the George Ryan for Governor campaign. The bureaucrat became alarmed.
Important people called for an investigation into the licenses for bribes campaign financing plan. The bureaucrat's boss fired the investigators so that they could not disrupt everyone's plans to elect George Ryan. The important people asked the lawyer to investigate, and he was a very fastidious lawyer who looked under every rock and every carpet in Illinois.
The governor grew nervous because the lawyer was lifting up the carpets, looking for the dirt that had been swept underneath. "No more death penalty," the governor declared, and the people were so amazed by his pronouncement that they forgot about the lawyer and his housecleaning duties. They could not see because the wool had been pulled over their eyes.
The lawyer carried on, exposing every speck of dust and dirt. The governor made speeches about the evils of the death penalty that he had eliminated. The people listened to him, the wool obliterating their vision. When it was time for a new election, the governor stepped aside. He could not pull enough wool to blind the entire electorate.
The lawyer went to court and showed twelve people all the dirt he had found. "But he abolished the death penalty," some people shouted. The twelve people scratched their foreheads, where the itchy wool had been removed. "Guilty on all counts," they said. George Ryan is guilty of abusing the public trust. And he is guilty of the death of the six Willis children, burned alive because an unqualified driver was on the road because George Ryan had to have more money to get more power.
The moral of the story is: Watch out for former Catholic altar boys. They grow up to be lawyers and Supreme Court justices.
The man drove a big, heavy truck, transporting goods from Illinois to Wisconsin. One day, while he was driving his truck, some people honked their horns at him and sped up to come alongside him. He kept driving. The people in the cars waved their hands, saying things that he could not hear. It was very noisy in the truck cab.
As he was heading north, his truck made a strange noise, but none of the indicator lights went on, so he continued his work of driving the truck. After a while, the truck made a funny bumping sort of motion and the noise disappeared. Behind him, cars screeched and stopped. He thought he saw a fire, but he was afraid and he kept driving.
On the news that night, the reporter told viewers about a terrible accident that occurred on the same highway that the truck driver had traveled that day. A metal part had fallen off a truck and the van following behind the truck could not avoid the large piece of debris. The truck assembly pierced the gas tank, the friction of the road set off sparks, and the van burst into flames. Six children were burned alive.
In an office in another part of town, a bureaucrat heard of the accident. When the police uncovered the identity of the truck driver, the bureaucrat checked the records and discovered that the man had paid a bribe to obtain his license. The bribe money was used to fund the George Ryan for Governor campaign. The bureaucrat became alarmed.
Important people called for an investigation into the licenses for bribes campaign financing plan. The bureaucrat's boss fired the investigators so that they could not disrupt everyone's plans to elect George Ryan. The important people asked the lawyer to investigate, and he was a very fastidious lawyer who looked under every rock and every carpet in Illinois.
The governor grew nervous because the lawyer was lifting up the carpets, looking for the dirt that had been swept underneath. "No more death penalty," the governor declared, and the people were so amazed by his pronouncement that they forgot about the lawyer and his housecleaning duties. They could not see because the wool had been pulled over their eyes.
The lawyer carried on, exposing every speck of dust and dirt. The governor made speeches about the evils of the death penalty that he had eliminated. The people listened to him, the wool obliterating their vision. When it was time for a new election, the governor stepped aside. He could not pull enough wool to blind the entire electorate.
The lawyer went to court and showed twelve people all the dirt he had found. "But he abolished the death penalty," some people shouted. The twelve people scratched their foreheads, where the itchy wool had been removed. "Guilty on all counts," they said. George Ryan is guilty of abusing the public trust. And he is guilty of the death of the six Willis children, burned alive because an unqualified driver was on the road because George Ryan had to have more money to get more power.
The moral of the story is: Watch out for former Catholic altar boys. They grow up to be lawyers and Supreme Court justices.
The Name Has Been Changed
Gil & Macmillan has recently re-issued Kevin C. Kearns' oral history of Dublin Tenement Life. Documenting the lives of old folks who once lived in Europe's worst slums, it provides an amazing view of The Liberties.
Stately Georgian homes that once belonged to the Protestants of the Ascendancy gradually declined into incredibly blighted slums, with one house holding as many as one hundred people. Families of twenty lived in a single room in a building that was on the verge of collapse, crawling with bugs, and lacking in any facilities that did not exist in the 1820's. Think indoor plumbing, central heating, cooking stoves, and the like. To read Kearns' book is to spend a few hours in hell.
But Ireland is wealthy now, and The Liberties is undergoing a steady process of gentrification. New apartment buildings are springing up where tumbledown mansions once tumbled down. Literally. On top of some unfortunate occupants.
The old-timers quoted in the oral history spoke fondly of the Iveagh Market, where they bought second-hand rags to use for clothes and found the cheapest of food when they could afford even the most meager rations. Now there are plans to redevelop the long shuttered market, but this time around it will be trendy, high end and rather posh. A four star hotel might join the mix, settling into an area that was notorious for its gangs, grinding poverty and alcoholism.
You see, that's the little difficulty. Mention The Liberties and the first thing anyone thinks of is what the area was. Terrible reputation, The Liberties, and how can a developer market a high-class development if people associate the name with dirty, barefoot, rickety children clinging to the ragged shawls of their old-before-their-time mothers?
Why, you call the place something else, of course. And what says elite, world-class site, well worth the high price tag? The developers want to call the area the 'SoHo' district because it is located south of Heuston Station, or so they say. And should the naive think that Dublin's SoHo is like London's version or New York City's charming neighborhood, so much the better for the project.
As for the people who live in The Liberties now, those on the dole and the others who scrape by in menial work, will they be pleased with the changes to their neighborhood?
The people quoted in Dublin Tenement Life spoke of hard times that are nearly unimaginable. And they spoke of how much they missed their old haunts, the friendly neighbors and the atmosphere. Almost every single person who was interviewed actually missed the old Liberties, the slums, while forgetting the chronic illnesses, malnutrition and high mortality. They longed for the sense of community that they knew as children raised in poverty. All the improvements envisioned by the Dublin City Council will not restore that.
Stately Georgian homes that once belonged to the Protestants of the Ascendancy gradually declined into incredibly blighted slums, with one house holding as many as one hundred people. Families of twenty lived in a single room in a building that was on the verge of collapse, crawling with bugs, and lacking in any facilities that did not exist in the 1820's. Think indoor plumbing, central heating, cooking stoves, and the like. To read Kearns' book is to spend a few hours in hell.
But Ireland is wealthy now, and The Liberties is undergoing a steady process of gentrification. New apartment buildings are springing up where tumbledown mansions once tumbled down. Literally. On top of some unfortunate occupants.
The old-timers quoted in the oral history spoke fondly of the Iveagh Market, where they bought second-hand rags to use for clothes and found the cheapest of food when they could afford even the most meager rations. Now there are plans to redevelop the long shuttered market, but this time around it will be trendy, high end and rather posh. A four star hotel might join the mix, settling into an area that was notorious for its gangs, grinding poverty and alcoholism.
You see, that's the little difficulty. Mention The Liberties and the first thing anyone thinks of is what the area was. Terrible reputation, The Liberties, and how can a developer market a high-class development if people associate the name with dirty, barefoot, rickety children clinging to the ragged shawls of their old-before-their-time mothers?
Why, you call the place something else, of course. And what says elite, world-class site, well worth the high price tag? The developers want to call the area the 'SoHo' district because it is located south of Heuston Station, or so they say. And should the naive think that Dublin's SoHo is like London's version or New York City's charming neighborhood, so much the better for the project.
As for the people who live in The Liberties now, those on the dole and the others who scrape by in menial work, will they be pleased with the changes to their neighborhood?
The people quoted in Dublin Tenement Life spoke of hard times that are nearly unimaginable. And they spoke of how much they missed their old haunts, the friendly neighbors and the atmosphere. Almost every single person who was interviewed actually missed the old Liberties, the slums, while forgetting the chronic illnesses, malnutrition and high mortality. They longed for the sense of community that they knew as children raised in poverty. All the improvements envisioned by the Dublin City Council will not restore that.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
And the Dead Shall Speak
Never did I think I'd ever hear a word after a year - or more. My Easter gift for 2006 is two rejection letters, one from Julia Lord and the other from Robert Guinsler at Sterling Lord Literistic.
Very kind of Sterling Lord to pop for the extra two cents postage. When I sent the full manuscript, the post office was not even suggesting that they were going to raise rates. Julia Lord had to cover the full postage - I assume they must have lost the SASE I sent with the sample chapters.
The usual boilerplate stuff, by the way, in both rejections. One loved the writing but was not in love with the story. The other liked the premise and the characters, but did not fall in love with the writing. As an author, that tells me that there is nothing that can be changed to make the novel better. It is only a question of finding the agent that is taken by both story and story-telling. If only I could merge the two agents together and make it whole.
The subject matter of the manuscript is somewhat controversial, the style more literary than commercial. How many times has an agent written of 'being torn' but ultimately taking a pass? Good enough to publish, but maybe not marketable, and thus not right for their list, produced as it was by an unproven (unpublished) writer.
They say it is a subjective business. It sure is.
Very kind of Sterling Lord to pop for the extra two cents postage. When I sent the full manuscript, the post office was not even suggesting that they were going to raise rates. Julia Lord had to cover the full postage - I assume they must have lost the SASE I sent with the sample chapters.
The usual boilerplate stuff, by the way, in both rejections. One loved the writing but was not in love with the story. The other liked the premise and the characters, but did not fall in love with the writing. As an author, that tells me that there is nothing that can be changed to make the novel better. It is only a question of finding the agent that is taken by both story and story-telling. If only I could merge the two agents together and make it whole.
The subject matter of the manuscript is somewhat controversial, the style more literary than commercial. How many times has an agent written of 'being torn' but ultimately taking a pass? Good enough to publish, but maybe not marketable, and thus not right for their list, produced as it was by an unproven (unpublished) writer.
They say it is a subjective business. It sure is.
Good And Bad
As much as I'd prefer a request for a manuscript, I'm pleased that Kathi Paton at least responded to my e-query, even if it was a form rejection. There's just something about all the unanswered e-mails that bothers me, like I'm standing in the middle of a crowd, waving and shouting, but the agents don't pay me any mind.
The fact that I am going to have a short story published in a literary magazine next month does not thrill me. No great honor, and it was a case of rushing off a submission as soon as The Chicago Review turned down the same piece. It was so easy to submit, just send the article as a download, and the editor accepted it within two weeks.
The journal is put out by a non-profit organization, which means they don't pay. I don't even know if they'll send me a free copy of the publication. Instead of waiting to hear from the Indiana Review, I was in too much of a hurry and didn't think.
Will it be a worthwhile credit? The literary journal has been in publication for fifteen years, coming out quarterly, but I have this nagging sense that they might take just about anything to fill their sixty pages. Too many rejections, I guess, have warped my self-esteem, or maybe it really is a poor excuse for a publishing credit.
I'll find out soon enough. Once I finish my current WIP, polish it up to a high gloss, and start the query process, I'll slap that credit in my one line bio and the sky's the limit. Or the ground. The ground might be the limit. Unless I've only dug a hole to fall into.
There's still two other short pieces out there to other rags that are quite respectable. There's always hope. And isn't that what the Easter season is all about, after all?
The fact that I am going to have a short story published in a literary magazine next month does not thrill me. No great honor, and it was a case of rushing off a submission as soon as The Chicago Review turned down the same piece. It was so easy to submit, just send the article as a download, and the editor accepted it within two weeks.
The journal is put out by a non-profit organization, which means they don't pay. I don't even know if they'll send me a free copy of the publication. Instead of waiting to hear from the Indiana Review, I was in too much of a hurry and didn't think.
Will it be a worthwhile credit? The literary journal has been in publication for fifteen years, coming out quarterly, but I have this nagging sense that they might take just about anything to fill their sixty pages. Too many rejections, I guess, have warped my self-esteem, or maybe it really is a poor excuse for a publishing credit.
I'll find out soon enough. Once I finish my current WIP, polish it up to a high gloss, and start the query process, I'll slap that credit in my one line bio and the sky's the limit. Or the ground. The ground might be the limit. Unless I've only dug a hole to fall into.
There's still two other short pieces out there to other rags that are quite respectable. There's always hope. And isn't that what the Easter season is all about, after all?
Friday, April 14, 2006
Finder Of Lost Things
According to an Associated Press report, Mr. Mack McCormick received a postcard that was marked 'Return to sender', with a postmark dated 1956. It took the Post Office fifty years to realize that the card was not deliverable, so it sent it back.
Now, after fifty years, the person who wrote the card originally was no longer living at that address, and the mail forwarding orders are only good for six months, so how was the mailman to find the original sender? Always conscientious, Mr. McCormick tracked down the author of the post card and offered to send it to him. The gentleman declined, no doubt wary of delivery what with the track record on the original mailing.
Back in February of 2005, I sent a snail mail query to Jonathan Dolger and never heard back. Being a glutton for punishment, I queried a second manuscript in March of this year, but if I don't get my SASE back, I'll know why. It's floating around in the postal system, and if I don't move (or die of old age) in the next fifty years, I might get that form rejection I've been waiting for. And the one I sent to Aaron Priest eighteen months ago, that will show up as well.
And Gertrude Bregman of the Blanche C. Gregory agency, I'll hear from her within the next fifty years. Let's see, I've yet to get a response from Jane Gelfman of Gelfman Schneider after eighteen months, and I don't know if the rejection from Scott Gould (Roslyn Targ Literary Agency)might not be lost in the sorting bins and machines. After all, if the agency asks that the author send a SASE in their submission, surely they mean to use it. And if I haven't gotten the unlucky envelope, it must be the fault of the post office.
Need proof? Why, just ask Mr. McCormick about the fifty year delivery time on that card.
Now, after fifty years, the person who wrote the card originally was no longer living at that address, and the mail forwarding orders are only good for six months, so how was the mailman to find the original sender? Always conscientious, Mr. McCormick tracked down the author of the post card and offered to send it to him. The gentleman declined, no doubt wary of delivery what with the track record on the original mailing.
Back in February of 2005, I sent a snail mail query to Jonathan Dolger and never heard back. Being a glutton for punishment, I queried a second manuscript in March of this year, but if I don't get my SASE back, I'll know why. It's floating around in the postal system, and if I don't move (or die of old age) in the next fifty years, I might get that form rejection I've been waiting for. And the one I sent to Aaron Priest eighteen months ago, that will show up as well.
And Gertrude Bregman of the Blanche C. Gregory agency, I'll hear from her within the next fifty years. Let's see, I've yet to get a response from Jane Gelfman of Gelfman Schneider after eighteen months, and I don't know if the rejection from Scott Gould (Roslyn Targ Literary Agency)might not be lost in the sorting bins and machines. After all, if the agency asks that the author send a SASE in their submission, surely they mean to use it. And if I haven't gotten the unlucky envelope, it must be the fault of the post office.
Need proof? Why, just ask Mr. McCormick about the fifty year delivery time on that card.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Happy Birthday Ireland
After you've been to Mass on Easter Sunday and dropped your generous donation in the plate, lived through dinner with the family and done your bit with the washing up, raise a glass and toast to Ireland, ninety years old this Easter Monday.
And is everyone happy with the parade that's planned? In the nation of begrudgers, such would never be. One side argues about the need of armed violence to achieve freedom, while the others insist that Ireland would have broken free of England eventually, just like Canada and Australia. After all, the Irish are lovers, not fighters, and they've gotten bad press down the years but they don't resort to violence, oh no, and what's on those American military planes stopping over at Shannon?
What's past is done and cannot be changed. Pundits can argue until hell freezes over, postulating on the what ifs. No one can ever state with certainty that something might have happened if done differently, because the Easter Rising cannot be undone; the clock cannot be turned back.
Most of Ireland is a nation, and to not celebrate because of the way it came about is a silly gesture. Look to the future, instead of the past. There's plenty of problems that need solving in the here and now. In the meantime, Happy Ninetieth Birthday, and many more.
And is everyone happy with the parade that's planned? In the nation of begrudgers, such would never be. One side argues about the need of armed violence to achieve freedom, while the others insist that Ireland would have broken free of England eventually, just like Canada and Australia. After all, the Irish are lovers, not fighters, and they've gotten bad press down the years but they don't resort to violence, oh no, and what's on those American military planes stopping over at Shannon?
What's past is done and cannot be changed. Pundits can argue until hell freezes over, postulating on the what ifs. No one can ever state with certainty that something might have happened if done differently, because the Easter Rising cannot be undone; the clock cannot be turned back.
Most of Ireland is a nation, and to not celebrate because of the way it came about is a silly gesture. Look to the future, instead of the past. There's plenty of problems that need solving in the here and now. In the meantime, Happy Ninetieth Birthday, and many more.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Pre-Election Posturing
From the ABC news (Durham, N. Carolina) website comes this public service announcement:
Any names familiar to you? Yes, indeed, Mr. Mike Nifong has been much on the news lately. Politicians just love the free publicity, getting their faces on the camera and be sure to spell the name correctly, there, lad. Nothing like a hot, boiler case to stir up the electorate, and he's got himself one.
The problem is, there's rumors going around that the DNA evidence taken from the victim does not match up with any of the lacrosse players who stand accused. That doesn't go down well with most folks, who are used to all that DNA evidence business on television. Don't the CSI crew solve all sorts of crimes with DNA matching? Hard to get past expectations, even if they aren't realistic.
Al Sharpton is on the way, ready to wallow in the swill of attention. He might want to think back, to his first big bash, when the unfortunate victim turned out to be a hoaxer. Mr. Nifong is fervently praying that such is not the case, because he'd be on the receiving end of a great deal of negative publicity, and too close to the election for comfort. For now, he's courting the black vote and figuring that the rich white folks don't make up enough of Durham County's population to worry about. It's all about getting elected. Kiss the collective arses of the most special interest groups, and then celebrate on election night after the polls close and the votes are counted, that's the politician's approach.
Does Mr. Nifong really care about justice and the exotic dancer who was assaulted? Ah, go on now, and did you just fall off the turnip truck?
The three candidates running for Durham district attorney will take public questions at a forum Wednesday evening.
The forum will feature District Attorney Mike Nifong, former prosecutor Freda Black and Keith Bishop. It runs from 5 p.m. until 6:30 p.m. at the Durham County Courthouse.
The public is welcome. You can watch the forum live on abc11tv.com. Eyewitness News anchor John Clark will be the moderator.
Any names familiar to you? Yes, indeed, Mr. Mike Nifong has been much on the news lately. Politicians just love the free publicity, getting their faces on the camera and be sure to spell the name correctly, there, lad. Nothing like a hot, boiler case to stir up the electorate, and he's got himself one.
The problem is, there's rumors going around that the DNA evidence taken from the victim does not match up with any of the lacrosse players who stand accused. That doesn't go down well with most folks, who are used to all that DNA evidence business on television. Don't the CSI crew solve all sorts of crimes with DNA matching? Hard to get past expectations, even if they aren't realistic.
Al Sharpton is on the way, ready to wallow in the swill of attention. He might want to think back, to his first big bash, when the unfortunate victim turned out to be a hoaxer. Mr. Nifong is fervently praying that such is not the case, because he'd be on the receiving end of a great deal of negative publicity, and too close to the election for comfort. For now, he's courting the black vote and figuring that the rich white folks don't make up enough of Durham County's population to worry about. It's all about getting elected. Kiss the collective arses of the most special interest groups, and then celebrate on election night after the polls close and the votes are counted, that's the politician's approach.
Does Mr. Nifong really care about justice and the exotic dancer who was assaulted? Ah, go on now, and did you just fall off the turnip truck?
Health Insurance
Where can anyone get health insurance coverage for $295.00? In Massachusetts, a new law is set to go into effect that would require everyone to carry health insurance. If a business does not provide coverage for their employees, they would have to pay a fine of $295.00.
Now, if I'm the CEO of some corporation, and I'm looking to reduce costs, I'm cutting out health insurance tomorrow. Don't you think the average company pays out far more than that? Why would any sane executive sign on to the new program if it will cost more than paying the head tax?
And all those poor folks will get reduced premiums, with...now, who exactly is going to cover the difference between what the insurance costs and what they pay? Or will it be a case of getting what they pay for? I've looked at plenty of health insurance policies, looking to keep down the cost that I pay out of my pocket. You want cheaper insurance? Accept less coverage, and pray that you don't ever get really sick.
I've got to ask, since no news reports have covered this. Do the Christian Scientists have to pay up? Can they get a pass since they don't believe in doctors or modern medicine?
Maybe instead of spending state funds on insurance, Massachusetts would be better off sinking some money into physical education, exercise facilities, and instruction. Obesity is rife, kids are couch potatoes, and doctors are screaming about the avoidable illnesses that result from overeating and underexercising. Instead of treating the symptoms, how about treating the illness? That's health care that anyone could appreciate.
Now, if I'm the CEO of some corporation, and I'm looking to reduce costs, I'm cutting out health insurance tomorrow. Don't you think the average company pays out far more than that? Why would any sane executive sign on to the new program if it will cost more than paying the head tax?
And all those poor folks will get reduced premiums, with...now, who exactly is going to cover the difference between what the insurance costs and what they pay? Or will it be a case of getting what they pay for? I've looked at plenty of health insurance policies, looking to keep down the cost that I pay out of my pocket. You want cheaper insurance? Accept less coverage, and pray that you don't ever get really sick.
I've got to ask, since no news reports have covered this. Do the Christian Scientists have to pay up? Can they get a pass since they don't believe in doctors or modern medicine?
Maybe instead of spending state funds on insurance, Massachusetts would be better off sinking some money into physical education, exercise facilities, and instruction. Obesity is rife, kids are couch potatoes, and doctors are screaming about the avoidable illnesses that result from overeating and underexercising. Instead of treating the symptoms, how about treating the illness? That's health care that anyone could appreciate.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Why Do I Have Spring Fever
Spring is springing in these parts - grass getting green, buds swelling, little shoots sprouting from the soil. The days are getting longer, day in the night, and my WIP has found new life.
I slogged through a rough draft all winter, started over once and took the story in a different direction, but there were weeks when I did not get more than a paragraph put together. The words did not flow because the narrative was refusing to form up into a novel, let alone conform to the shape of a short story. Always, in the back of my mind, I was thinking about the queries and partials out to agents, wondering about the response, when it would come, should I keep going or forget it?
Finally, I've gotten past the 'waiting for the literary agent' stage of the process. Novel #4 is all in my head, the plot running from start to finish, with a bit of middle to fill out enough pages. I don't know why, all of a sudden, this has happened. I cannot say what has changed in my brain, unless it's spring fever. I took the first rough draft of my WIP and reworked twenty five pages down to eleven. That's how much shite was penned when I was stuck on an idea during the dark days of winter.
Can't wait to finish the story, to see where the characters go and how they solve their many difficulties. And then, I can start the query process all over again, with a new and different manuscript. Knowing that I can query when I'm done makes me want to finish that much sooner. I'm getting writer's cramp just thinking about it.
I slogged through a rough draft all winter, started over once and took the story in a different direction, but there were weeks when I did not get more than a paragraph put together. The words did not flow because the narrative was refusing to form up into a novel, let alone conform to the shape of a short story. Always, in the back of my mind, I was thinking about the queries and partials out to agents, wondering about the response, when it would come, should I keep going or forget it?
Finally, I've gotten past the 'waiting for the literary agent' stage of the process. Novel #4 is all in my head, the plot running from start to finish, with a bit of middle to fill out enough pages. I don't know why, all of a sudden, this has happened. I cannot say what has changed in my brain, unless it's spring fever. I took the first rough draft of my WIP and reworked twenty five pages down to eleven. That's how much shite was penned when I was stuck on an idea during the dark days of winter.
Can't wait to finish the story, to see where the characters go and how they solve their many difficulties. And then, I can start the query process all over again, with a new and different manuscript. Knowing that I can query when I'm done makes me want to finish that much sooner. I'm getting writer's cramp just thinking about it.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Moving On Down the Road
So, Kate McKean's gone and left Dystel & Goderich, and just when I was thinking of sending her a query for the manuscript she might have run across as an assistant to Sally Wofford-Girand.
Conspiracy theorists have seen her departure, coupled with the recent announcement of Molly Friedrich, as being significant. Then again, Folio Literary Agency has picked up a few stragglers and grown in size. Could it be Ms. McKean's bolted for greener pastures? A better offer from a start-up firm?
Or is she sick to death of the piles of query letters and sample chapters, the need to reject 99% of the authors who contact her? Has she grown hopelessly weary of the rejection from editors at the big publishing houses, looking for something that's like the latest blockbuster, only fresh and new? Heaven help us, has she gone to the dark side and become an editor at one of those same publishers?
Type up your query, save it as a Word document, and wait patiently. Be ready to insert her new address if she's stayed with the agenting game. Wherever she lands, if she sticks to the agent game, she'll be hungry for those queries, still searching for the next big thing and the next big commission check.
Conspiracy theorists have seen her departure, coupled with the recent announcement of Molly Friedrich, as being significant. Then again, Folio Literary Agency has picked up a few stragglers and grown in size. Could it be Ms. McKean's bolted for greener pastures? A better offer from a start-up firm?
Or is she sick to death of the piles of query letters and sample chapters, the need to reject 99% of the authors who contact her? Has she grown hopelessly weary of the rejection from editors at the big publishing houses, looking for something that's like the latest blockbuster, only fresh and new? Heaven help us, has she gone to the dark side and become an editor at one of those same publishers?
Type up your query, save it as a Word document, and wait patiently. Be ready to insert her new address if she's stayed with the agenting game. Wherever she lands, if she sticks to the agent game, she'll be hungry for those queries, still searching for the next big thing and the next big commission check.
Not Getting It
Maybe I'm missing something, but when an agency website says they will respond within a certain period of time, doesn't that indicate that they will respond?
I tried Julie Culver at Folio Lit, and the website stated that the agent should reply within a month. Failing that, the applicant was to assume the e-query was lost in cyberspace and it should be resubmitted. Just following orders, sir, and I sent the query six weeks ago and again last week. Why do I not expect to get any sort of response?
Don't know what possessed me, but I submitted another query to Randi Murray, using her online application form. Again, the site says that the agent will respond in a few days. Well, it's been more than a few days, and there hasn't been any response.
There are plenty of agents who accept e-queries these days, and most of them are pretty specific about not responding if they are not interested. Fine, I know where I stand if I don't hear back. Yes, that's it exactly. They get the snail mail query. One never knows, without a response, so play it safe and follow up with a SASE that lets you know for sure.
If an agent states on their website that they will respond in a certain amount of time, I expect a response. If they only respond if interested, then say so,for feck's sake. Adding a few words into a website can't be that impossible, can it? In the meantime, I'll keep dropping those queries in the local post box, three here, five there. I like getting mail. Those returning SASE's have such lovely, colorful stamps. And they usually come on Monday and Tuesday, the days of rejection.
I tried Julie Culver at Folio Lit, and the website stated that the agent should reply within a month. Failing that, the applicant was to assume the e-query was lost in cyberspace and it should be resubmitted. Just following orders, sir, and I sent the query six weeks ago and again last week. Why do I not expect to get any sort of response?
Don't know what possessed me, but I submitted another query to Randi Murray, using her online application form. Again, the site says that the agent will respond in a few days. Well, it's been more than a few days, and there hasn't been any response.
There are plenty of agents who accept e-queries these days, and most of them are pretty specific about not responding if they are not interested. Fine, I know where I stand if I don't hear back. Yes, that's it exactly. They get the snail mail query. One never knows, without a response, so play it safe and follow up with a SASE that lets you know for sure.
If an agent states on their website that they will respond in a certain amount of time, I expect a response. If they only respond if interested, then say so,for feck's sake. Adding a few words into a website can't be that impossible, can it? In the meantime, I'll keep dropping those queries in the local post box, three here, five there. I like getting mail. Those returning SASE's have such lovely, colorful stamps. And they usually come on Monday and Tuesday, the days of rejection.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Remembering Veronica Guerin
They said that Patrick "Dutchy" Holland pulled the trigger and murdered Veronica Guerin, the determined reporter who exposed the Gilligan drugs gang in Dublin. For her tireless efforts, she was gunned down, but she destroyed John Gilligan and his empire.
No one could prove that Holland was the triggerman, but he was convicted for possession of cannabis and sentenced to twenty years. His sentence was reduced to twelve years on appeal. Last night at midnight, he walked out of Portlaoise Prison, a free man after serving nine years of his sentence. Good behavior gave him three extra years to walk this earth while Veronica Guerin's family lives with her brutal murder for the rest of their days.
Dutchy has gone off to Italy for a lie detector test to prove that he was innocent of the crime. Something wrong with the lie detectors in Ireland? Ah, of course, the weather in Italy is warm and sunny, and the lie detectors work much better in such a lovely climate.
It smells fishy and no one will trust the veracity of the results anyway. But take heart. John Gilligan has been fighting for years to retain his vast estate, his equestrian center, and what all he bought with the proceeds of his drugs trade. The courts won't give it back to him, and everything he once had now belongs to the state. He's still in jail, the ringleader who gave the orders, and that's as it should be.
No one could prove that Holland was the triggerman, but he was convicted for possession of cannabis and sentenced to twenty years. His sentence was reduced to twelve years on appeal. Last night at midnight, he walked out of Portlaoise Prison, a free man after serving nine years of his sentence. Good behavior gave him three extra years to walk this earth while Veronica Guerin's family lives with her brutal murder for the rest of their days.
Dutchy has gone off to Italy for a lie detector test to prove that he was innocent of the crime. Something wrong with the lie detectors in Ireland? Ah, of course, the weather in Italy is warm and sunny, and the lie detectors work much better in such a lovely climate.
It smells fishy and no one will trust the veracity of the results anyway. But take heart. John Gilligan has been fighting for years to retain his vast estate, his equestrian center, and what all he bought with the proceeds of his drugs trade. The courts won't give it back to him, and everything he once had now belongs to the state. He's still in jail, the ringleader who gave the orders, and that's as it should be.
Analyzing a Debut
Book groups are wonderful things. The members get exposed to things that they might not otherwise read, and it forces them to stay on top of the latest offerings if they plan to contribute to the discussion. Now, some of them only go for the social outing or the lunch or the wine, but it's really all about the books.
Publishers supposedly don't like to publish fiction written from the first person point of view, and I'll admit that I don't like to read it. I don't know why, exactly, it's just that the prose doesn't flow the way I like. Prejudices aside, I've read some novels from that POV because of the book group's choices, and found them entertaining enough. If not for the book group, I never would have picked them up. I give them a pass at the library.
This month, I've got Robert Hicks' debut novel, The Widow of the South. Jeff Kleinman, now with Folio Lit Agency, was the literary agent on the scene. If you're sending him a query, check out this book and see if you can draw an analogy with your manuscript and this book. Never hurts to make it look like you're querying Mr. Kleinman because he's just the agent for your tome.
Opening with a short prologue, set in a time preceding the main novel, the author sets up his conflict. The main character is introduced, there's almost no backstory, and the author reveals a mysterious character that makes the reader turn the page to see who the man is. The first chapter is printed in italics, so right away, the reader sees something different. After that short chapter, the second starts, and it is told from a different point of view, without italics. Then, the author changes POV in the following chapter and switches to first person. Yes, the POV that publishers don't like. But he waited until page 24 to slip it in, well beyond the first three or first ten that agents usually get.
Now, the first person in chapter 3 is not the same first person that comes up in later chapters. Hicks uses chapter titles with the character's name so we know who's speaking. He writes well, but for those of us who read in short spurts, it's frustrating to have to go back and figure out who's the first person with the POV.
The book is well worth reading because it is well written, historical fiction that plays What If? with a real person. I could have done without the first person POV and enjoined it just as much, but I have to wonder if authors aren't using clever gimmicks to make their stories stand out from the slush.
Can a person get published by just telling a straight ahead story, or do you have to jazz it up with tricks? Should I go back to my historical fiction pieces and use different fonts? Should I do what I don't like for the sake of getting published? But once it's been done, can I copy the same tricks or will that just make the manuscript uninteresting? Been there, done that, bought the novel.
I write what I like to read. I don't buy many books because I don't like much of what is out there. Therefore, I do not get published because my manuscripts are not marketable. To thine own self be true?
Publishers supposedly don't like to publish fiction written from the first person point of view, and I'll admit that I don't like to read it. I don't know why, exactly, it's just that the prose doesn't flow the way I like. Prejudices aside, I've read some novels from that POV because of the book group's choices, and found them entertaining enough. If not for the book group, I never would have picked them up. I give them a pass at the library.
This month, I've got Robert Hicks' debut novel, The Widow of the South. Jeff Kleinman, now with Folio Lit Agency, was the literary agent on the scene. If you're sending him a query, check out this book and see if you can draw an analogy with your manuscript and this book. Never hurts to make it look like you're querying Mr. Kleinman because he's just the agent for your tome.
Opening with a short prologue, set in a time preceding the main novel, the author sets up his conflict. The main character is introduced, there's almost no backstory, and the author reveals a mysterious character that makes the reader turn the page to see who the man is. The first chapter is printed in italics, so right away, the reader sees something different. After that short chapter, the second starts, and it is told from a different point of view, without italics. Then, the author changes POV in the following chapter and switches to first person. Yes, the POV that publishers don't like. But he waited until page 24 to slip it in, well beyond the first three or first ten that agents usually get.
Now, the first person in chapter 3 is not the same first person that comes up in later chapters. Hicks uses chapter titles with the character's name so we know who's speaking. He writes well, but for those of us who read in short spurts, it's frustrating to have to go back and figure out who's the first person with the POV.
The book is well worth reading because it is well written, historical fiction that plays What If? with a real person. I could have done without the first person POV and enjoined it just as much, but I have to wonder if authors aren't using clever gimmicks to make their stories stand out from the slush.
Can a person get published by just telling a straight ahead story, or do you have to jazz it up with tricks? Should I go back to my historical fiction pieces and use different fonts? Should I do what I don't like for the sake of getting published? But once it's been done, can I copy the same tricks or will that just make the manuscript uninteresting? Been there, done that, bought the novel.
I write what I like to read. I don't buy many books because I don't like much of what is out there. Therefore, I do not get published because my manuscripts are not marketable. To thine own self be true?
Friday, April 07, 2006
Sources
Now that Dan Brown has been vindicated, writers of historical fiction can breathe easy. Fiction does not have to be completely made up, and so it has been, and so it will continue to be.
I have used plenty of information that was culled from non-fiction works, for how else can one build a framework for the novel? Many's the idea that's popped up while reading, asking 'What if?' and going from there.
The lawsuit was ridiculous from the start, anyway. It's a case of someone writing a book that did not make a ton of money trying to suck some profit out of another's version of the same topic. Historical fact does not belong to the person who wrote it down. The only thing they own are the sentences and paragraphs. Since Dan Brown did not lift pages wholesale, he could hardly be accused of plagiarism.
If anything, Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh have gotten some much needed publicity for their The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail , although it hasn't come for free and the extra books that they sell may not garner enough royalties to pay their attorneys' fees. What they have earned is this month's Grand Gesture award, a lovely expression of futility in the face of insurmountable odds. Well done, lads. Now is the time to put out another book, strike while the publicity iron is hot. I hear there's some new information on Judas Iscariot out there that's begging to be told.
I have used plenty of information that was culled from non-fiction works, for how else can one build a framework for the novel? Many's the idea that's popped up while reading, asking 'What if?' and going from there.
The lawsuit was ridiculous from the start, anyway. It's a case of someone writing a book that did not make a ton of money trying to suck some profit out of another's version of the same topic. Historical fact does not belong to the person who wrote it down. The only thing they own are the sentences and paragraphs. Since Dan Brown did not lift pages wholesale, he could hardly be accused of plagiarism.
If anything, Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh have gotten some much needed publicity for their The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail , although it hasn't come for free and the extra books that they sell may not garner enough royalties to pay their attorneys' fees. What they have earned is this month's Grand Gesture award, a lovely expression of futility in the face of insurmountable odds. Well done, lads. Now is the time to put out another book, strike while the publicity iron is hot. I hear there's some new information on Judas Iscariot out there that's begging to be told.
Death To America Tour Live in Dublin
Here's one for you. Two guys leave England and go to Pakistan for a wedding. No wait, it gets better. See, they're not religious, claiming that when they left Tipton they weren't practicing Muslims. So, they go to Pakistan with a friend who's getting married. It's an arranged marriage. But these guys are just as Western as the rest of us. Except for the arranged marriage bit, but, you know, the folks are a little old fashioned and what's a guy to do? Keep the peace, son.
What's a young lad to do for fun in Karachi? Shafiq Rasul and Rhuhel Ahmed found interesting diversion in a mosque. But they're not practicing Muslims, mind you. There's just not much doing in Karachi. Appeals for humanitarian aid were made that evening, a call to help the poor people of Afghanistan who were suffering - war is nasty business for civilians, you see. Now, you'd think that a twenty-eight year old man would have some sense, but not our friend Shafiq. Ah, no, he was off looking for adventure and he went to Afghanistan with his friend. On a humanitarian aid mission. But he's not a practicing Muslim.
There they are in Afghanistan, using all their money to buy food and medicine for the suffering masses. Then along come the evil Northern Alliance forces, who spotted our boys by their foreign accents. Sort of like your man in Dublin, able to pick out the culchie at twenty paces. Not treated well by the Northern Alliance, were our noble lads.
"They survived a massacre outside Shebargan prison and appalling conditions. "We were covered with lice," Rhuhel said. He bled from scratching himself and lost a lot of weight," reports the Irish Times. Dreadful, isn't it? But it gets worse.
The Northern Alliance turned them over to American Special Forces, and that's when things got really bad. "They endured brutal interrogations and torture which extended from beatings, some especially severe, stress-inducing loud noise, being tied with their heads touching the ground "for six or seven hours" - as Rhuhel recalled it - and solitary confinement which could extend for three or four months." according to the newspaper report. Six or seven hours, was it? Three or four months? And all because they went to a wedding?
Now, they'd like to bring their Death to America Tour to America, but they're frightened, the poor wee lambs, because Shafiq is "...worried about being arrested. He remembered comments of Americans in the Guantánamo Bay detention centre: "You are in the US now. We can do what we want [to you]."
Since their experiences, the two have become religious - but they weren't religious before, oh no. And they want to come to America to tell everyone about Guantanamo? And they think that Americans are going to believe them? For further information on having one's bluff called, see also Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney.
What's a young lad to do for fun in Karachi? Shafiq Rasul and Rhuhel Ahmed found interesting diversion in a mosque. But they're not practicing Muslims, mind you. There's just not much doing in Karachi. Appeals for humanitarian aid were made that evening, a call to help the poor people of Afghanistan who were suffering - war is nasty business for civilians, you see. Now, you'd think that a twenty-eight year old man would have some sense, but not our friend Shafiq. Ah, no, he was off looking for adventure and he went to Afghanistan with his friend. On a humanitarian aid mission. But he's not a practicing Muslim.
There they are in Afghanistan, using all their money to buy food and medicine for the suffering masses. Then along come the evil Northern Alliance forces, who spotted our boys by their foreign accents. Sort of like your man in Dublin, able to pick out the culchie at twenty paces. Not treated well by the Northern Alliance, were our noble lads.
"They survived a massacre outside Shebargan prison and appalling conditions. "We were covered with lice," Rhuhel said. He bled from scratching himself and lost a lot of weight," reports the Irish Times. Dreadful, isn't it? But it gets worse.
The Northern Alliance turned them over to American Special Forces, and that's when things got really bad. "They endured brutal interrogations and torture which extended from beatings, some especially severe, stress-inducing loud noise, being tied with their heads touching the ground "for six or seven hours" - as Rhuhel recalled it - and solitary confinement which could extend for three or four months." according to the newspaper report. Six or seven hours, was it? Three or four months? And all because they went to a wedding?
Now, they'd like to bring their Death to America Tour to America, but they're frightened, the poor wee lambs, because Shafiq is "...worried about being arrested. He remembered comments of Americans in the Guantánamo Bay detention centre: "You are in the US now. We can do what we want [to you]."
Since their experiences, the two have become religious - but they weren't religious before, oh no. And they want to come to America to tell everyone about Guantanamo? And they think that Americans are going to believe them? For further information on having one's bluff called, see also Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney.
How Does She Do It?
The extremely prolific Danielle Steele was interviewed by a Chicago Tribune writer - and I found it very enlightening.
Of course, if I had ever read one of Ms. Steele's novels, I'm sure I could have gotten a lot more out of the quotes. Apparently, she has been writing since she was nineteen, cranking out pulp and cranking out babies at a rate that makes my head spin. Largely due to the massive centrifugal force, she spun off five husbands in the process.
According to the article, Danielle Steele claims that she writes for up to twenty hours per day when she's on a roll, which must be just about daily. Sweet Jesus, this woman never sleeps and she's not dead yet. What I wouldn't do for twenty minutes without interruption to write, and she's putting in hours that would kill a college student. I'm presuming that the local Starbuck's franchise is located in her kitchen, and she is the leading client.
Her books follow some sort of formula, with happy endings for all and to all a good night. It is certainly a winning formula she has concocted because people (women) buy up her tomes by the truckload. Now, I have no intention of writing like Danielle Steele, nor would I want to. Anyone who has studied literature, American or English, has heard tales of authors who were wildly successful in their day, household names that sold well. Those same authors are unknown today, unread, out of print and unmourned. What's it to be? Immortality and poverty, or wealth followed by obscurity? Are you mad? Of course I'd take the money. You want immortality, have children.
Of course, if I had ever read one of Ms. Steele's novels, I'm sure I could have gotten a lot more out of the quotes. Apparently, she has been writing since she was nineteen, cranking out pulp and cranking out babies at a rate that makes my head spin. Largely due to the massive centrifugal force, she spun off five husbands in the process.
According to the article, Danielle Steele claims that she writes for up to twenty hours per day when she's on a roll, which must be just about daily. Sweet Jesus, this woman never sleeps and she's not dead yet. What I wouldn't do for twenty minutes without interruption to write, and she's putting in hours that would kill a college student. I'm presuming that the local Starbuck's franchise is located in her kitchen, and she is the leading client.
Her books follow some sort of formula, with happy endings for all and to all a good night. It is certainly a winning formula she has concocted because people (women) buy up her tomes by the truckload. Now, I have no intention of writing like Danielle Steele, nor would I want to. Anyone who has studied literature, American or English, has heard tales of authors who were wildly successful in their day, household names that sold well. Those same authors are unknown today, unread, out of print and unmourned. What's it to be? Immortality and poverty, or wealth followed by obscurity? Are you mad? Of course I'd take the money. You want immortality, have children.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Another Door Opens
Courtesy of Publishers Marketplace, source of all good things - the Aaron Priest Agency is about to say good-bye to two agents, and all of the clients associated with them:
Something to look forward to when the query bug bites in the summer - but I have to wonder about their policies. I've queried Aaron Priest's firm before, and enclosed a SASE. However, the agency does not respond at all if they are not interested, and you can kiss your SASE good-bye. Doesn't exactly answer the question: Did my query even arrive? So, will Ms. Friedrich and Mr. Cirone continue with the brush off tactics, or will they have the courtesy to shove a form rejection in the supplied enveloped and put the author out of their misery?
Remains to be seen - and will Mr. Priest be advertising for new literary agents to replace his departing employees? Ah, the new agent at the established company...my favorite prey.
Come July, I'm sure I'll be looking for someone to query. I received my very first literary journal rejection today - from the Chicago Review. Shooting a little high on the first go-round, but by July, I might be out of literary magazines to submit to, and I have to do something with my time.
Molly Friedrich is leaving the Aaron Priest Literary Agency to set up her own agency, starting July 1, and share office space with the Gernert Company, PW reports. Paul Cirone will join Friedrich, and as will all of her clients.
Something to look forward to when the query bug bites in the summer - but I have to wonder about their policies. I've queried Aaron Priest's firm before, and enclosed a SASE. However, the agency does not respond at all if they are not interested, and you can kiss your SASE good-bye. Doesn't exactly answer the question: Did my query even arrive? So, will Ms. Friedrich and Mr. Cirone continue with the brush off tactics, or will they have the courtesy to shove a form rejection in the supplied enveloped and put the author out of their misery?
Remains to be seen - and will Mr. Priest be advertising for new literary agents to replace his departing employees? Ah, the new agent at the established company...my favorite prey.
Come July, I'm sure I'll be looking for someone to query. I received my very first literary journal rejection today - from the Chicago Review. Shooting a little high on the first go-round, but by July, I might be out of literary magazines to submit to, and I have to do something with my time.
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