The Road To Peace Runs Crooked

The Stormont Assembly met, the British shut down several military bases, and The Troubles faded into memory.

No British soldiers killed in years, no bombs or bullets or goings on. Just the Shinners and the DUP blowing hard, never striking a lethal blow.

People grew comfortable with the peace. They forgot that the St. Andrews Agreement was between the Provies and the Brits. The Real IRA, the INLA, they had nothing to do with peace and wanted nothing to do with a cease fire. For them, it was a united Ireland or nothing.

The world has been reminded that the road to peace is long and hard, a rock-strewn path that may yet hide a land mine.

Two young British soldiers were gunned down at Massereene barracks in Antrim. They were preparing to go to Afghanistan, to fight another type of terror, when the Real IRA made a grand gesture of opposition to a continued partition of Ireland. A couple of local lads, delivering pizzas, were seriously wounded and may yet die.

And for what?

Eight hundred years of struggle haven't united the country. Sure it was foolish of Michael Collins to accept the terms of the treaty in 1921, but what was done is done.

Young Protestants leave the north of Ireland for England in droves, to attend university and never come back. Belfast is the capital city of intolerance and they don't see any future in an insular little colony. The Catholics stay on, holding Irish passports. Over time, the Catholic population will climb and over time, there will be a majority of people who will want a binding referendum that will bring the six counties back into the Republic of Ireland.

Until then, there's diplomacy and civil disobedience.

There is never a place for cold-blooded murder.

A Son's Love

How much do you love your father? Enough to create a series of sock puppets to pop up on-line in his support? Enough to commit identity theft and harassment?

Norman Golb is a noted scholar who holds a minority opinion about the Dead Sea Scrolls. He thinks Qumran was a storage depot for documents written by many, while most scroll-watchers claim Qumran was a monastery where the scrolls were penned. Not exactly the stuff of which world wars are made, but for those in the trenches it's a big deal.

To defend his father, Raphael Golb went online and created a web of aliases that he used to discredit his father's detractors. He pretended to be Lawrence Schiffman, a scholar at New York University with a contrary view. Aware that computers leave tracks, he went to NYU and used their computers to send messages to Mr. Schiffman's colleagues, confessing to plagiarism.

As if Mr. Schiffman wouldn't notice.

There were sock puppets who were used in online discussion groups, all extolling the virtues of Mr. Kolb's hypothesis and discrediting those who were against him. All the sock puppets came from the vivid imagination of Raphael Kolb.

Now Raphael is facing some serious charges of identity theft. But he's surely proved how very much he loves his father.

Deserving Of The Name

Iowa City, Iowa, is known as the home of the Iowa Writers Workshop, a factory that produces novelists. It was not a surprise, then, that Unesco recognized the university town as a city of literature, a designation that recognizes the city's contribution to the written word.

Edinburgh and Melbourne are also labeled as cities of literature. Together, these three locations are part of the Creative Cities Network. Now Dublin would like to join the party.

Unesco requires a city of literature to have experience in staging literary events, and the Dublin Book Festival that opens today is clear evidence that Dublin deserves to be added to the network.

Besides the festival, there's Bloomsday, that annual trek through Dublin that is guided by James Joyce's novels. Nothing so unique as that in Iowa City, to be sure.

There's no money in this, but Dublin City Council is hoping that the Unesco honor could be turned into tourist dollars. As only the fourth City of Literature in the world, Dublin could promote itself as a perfect destination for those who love books and prose and poetry and drama.

Not to forget Dublin's large trove of pubs, and the ready availability of alcohol. What better atmosphere for the writer? How many great works of literary art have been created in a haze of booze?

It's All In The Timing

The traffic light changed to yellow. My foot hovered over the brake, drifted to the accelerator. Stop or go, stop or go, I considered the options. Too late I made up my mind. I hit the brake, a wee bit hard, and two large white envelopes slid forward from under the passenger seat.

How long had they been there? Two submissions packets to agents who ask for the first three chapters with the query, gathering dust since when?

On the way home, I dropped them in the post and then corrected my submission record. I'd been driving around with them for over a week, the packets forgotten until they made their way from the back seat to the front, under my unobservant eye.

I cursed myself for forgetting the things in the first place. After a week, I was in the "wonder if I'll get an e-mail asking for more" phase. Agents seem to ask for more quite quickly, and here I was wasting energy for something that couldn't possibly happen because I'd not posted the queries in the first place.

But it's all about the timing. Maybe the agent who asked for the full manuscript yesterday wouldn't have been taken by the query if I'd sent it when I prepared it.

So now I can wonder if she actually read the first three chapters after all, or just skimmed the query and thought she'd give it a try. Maybe once she gets the full manuscript she won't like the way the story plays out. Maybe she'll reject it as fast as she asked for it.

Maybe....no. Don't push your luck, boy-o. But St. Paddy's Day is only eleven days away, and maybe.....

There's No Pleasing Some People

They were all excited when George Galloway, MP, announced his plan to bring a convoy of aid trucks to Gaza.

They were ready to greet him with hosannas and hurrahs at the border between Libya and Egypt, ready to cheer him across the width of Egypt and anticipating a grand shout as he drove through the Rafah border crossing.

Just to be polite, Mr. Galloway planned to meet with Hosni Mubarak. You don't drive across a man's country without saying hello. It simply isn't done.

The Egyptian activists who were lauding Mr. Galloway yesterday are cursing him today. They despise Hosni Mubarak, and they believe it's his fault that the Rafah crossing was shut while Israel retaliated against Hamas attacks. Mr. Galloway was denouncing Mr. Mubarak right and left, and the fact that he's going to pay a social call has infuriated those who thought they had a British MP on their side.

So now the activists won't be meeting the convoy and making a big fuss.

He's bringing aid to the very people that the activists claim they are supporting, but the cold shoulder treatment of the aid convoy puts paid to their declarations. The Palestinians in Gaza just happen to be useful to the anti-Mubarak crowd. That's about as far as the concern runs.

Build A Better Memoir

There are those who believe that their life story is the stuff of which best sellers are made. They can't understand why a literary agent doesn't find this to be true as well.

Anyone wishing to pen a memoir that will sell needs to build up the right sort of life experiences. Sure there's more than enough tales of abuse, drug use and what have you. Go look at what's selling and make the necessary adjustments.

You'd like a six-figure deal, of course. You're well worth it.

Forget your recovery from alcoholism. Write about your experiences in the political cesspool.

Disgraced former governor Rod Blagojevich got himself a book deal that way.

Skip over the parts in your life story about the abusive partner. Instead, go marry the daughter of a high-powered Chicago alderman and follow your father-in-law's lead. Learn how to make the deals that make you money and bring you power. You're gaining fodder for your best-seller.

Run for governor and play the race card. Ask a black friend, someone like Roland Burris, to enter the race to attract all the voters of color who are supporting your opponent, thereby creating a majority for yourself. Then give your black friend, someone like Roland Burris, a plum political post by way of thanks.

As for the rest, you've probably read all about it in the news, and it's easy enough to copy what's already been done when you've got the blueprint.

Then query a literary agent, imply that you're going to tell all, and there you are. The six-figure advance is in your bank account.

A successful memoir tells a story, the right kind of story that people will pay good money to read about. It's all about the business, and not the art.

A Fountain Of Rejection

How long will I wait, you ask, if I should send a query to Jennifer de la Fuente at Fountain Literary?

Newly opened agency, keen to find new clients, etc. etc.? Perhaps not enough enthusiasm as I could use, however. But you're asking about the response time, and it comes in at just over two weeks.

"I appreciate your query, and your interest in Fountain Literary. I'm going to pass on the opportunity to read your work, but wish you the best of luck placing it elsewhere."

Standard boilerplate rejection, short and to-the-point.

Other agents have liked the query, but it isn't always about the query letter. It's the story that's being told, and the ability of the agent to sell that story to editors they know.

Write what you like, to please yourself, but keep in mind that literary agents may not believe that your particular topic has legs.

Sure you have the option to write what's selling, but the books that you see in the shops were written two to three years ago. Your task as a writer is to compose novels that will be selling long after you've written them. In other words, you have to predict the market, which is what an agent is doing.

They have an advantage, however. They're driving that market, and they know what's going to work. You, as a writer and avid reader, don't. There's another reason why you need a literary agent.

Patience Is A Virtue But I'm Not Virtuous

Wait. Don't send a query yet. The manuscript's not been re-written all the way through.

Resist the temptation to get those opening pages in front of an agent. Sure, the critique group liked them, but they liked them the last time and not a single agent agreed.

Hold off until you've read every word, looked carefully for errors and little slips in continuity. Don't hit that send key. Don't do it.

Just three agents, that's all, I swear to Jaysus only three agents who want the first few pages in the query. If one of them bites, well, the first three chapters are ready to go in their new and improved condition. How else will I know that I've taken the novel in the right direction?

I know better than to query before the manuscript is finished, but I did it anyway. A test run, to see if I've managed to compose an intriguing hook paragraph and a synopsis that explains the key points of a convoluted comedy.

It's the waiting, that's the problem. Waiting for the agents who are sitting on fulls and partials of another manuscript, and maybe this other novel is the better one to break into the business with. It's all the short story editors who've been thinking about some of my pieces for months and months, going beyond their average time so that I don't know if there's a chance for another publication credit or the paperwork got lost.

I need something, some action, some reaction, some reinforcement. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I haven't been good, quietly waiting and working on something else like I should. What's the penance? Three agents ignoring my query? Can't I just say three rosaries instead?

Another New Agency To Query

Sandra Dijkstra made her name when she took a chance on Amy Tan, and the rest is ethnic fiction history.

Her agency expanded, but now her agency has contracted.

Agents Jill Marsal and Kevan Lyon have gone off on their own, and Ms. Dijkstra can no longer accept submissions of romance (Ms. Lyon's specialty) or mystery (Ms. Marsal's niche).

Operating under the assumption that a new agency needs more clients than those who followed the exiting agents, I'll be sending a submission to the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency as soon as I can decide which manuscript to query.

They'll be getting swamped with those of us who know how to take advantage of that particular angle, so I'll need my most effective query letter, the one that has the strongest hook in the first paragraph.

But do any of my query letters have such an intriguing, must-keep-reading opening? Or is it more a matter of having the right story that either Ms. Lyon or Ms. Marsal know that a particular editor is looking for?

I'm voting for the right story. The newly aligned pair has to generate cash, and quickly, to pay the bills, and they won't have a spot for some beautiful prose that won't garner much of an advance, even if they could find someone to buy it.

About The Taxes On The Royalties, Bono

Taxes? We don't pay no stinkin' taxes......

Paul O'Toole would like everyone to know that he wasn't exactly doing a tribute to Bono yesterday. He wasn't celebrating the release of the new album by singing his modified version of Where The Streets Have No Name outside of the Department of Finance offices.

As a protester with Debt and Development Coalition Ireland, he'd like everyone to know that Bono is a flaming hypocrite.

The man who travels the globe and tells world leaders that their countries should give more taxpayer money to the poor is doing a very good job at dodging the taxes on U2 royalties.

For a time, Irish artists could earn without paying because Irish artists didn't earn much. Then U2 hit it big, and the government put a cap on the tax-free income.

What did Bono et al. do? They sent U2 Inc. to Holland, where the tax rate is lower, and Ireland can stand on the shore and watch all that money sail away. Buy U2's new album and the Netherlands gets a cut of the profit. All Ireland can claim is their portion of the individual band members's salaries. Not quite an equal split.

Asked to comment, Minister for Finance Brian Lenihan stated that Ireland will be making a complaint to the EU about small, below-sea-level countries setting up tax havens that cause financial harm to other EU nations.

We'll all want to check The Irish Times tomorrow, to find out what sort of excuse Bono and the lads have concocted to rationalize their tax dodge. Will Bono explain how he dares to goad foreign leaders into giving more when he's giving as little as possible?

First Oranges, Now The Newspaper

Close your eyes and come with me back to 1984. We'll take a walk down Henry Street to Dunnes Department Store.....

Dunnes Stores were selling oranges in their shops, but the fruit came from South Africa. Apartheid was the law of the land, and Irish unions had declared a boycott of South African goods.

Dunnes Stores wouldn't honor the boycott, so the Irish people boycotted Dunnes. Needless to say, Dunnes backed down and cleared the bins of South African produce.

Now Dunnes has unilaterally decided that they can't pay for their copies of The Irish Times as they have been. That's the end of the weekly direct debit payment, said the folks in the back office at Dunnes Stores headquarters.

That's the end of The Irish Times in Dunnes Stores, so, said the newspaper. All the agents pay via direct debit, and Dunnes can't just up and decide to send a monthly check instead. The newspaper has published a list, county by county, of other places to buy your daily copy. The paper won't be shipped to any Dunnes outlet in all of Ireland until further notice.

And if you want to do your marketing elsewhere as well, The Irish Times won't be writing any heart-breaking prose about Dunnes Stores struggling to make it in tough economic times.

The downside, of course, is that fewer people read the newspapers and if someone wants to know what's going on, they need only go to irishtimes.com. That's a bit different than 1984, when you had to do without oranges because there was no other option at the time.

Will Christy Moore be writing a new, revised version of his classic song about the Dunnes Stores boycott? Something in support of the troubled newspaper industry?

The Instinct Is Sharp

When I discovered that someone at Park Literary Group had dropped by my website, I had a sense that the query was doing its work.

Why else would Amanda Cardinale, or her assistant, have gone to the trouble?

But then I saw that whoever had come to call had only stayed for a very short time. That meant that the opening of the manuscript didn't grab their attention. The whole first chapter is posted, and it takes more than sixty seconds to read ten pages.

No request for more material appeared in the e-mail box the next day, or the day after, or after that. My instincts told me that there would be a rejection.

My instincts have grown sharp with time. The little postcard-sized rejection slip arrived today, a couple of weeks after the visit to the website.

I can make myself feel better by imagining that Ms. Cardinale liked what she saw in the first paragraph, but she was voted down by the other agents in the group. I can be realistic and accept the fact that she didn't like my story or the way I string words together.

So it's off to wait on more responses to the query, and to wait on two other agents who are reviewing the first three chapters. My instincts tell me that it's not going to be good news. There's too much silence for too long a period of time.

Who Will Report The News

The Philadelphia Inquirer and the Philadelphia Daily News are officially bankrupt. If the newspapers go out of business, who will be there to report on the doings in the halls of power?

Advertising revenue is declining as businesses cut back because consumers are cutting back, and what money is spent is going to Internet ads. Everyone's on line, and the adverts must follow. Less ad revenue for newspapers means the papers suffer.

Reporters cost money, and investigative reporting is expensive. The problem is, there's no one on the Internet doing the sort of probing that keeps politicians (relatively) honest. How are we to know that friends of Chicago Mayor Richard Daley are reaping the profits of his political control of the city if not for investigative newspaper reporters finding out the facts and then publishing them?

Newspaper publishing companies are struggling with debt that can't be paid off as once expected because no one expected revenues to plummet.

In Philadelphia, the two newspapers will merge what departments they can to trim costs, which means some people are going to lose their jobs. There won't be any big salary increases or generous bonuses any time soon, but who ever said there was money to be made in writing?

Sampling "No Line On The Horizon"

The album isn't out yet, but the Irish Times has been granted permission by themselves to provide short samples from the album.

Point and click your way to the U2 part of the newspaper's site and have yourself a listen.

Don't know why it's the Irish Times instead of the Independent, unless it's the four-star review that sealed the deal.

Frugality Re-discovered

We're not consuming conspicuously anymore, I've heard. The Chicago Tribune has a whole entire article about this latest trend.

Some of us aren't trend chasers so we missed out on the spending craze. Not that we could afford it when it was the thing to do, of course. Even if we could, there was all that Catholic guilt getting in the way.

From buying African babies to dropping pennies in the St. Vincent box, life was all about giving to others so we could get into heaven. If you had more than your neighbor, you'd not want to shame them by showing off your own prosperity, so things were kept quiet. No flash, no glitz. Stuff the mattress and keep a low profile.

With the new mania for frugality comes a new way to boast of one's accomplishments. Instead of flashing a shiny Rolex watch, the doyennes of cheap flash a stack of coupons and brag of the money they're saving.

Those of us who are accustomed to making do and getting by don't rely on coupons, because they're often for products that we don't use. Low price dog food? Who can afford a dog? Ten cents off the luxury brand of bleach? The generic brand is half the price and bleach is bleach.

All this talk of saving money in the shops, but the latest generation of savers is missing out on a little secret that's known to a select few. Instead of buying things, it's possible to make it at home.

A second hand sewing machine, a bit of fabric and what-not, and a lady can have a new outfit for next to nothing. Not someone's discarded fashion from last year, either, but the latest style. The same goes for the kid's wardrobe, and add in a ball of yarn with some needles and Junior can be warm all winter.

Cultivate friends who own nail guns, power tools and the like, and you could remodel your basement on the cheap. All by doing it yourself.

Funny thing, though. Those who came from money, the old money crowd, aren't much for showing off what they have. It was the nouveau riche who fueled the booming consumer economy, thinking that they were imitating the high society crowd. Now they're the nouveau poore, and they're trumpeting their attempts to copy the low society crowd. Once again, they're close, but not quite there.

How Not To Invest

When the little minnow that was Riverdeep swallowed up Harcourt Education, Harcourt's owner was forced to take a stake in the whale-consuming feast. Now Reed Elsevier has loudly declared that their super-sized portion has shrunk down to a mere mouthful.

Reed Elsevier took $300 million and invested it in HMH-Riverdeep-EMPG-et. al. because it was the only way to unload Harcourt Education. That same $300 million has shrivelled up and the stake is currently valued at 127 million euros.

Well, that's up to them entirely says EMPG. The shareholders can peg their investment where they like. And what's the fuss, anyway? Reed Elsevier reported an increase in sales so they're not in any financial pain, are they? Who are they to cry poor when they're turning a profit? Barry O'Callaghan's baby isn't as ugly as all that.

EMPG isn't the prettiest little fish in the pond, however. Standard & Poor's cut the firm's rating from B- to CCC--. That's about as close to a failing grade as one can get without acquiring a "junk bond" appellation.

They're just waiting for the money to drift out of Washington, D.C. EMPG is counting on the big stimulus package to shore up the heavily leveraged firm. More federal dollars for education means more federal dollars for educational publishing materials, or the whale-swallowing minnow is sunk.

The Golden Circle Club

Banks all over the world are reeling these days, and Anglo Irish Bank is in the middle of the death spiral dance.

The government had to rush in to save the institution from total collapse, and bit by bit, some very shady dealings have come to light.

Suddenly, it's come out that ten unnamed persons were invited by Anglo Irish to buy a 10% stake in the bank, shortly before the Irish government stepped in to salvage the operation.

Not wanting those ten special, highly select individuals to be out of pocket, Anglo Irish loaned them the money to pay for the shares. At the time, the deal was worth 300 million euros. Today, the shares are essentially worthless.

The consortium of buyers, having borrowed the money, can walk away from the deal, which means the Irish taxpayer is on the hook for the loan.

Any wonder that everyone wants to know the identity of the so-called "Golden Circle"?

Legally-minded types don't think that the names can be named because there's confidentially in banking matters. Others believe that, since the government nationalized the bank, it's now a government operation and the government can do what it likes since it makes the rules.

In the absence of any concrete evidence, speculation takes hold, and Fintan Drury has already come forward to state that he's not one of the ten. He's a friend of the taoiseach, he was a non-executive director of Anglo Irish Bank, and the notion to sell ten percent of the bank was all Sean Quinn's idea and that was a month after Mr. Drury resigned his position.

So who else had the power and the financial means to buy into the deal? Lists of names are floating around Leinster House. Will the real Golden Circle please stand up?

Finding Time

It's quiet around here at five a.m., and with work taking up so much time, I'm trying to rise before dawn. If I can squeeze an extra hour out of the day, I can set aside that hour for writing.

Not much has been getting done lately, and I've been forced to give up on a little sleep if I'm to get my daily word to satisfy a certain addiction.

The fact that I've not been focused on writing is showing in what I'm doing now. The bits and pieces that were put down last month and left aside are not the makings of a strong first chapter. After reading over the old section, to get in gear for writing this morning, I realized that I don't have any direction and the narrative doesn't seem to be flowing towards the second chapter.

Rather than start from scratch, I'll take a break and send off another couple of queries for the manuscript that got a bit of a revision a few weeks ago. I'll be sure to use those "Forever" stamps, since postage is going up again in May and you can't expect a literary agent to get back to you in less than three months.

And I'll take advantage of the postal rate calculator at fictionondemand.com. Wouldn't want the submission packet coming back to me because of insufficient postage.

The Lord Of The Minnows

If only they'd thought of this two years ago, when the whole world was awash in The Lord of the Rings.

In the hopes that a past fad hasn't died completely, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt is holding to their decision to not take on new manuscripts in the adult trade division. Instead, they're going with an old one.

Back when J.R.R. Tolkien was a young man teaching at Oxford, before he put together his impressive saga of Middle Earth and all things Hobbit, he wrote The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrun. He based his tale on the old Norse myths, those tales of long ago that we all despised when studying mythology at university. Apparently, Mr. Tolkien found something lacking as well, and reworked them into a novel that he never published.

He's been long dead, of course, and his fantasy fiction that did make it into print continues to sell well. Still, after the films came out, the trend ran its course, but could there be some flicker of interest in Tolkien yet?

HMH is banking on it. The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrun is due to be laid down in May, and if all goes well, sales will be brisk and HMH's parent company can pay off some debt and convince Moody's that it isn't on the brink of default.

Better to gamble with a known commodity than take a chance on a new author. Now, if only one of the networks could be convinced to run the three "Ring" movies right before the new novel is released, and if the BBC and RTE would join in the promotion...

The Kindle Debate

As big as a trade paperback, she said, but heavier of course. She loves her Kindle.

The books are cheap, she went on, some only five dollars. Sure the Kindle is over $300, but she was spending more than that every year on hard copies so it's cheaper in the long run.

We discussed the Kindle at the book club meeting and opinions were all over the place. One of the members was considering the e-reader for a daughter away at college. How perfect for her, an avid reader, when a Kindle can hold so many books at once. The device is far more portable than a stack of bulky books, and who could argue with that logic.

The size of the font can be varied, to accommodate aging eyes without resorting to reading glasses. That can be a benefit when reading outdoors on a sunny day and you don't have prescription sunglasses, but what about the dangers of blowing sand if you're reading at the beach?

Books on Kindle don't have covers, and that was deemed a great loss. So much of a book is judged by the cover, and that's missing with an electronic delivery system.

And there's no pages to turn. The physical act of reading, the feel of paper in the hand, is missing. One member of our group is dead set against the Kindle because there is no substitute for a real book, no matter the convenience.

What of the library, so? Will there be a time in the future when the library shelves will hold blank Kindles to be checked out? Rather than choose a book, would we browse some kind of display? Would the librarian download our choice and tell us the book's going to disappear from the e-reader in two weeks?

What sort of fines would be levied for keeping the Kindle beyond the allowed time period? Or would we have to buy Kindles of our own?

Finally, there's the author, who labors over every manuscript. There's never been any money to be had as a writer, but will cheap e-books make matters even worse? What kind of royalties could be expected from a book that sells for five dollars? After all, the publisher still has to pay its acquistion editors and copy editors and executives.

I'll weigh in on the side of the Kindle haters. The convenience doesn't outweigh the negatives for someone who'd like to be a published author some day.

Another Sign Of Bad Times

Donald Trump has turned his back. Walked out the door. Left without saying good-bye.

The Trump entertainment empire has gone belly up.

That will happen when a business enterprise takes out loans and then can't pay the interest when it comes due.

About all that Donald Trump had at stake was his name, since he stepped back from his earlier position in 2004 when the company went bankrupt for the first time.

Ever the boastful lad, Mr. Trump has declared that he's not hurt by the failure and he's still worth plenty. Don't be holding a fund-raiser for him, indeed not, he's comfortable yet.

The casino and resort operation had more debt than it could handle, and apparently not enough gamblers sitting at the slot machines. When times get bad, even the poor have to cut back on their cheap forms of entertainment, and that means less time at the casino and less money flowing out of the pocket and into the casino's coffers.

So what does this failure mean for the good people of Scotland, who are in the middle of having a Trump-operated resort shoved down their haggis-loving throats? Is it possible that the pristine beauty of the Scottish coast will be saved because of an economic downturn? Is there a glint of silver lining in this dark cloud?

The New Agency On The Block

There's a market for books on gambling, and if that's your genre, you'd be wise to send your query to Venture Literary.

For an agent, however, sticking with one non-fiction genre won't pay the bills. There aren't enough manuscripts on the topic that will be bought in any given year. Considering the amount of research needed to write a good book, the stable of authors would be hard pressed to produce enough volumes to keep things afloat, even if the publishers were buying.

For a time, Venture Literary stretched its wings and expanded into fiction, women's issues and other assorted topics. Jennifer de la Fuente joined the team, to scout out different opportunities and represent another type of author.

All things change, however, and Venture Literary is once again a two-man operation, with expertise in gambling. Ms. de la Fuente has gone off on her own.

Fountain Literary is the newest agency to be opened by an agent leaving a group to establish her own agency. Ms. de la Fuente is interested in fiction that isn't romance, along with the traditional staples of parenting, women's issues and the like.

As the sole agent, it's all up to her to bring in the money that keeps the lights on. She'll be looking for new clients, and there's no better time to submit to an agent than when they've just opened up shop and the shelves are a little bare.

And Then There's Flagpole Sitting

Ah, for the good old days of the Great Depression.

Listen to the news these days and you'd think you'd gone back there, except for the lack of stories that are meant to take our minds off the gloom and doom.

Where's the flagpole sitters when we need them?

In this digital age of instant communication, sitting on a pole for days at a time won't do. We want something bizarre, yes, but we want something we can relate to. We want our own idiocy for our own economic melt-down.

We want a pub crawl.....with Snuggies.

Is there anything more absurd than a blanket with sleeves? What kind of mind dreams up such things? More to the point, what kind of person would even think to combine a sleeved blanket with a pub crawl?

The Snuggie Pub Crawl stumbled out of the minds of two Chicagoans who have clearly endured a long, hard winter. Day and time have yet to be determined, but Snuggie weather won't last forever and you'll want to get yours in plenty of time. The idea is to wear a Snuggie while enjoying some of Chicago's finer establishments. Silly, like sitting on a pole, without any purpose, but at least there's alcohol involved and that makes things all better.

Before long, your television screen will be filled with images of drunken sots, reveling while clad in Snuggies. Won't that make you feel good, after you've checked the state of your stock portfolio and spent eight hours at work, worrying about losing the job?

As Safe As The Bank of Scotland

How time flies. It's been four years since the police in Northern Ireland woke up to find that one of their Belfast banks had been robbed. The biggest heist ever, they were proud to note, but who did it and where's the money gone to?

Four years on, and nearly three million sterling was located and its holder charged. The authorities have operated on the presumption that it was the IRA who pulled the caper, to fund a pension scheme for their retiring soldiers in the face of the St. Andrews agreement. Their assumption led them to financial adviser Ted Cunningham, who is now being tried in the Republic of Ireland.

How did Mr. Cunningham come to be in possession of those sterling notes? A mysterious man, driving a Northern Ireland-registered car, handed him a collection of duffel bags stuffed with cash.

How did this mystery man know to contact Mr. Cunningham in the first place?

Phil Flynn sent him. The same Phil Flynn who was the chairman of the Bank of Scotland (Ireland). It only makes sense. If you're dealing with large sums, you'd want a bank chairman handling things. Twenty-five million pounds doesn't disappear quietly, after all, and a certain level of expertise is required. Someone who knows the banking system inside and out. Someone who knows where the loopholes are.

You'll be getting five million, Mr. Flynn is supposed to have said to Mr. Cunningham, and it's a lot of laundry to handle. As it turned out, Mr. Cunningham must have cleaned up almost half of it, since the gardai only found about 2.3 million hidden away in the Cunningham home in Cork.

So where's the other twenty million gone off to?

Except For A Slight Catch

Eamon Ryan has a plan that will put 4000 people to work during 2009. Better ten months of employment than nothing, right?

50,000 homes can be made snug and cozy with the right sort of insulation, and since someone has to produce the insulation and someone has to transport it to a shop and someone has to ring up the sale....you get the idea.

With a government investment of 100 million euros, Irish grannies can be warmer than they've ever been. Roll out a few coils in the attic and there's all that expensive heat, trapped inside where it belongs. Why, the homeowner would save enough money to cover the cost of that insulation in seven years time.

Did you think the government scheme was meant to pay for the complete cost of insulating old homes? There's always a catch.

With people facing redundancies and mounds of debt, who is going to come up with the cash to pay for 70% of an insulating project? No matter if the government will give you 250 euros towards the cost. You still have to come up with the rest, so you're still out of pocket and can you really wait seven years to recoup the costs in heat savings? You might be emigrating in five years time and then what?

Labour's own Liz McManus thinks that those who have some money put away will jump at the chance to spend it on insulation if they had some tax incentive, so the proposed program doesn't go far enough.

Anyone with any savings these days is hanging on to it for dear life. Money for insulation? How about money for the mortgage and food and school uniforms and the credit cards that have balances unpaid?

In Search of Hidden Meanings

Someone at the Park Literary Group looked at my website last week.

There's no escaping the watchful eye of stat counters and traceable footprints.

What does it mean, though, that in response to a query there was a visit? An agency-associated person went to the site and looked at the sample chapter that's posted. Evidence exists; there was a hit on that very page.

That was last week.

A week, and still there's been no SASE returned with a form rejection letter stuffed inside.

A week, and there's no e-mail asking for the first three chapters or even the full manuscript.

Someone looked at the sample chapter and it's silence ever since. Was it an agency assistant, told to check out the site to see if it's professional enough? Was it the agent I queried, intrigued enough by the query to want to read the actual novel?

Guesses and second guesses, but it's not unlikely that the query and the SASE were put into the big pile, to be rejected en masse when the intern comes in. Meanwhile, it will sit and I will wait, making guesses and searching for meaning where there may not be any logic at all.

Searching For New Victims

And it's a "no" from the literary agent. The second rejection, the second time he's asked for pages, the second time he's not falling in love with the opening of the manuscript. Two novels, both shot down.

With material still out there, I'm hesitant to query until I get some possible feedback. Of course, there's the chance that I'll get all form rejections, like today's unwelcome bit of e-mail, but what if an agent mentions something that I hadn't noticed before?

It's hard to resist, especially when the query letter is working and I'd like to jump in before things get too busy and before you know it they're all off on their summer holidays and that's it until Labor Day.

There's no better time to query a literary agent than when they're just getting started in the biz. With that in mind, I'll go ahead and send off a letter to Sara Megibow, recently promoted from assistant to Kristen Nelson to full-fledged junior agent.

If I have any luck, I'll catch her in a moment of intense energy, a period of urgent acquisitions. Then again, she might pass on the query, just like Ms. Nelson did months ago.

Six Years Of Rejection

Jack Kerouac's original manuscript for his break-out novel is on display at University College Dublin. All 120 feet of it.

Legend has it, the author taped together pieces of paper until he had a long roll to string into his typewriter. Then he sat down and typed, words pouring off his fingers for twenty days. Then he started the publishing process.

Back in the 1950's, an author could approach a publisher and be rejected straight from the top, which happened to Jack Kerouac. On The Road was turned down, the thick scroll rejected, for six years.

Part of the problem was that Mr. Kerouac didn't want to edit his manuscript, not when he claimed that the whole thing had been dictated to him by the Holy Ghost Himself. Anyone studying the scroll and comparing it to the finished novel will realize that, third part of the Holy Trinity notwithstanding, the manuscript was heavily edited.

Kerouac scholars are salivating over the chance to access the original, to peruse the author's annotations, cross-outs and corrections. What better way to get a glimpse inside the mind of a writer than to study what was changed as compared to what was first put down on paper?

Six years of rejection, though. I have a ways to go.

Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em

Light up. Do it for the kids.

Congress passed the new expanded health care program for children and if you don't start smoking more, all the other taxpayers are going to have to pay up. For the sake of your neighbors, and their offspring, have a smoke.

The SCHIP program has been extended to include those who could probably pay their own costs for health insurance, but if the government is willing to foot the bill, why pay out of your own pocket? On the down side, it's to be a tax on cigarettes that's to pay for the thing, so don't even think about quitting for your health. Think of the health of the children.

Billions of dollars will be needed to pay for health care for those who are about to discover that there's not enough doctors in America to see them. As things now stand, there aren't enough smokers to fund the whole thing with the tripled tax on tobacco, so more smokers are desperately needed.

Poor folks are more likely to smoke, and they're more likely to quit because they can't afford to pay that additional $1.01 per pack for children's health care. As the population of nicotine addicts declines, the non-smokers are sure to be tapped, and you don't want that to happen when you could save your neighbor a few dollars.

Buy a carton. Light up, enjoy the buzz. Encourage your local politicians to overturn that anti-smoking ordinance so you can smoke in bars and restaurants. It's all tax money flowing into the SCHIP program, isn't it? It's a most worthy cause.

Don't worry about your own health. Now that the kids have national health care, it's just a matter of time before Congress approves health care for adults, and your lung cancer will be treated at taxpayer expense.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em; get 'em if you don't. Have a puff for the sake of the next generation.

Buy American And European Too

Buy American and we won't, says the European Union.

The economic stimulus bill under debate in the U.S. Senate contains a provision to buy American when it comes to steel and other products needed to stimulate the economy. The EU is not pleased, and there's rumblings.

Peter Power, the EU trade spokesman, has said in a most polite way that if the provision passes, the World Trade Organization will get an earful from his side.

It's considered protectionist, to not have free trade, and making it illegal to buy a foreign product violates all kinds of treaties to which the U.S. is a signatory. For the folks at home, of course, it sounds grand. We're stimulating the economy and we're only using our own steel made by our own workers who'll have jobs because the government is buying their products which no one else bought because they could be had cheaper elsewhere, the elected reps will say. To which the EU will cry foul.

Sometimes when you set out with good intentions, you end up paving a road to hell. In these hard times, however, paving a road to anywhere has a certain appeal to those who think what's never worked before will miraculously work this time around.

The Government Giveth And The Recession Taketh Away

How about if the lower and middle income earners in the public sector paid in more to the pension levy? That way the government wouldn't have to make cuts in other areas.

No, no, no, no says the Irish Congress of Trade Unions. Too painful for our members. Too heavy of a burden. Besides, the other social partners might not agree either and ICTU doesn't want to be left standing alone.

So there's no common ground to stand upon. The Irish Government is desperate to find billions in cuts to expenses, but the trade unionists don't want to inflict the burden on their members.

The sad fact is, the expenses must be cut somewhere because there's simply no money to pay for all the little goodies that the government handed out when times were fat. The lean years are beginning, and no one wants to go on a diet, but someone will have to starve to death if others are to fill their financial bellies.

Brian Cowen will announce his plans later, when he'll detail where he's found two billion euros worth of excess that can be trimmed. It may involve a pension levy, in spite of ICTU's displeasure, and it may involve decreased funding for child care, roads and infrastructure improvements.

The government can legislate national health care, family services, generous social welfare payments, and anything else the public would like. When the bill comes due, however, the public is none too pleased to discover that they have to give up the luxuries they once took for granted. They can vote out Fianna Fail at the next election, to punish them, but that won't bring the money back.

Post Super Bowl Chatter

In offices across the land, people are gathering around the coffee maker or the water cooler and chatting. There's comments and observations being made about the game, questions asked about the lack of brilliant commercials this time around.

Over in the corner, a conversation takes a turn. "Where's Diane Bartoli gone to then," one of the would-be novelists says. Joe Veltre has re-made his agency.

The old Artists Literary Group is now The Veltre Company. It's only Mr. Veltre there now, doing the agenting and the managing and the consulting.

Ellen Pepus, on the other hand, is content with the traditional agent role. She's taken her eponymous agency and expanded by one, resulting in a new name. Having snatched Gary Heidt from FinePrint Literary Management, she's gone from Ellen Pepus to Signature Literary Agency.

Two relatively new agencies in search of talent, and they both like submissions via e-mail.

No One Died In The Making Of Counterfeit Money

So what if Sean Garland was printing up his own U.S. currency, aided by the North Koreans. No one died, did they? Not a drop of blood was shed, except for the occasional paper cut.

It's all so unfair, to arrest Mr. Garland and extradite him to stand trial for his harmless little forgeries. Murder is one thing, but counterfeiting? No blood, no foul, isn't that how the law is supposed to work?

Like the old Mafia dons when they're finally caught, Sean Garland is wringing his hands, crying over his ill health and he shouldn't be arrested and sent overseas for trial, the poor man, he's just not well.

For now, Mr. Garland is sitting in Cloverhill Prison, waiting for his upcoming court appearance. The government of the Unites States wants to try him for producing funny money, some very well-crafted artificial currency. In a most odd coincidence, Mr. Garland is the national treasurer for the Worker's Party. Raising funds by printing them, is that it?

Did he mention that no one died? No blood shed?

His fellow Worker's Party members want everyone to know that this whole arrest nonsense is nothing more than a ruse, to distract everyone from Ireland's economic crisis. They apparently believe that all of Ireland is up in arms over it, talking about it for hours, working themselves up into a foaming-at-the-mouth frenzy. Everyone except the workers at the Waterford Crystal factory, who are a bit busy sitting-in at the shuttered factory, protesting its abrupt closing.

Eoghan Harris is certainly upset. This former Worker's Party stalwart, who insists that there's no love lost between him and Sean, thinks that the old IRA man was singled out. He didn't kill anyone with his counterfeit bills, did he? It was a bloodless crime, therefore, it's no crime at all.

And Bernard Madoff just made some poor investment decisions. It's a bloodless crime. Why, oh why, must old sick men be made to suffer?

Here's A New Tax To Introduce

Things have gotten so bad in Ireland that its debt is now ranked at the top of the risk charts. With the banks so heavily invested in the building boom that's gone bust, the credit crisis in the Emerald Isle has all but killed off the Celtic Tiger.

The budget shortfall is projected to reach an all-time, astronomical high. Multi-national firms are closing up and moving to Poland where labor is cheaper, leading to rocketing unemployment and the loss of tax income from both the former employer and the sacked employee. Where is the money to come from to fund national health, roads, schools, the dole, et al.?

The Central Bank has a brilliant plan. They've found a new tax, one that's worked well in the States but has yet to be introduced to Ireland.

Irish people, meet the Property Tax. It may be here to stay, so make room in your budget.

Why, if every property owner had to pay the government 1,000 euros annually as a property tax, that's billions that would flow in. The religious at CORI could stop harping about cuts to social welfare, the unions would stop roaring about cutting wages---much quieter in Dublin altogether.

Speaking from Davos, Switzerland, Brian Cowen has declared that it's pure speculation to talk about property taxes. The Cabinet will discuss it in due time and nothing's happening until the end of the summer, in the run-up to the December budget.

Imagine how happy the Irish people will be, with their budgets already stretched to the limit. For those without work, who are about to lose their homes in foreclosure, it must be heart-warming to know that there will still be money in the Exchequer to provide them with a council house and social welfare payments.

Maybe someone at the Central Bank can figure out, between now and September, how an already financially strapped populace can come up with even more tax money, and not send the Irish economy into a complete tailspin.

The Importance Of Sample Size

The query wasn't working, since there were no requests after a couple of weeks went by. If an agent is going to ask for a sample of the manuscript, they'll do it quickly, and take their time with the rejecting.

After tossing the words around in my head, I decided to do a bit of rearranging. The opening of the second paragraph become the beginning of the letter, and the main conflict got a thorough overhaul. A day to settle, and then it was ready for sending.

Only three letters were sent out on a Friday, but there's only so many minutes in a day that are free for writing and submitting. Each agent needs their little personalization, that ending where you drop one of their author's names to show that you've done a bit of research.

Saturday morning, and there was a rejection from Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary Management. Prompt, to be sure, but I could have waited until Monday. No need to be working on a Saturday. Even the Postal Service is looking to drop Saturday work.

Sunday evening, a second rejection appeared. Laney Katz Becker was getting an early start on the work week, but again, I could have waited for Monday. There's no rush.

What was I to think but that the new query was as ineffective as the one it replaced? Two out of three rejections, and within days. Not a good sign.

Monday morning, expecting another rejection, I opened the e-mail and found a request for the complete manuscript.

Monday afternoon, I sent out two more queries, hoping to be riding a winning streak.

Tuesday morning, there was a request for a partial manuscript.

Like any gambler, I know my luck will run out so I've decided to stop querying while I'm ahead. Until the itch strikes, which I know it will, and I'll be back at it. For now, I can relax, knowing that my query writing ability hasn't gotten lost, as I thought it had.

After a minute of relaxing, I can obsess over the odds of my manuscript submissions getting rejected. It's a good life.

Ambadassor To Ireland

So who will it be?

How about Caroline Kennedy? She's got the roots, they adore her father up and down the Emerald Isle, and she's in need of a quiet place to recover after the debacle of her Senate bid.

How about John Sweeney of the AFL-CIO? Bet he knows all the words to The Ballad of James Larkin. Everyone's in a union in Ireland, so Mr. Sweeney would fit right in.

Ambassadorships are handed out like prizes to those who did their bit to support a candidate. Usually they're wealthy, and held fundraisers that bankrolled the campaign. The more they've given, the choicer the spot, and if they gave by the boatload and happen to have Irish roots, it's off to Dublin.

The leading candidate, if rumor is to be believed, will be rather busy this Sunday. His football team is playing in the Super Bowl.

Dan Rooney, Hibernian-rooted businessman, owns the Pittsburgh Steelers so you know he's not hurting for cash. Along with Tony O'Reilly, he founded the Ireland Fund charity, making him a known commodity for the Irish establishment. And early on he supported the Obama candidacy, leaning on his friends to hop on board while annoying many Steelers fans who were backing John McCain. He's got all the credential ducks lined up in a neat little row.

The decision is typically announced around St. Patrick's Day, so there's time for lobbyists to put in a good word for their man.

Any chance that the new President will be spotted in Mr. Rooney's skybox come Sunday?

A Piece Of The Literary Action

Before long, Google may be granted permission to scan every book on earth.

It's grand when you want to look up something from long ago, some ancient novel or newspaper article from the Nineteenth Century. A few keystrokes and you have what you need, the bit of information that will flesh out a scene in your historical fiction. It's not so grand if you're the author of a copyrighted book who thought there'd be royalties coming in but who's going to buy if it's free on the Internet?

The deal on the table would allow Google to scan copyrighted books, but they'd have to pay the owner of the copyright. Sixty-three percent of revenues derived from ad revenue obtained from a hit on the given book, or from a subscription to access the book, would fall into the author's lap.

So at a few cents per ad hit, that could amount to next to nothing.

At least if someone had to buy the book, or use the copy purchased by the local public library, there'd be something coming in to pay the bills for the writer. Instead, everything goes electronic, paper-free, making things much cheaper to produce. The author, however, has the same investment of time, while it's only the compensation that will be reduced.

Expect authors who are aware of the upcoming deadline to opt out of a Google scan. There's everything in it for the benefit of Google's shareholders, and nothing for an author to gain.

When I Grow Up I Want To Be A Policeman

A police officer arrived at the Gresham District station and said he'd been sent over from his district. Made sense at the time, what with the need for greater manpower in some parts of Chicago as compared to other, less crime-ridden sections. The lad was in full uniform, and no one but a credentialed police officer could buy a full uniform, so he had to be legit.

He signed out a radio and a ticket book, and went off with a partner to patrol the streets of the city's south side. He was there when his partner pulled over traffic violators. He was there when the pair were called to settle a domestic dispute. He worked side by side with a regular Gresham District officer for a full five hour shift.

"You look a little too young to be a cop," a superior said when the new guy came back to the station. "Let's see your badge."

No badge. No proper credentials. No bullet-proof vest, for that matter. The vest cover was stuffed with newspaper to make it look like the real thing. No gun either, but he did have the holster strapped to his waist.

The would-be officer turned out to be a fourteen years of age, a lad who was very keen to be a cop when he grew up. He's been charged as a juvenile with the crime of impersonating an officer, and don't think he'll get off easy. The boy has thoroughly embarrassed the Chicago Police Department, and they don't find the whole thing the least bit amusing.

There's concern, naturally, about how he came to acquire a full uniform, since that would mean that just about any miscreant could do the same, go around pretending to be a policeman while committing various crimes.

But you have to give the boy credit for taking things into his own hands, for finding a way to realize his dream.

That's a modern day Horatio Alger tale, the child from the downtrodden Englewood district rising up to become an officer of the law. He has to start young, if he's to make detective sergeant by the time he twenty.

An Unexpected Critique

There are a few literary agents out there who ask for some sample pages with the query. Stuff them in an envelope, paste them at the bottom of an e-query, just send along a taste of the manuscript and they'll forgive a weak query letter if the novel is well-written.

You'd never expect much more than a rejection or a request for the first three chapters. Either the agent likes what you've written or they don't and that's that.

Much to my surprise, I received a rejection in response to an e-query, but the agent took the trouble to explain what she didn't like about the opening pages.

Clearly she read the whole sample and gave it a bit of thought. Paid a compliment to the skill of the author (ah, go on it was nothing really) and mentioned what she found intriguing about the opening of the novel.

Her problem was with the main character not being sympathetic to the audience. The reader wants someone to cheer for, to find commonalities with, and while that might happen beyond page five, she'd like to see it sooner.

Easy enough to shift things around, to cut out a few sentences that tend to repeat one important characteristic of the protagonist. Bring forward the character's weak point, the vulnerability that will appeal to a reader, and the beginning will shine with uncommon brilliance.

Now, should I do all that, the literary agent did make mention of the fact that she's very busy, swamped with existing clients, etc., etc. In other words, go ahead and do a re-write, but don't send it back.

Sometimes the writing can be flawless, but the agent just isn't interested in the story that's being told.

Home Repairs That Create Repairs

The Big Swede brought along the spade bit and I supplied the 2 x 4s. In less than two hours, we had the new studs installed.

"Ready for the plumber," he says as he packs up his nail gun.

He drills a hole through the floor so that I can move the wires for the thermostat, which were running through the wall where the new plumbing will go. No fool me, ah no, I wrote down the order that the wires had to be connected before I pulled the thermostat out.

The Big Swede dropped a string through the hole while I went below, to fish the wire through the new opening. Too lazy to get a ladder, I reached up to pull the wires out of their original location and managed to drop the bare wires onto the piece of conduit that just happened to be running in the ceiling.

"That's not good," says I as the sparks flew. Sure but it's nothing, and up I go to put things back as they were.

Black, red, yellow and green, I followed the order and screwed everything back in place.

No heat.

"I'm going home," says the Big Swede, whose wife was left at home with a long list of things she wanted him to be doing and him having to face a less-than-happy woman.

So I ring up my HVAC mate and after he gets done laughing, he comes over with a new piece for the furnace, to replace the one I fried when I dropped the wire onto the conduit.

"You should have turned off the switch on the furnace," he goes.

"I should have taped the ends of the wires," says I.

That's the problem with fixing things around the house. It only leads to more things in need of fixing.

How Do You Say Cead Mile Failte In Arabic?

Well, seeing as how the new American President is going to close Guantanamo in a year, and seeing as how the prisoners need someplace to go.....

There's plenty of rooms available, particularly in the west of Ireland, and Minister for Justice Dermot Ahern would like to extend a thousand welcomes to the inmates of Guantanamo.

They're used to warmer weather, and Ireland's chill might come as a bit of a shock, but then again, the Islamic lads were picked up off battlefields in Afghanistan and it's plenty cold there in the winter.

The welcome mat is at the door as long as the entire European Union acts in concert to help the U.S. find new homes for those unwanted in their native lands. No one wants to return and be tortured, after all, when they could enjoy the warmth and hospitality of the Irish countryside.

Oh, and Micheal Martin wishes to point out that the EU is talking about taking in the non-combatants, not the terrorists. Sweet Jaysus, don't be sending the likes of that Ron Jeremy look-alike to Dublin or Shannon, no, that's not what this is all about.

Europe would like the inmates with no history of terrorist activities, if you please. Amnesty International estimates that fifty men have been cleared of charges, but since they'd face torture if they went home (what were they doing in Afghanistan, their own security forces would like to know) they're stuck in no-man's-land.

Sure the Irish would love to give shelter to fifty Arabic speakers, provide them with a place to live, food to eat and a few euros to buy souvenirs. Considering the state of the economy, Mr. Ahern couldn't have made a more wise suggestion. In Enda Kenny's mind, that is.

The Case Of The Unfortunate Train

The daughter of a Chicago laborer wouldn't have attended any cotillions, nor would she have gained experience at dealing with a long dress and the idiosyncrasies of the dance.

Michelle Obama's designer frock included a short train, which looked fine when she was walking forward or standing still.

The problem came about when the dancing started and the poor woman was made to step backwards. On to the unfortunate train.

The fabric became an unholy nuisance, always in the way as the First Couple tried to be suave and smooth. With the train impeding movement, President and First Lady appeared more like partners at a grade school dance, shuffling from side to side and avoiding any semblance of a proper foxtrot.

Little was said last night as the attempt was made, at one ball after another, to show some decent moves.

President Obama has remarked repeatedly on his lack of rhythm (he is half-Caucasian, after all) and inability to dance well. He'll take all the blame for last night's fiasco, chalking it up to his own fault, when it was obviously the fault of the unfortunate train on his wife's ball gown.

Now there's a man who understands diplomacy and keeping the peace.

New U2 And Ireland Hears It First

Fans of U2 have been waiting for five years, and at last a new album is ready for release.

Irish listeners got the first listen of the first single, but those international types who are media savvy knew that they had only to tune in to RTE 2fm and share the joy. Thanks to a bit of on-air banter, the Colm and Jim-Jim Breakfast Show won Bono's heart and won the radio world's grand prize.

Dave Fanning, a disc jockey at RTE, has long been a U2 supporter, and that support has been rewarded. He's the man who gets first crack at playing all the new releases, and Bono et al. continued the habit this time around.

Get On Your Boots will be officially released on February 13, followed on the 27th by the new album No Line On The Horizon. If you can't get to Ireland to make your purchase, you'll have to wait until the second of March when the rest of the world gets its U2 fix.

In the meantime, you can wander over to U2's website and have a free listen.

Sales are expected to be brisk, in spite of the current economic downturn.

Sometimes you need a little food for the soul, even if your belly is empty.

Be Of Service To Others

You've been told by himself that you're to be a Jesuit today.

Go out there and serve the community, the forty-fourth president said. Volunteer at a soup kitchen, perhaps.

A man who sits in a church for twenty years for the sole purpose of gleaning political points wouldn't realize that the Jesuits beat that whole service notion into young skulls since St. Ignatius Loyola started the order. Be of service to others. That's what you're on this earth for, young man, and when you're not serving you'd best be studying Latin and Greek to mold your brain. Be of service to others.

If you don't make a habit of attending religious services, you might not realize that there's a regular schedule for serving at the soup kitchen and the emergency homeless shelter. Not just today, on Martin Luther King Day, but on an ongoing basis. That's what community service is all about.

Be of service to others for one day, and you'll find that it's a monumental pain in the arse. Be of service to others in the Jesuitical style, and you'll find that it's still a monumental pain in the arse, to give of your precious free time. It's just that, if you follow St. Ignatius's dictates, you won't get all dewy-eyed when some politician makes a recommendation that has all the production values of Hollywood, along with its utter lack of sincerity.

Some revelations aren't startling if you're living them.

Highly Selective

Joy Harris doesn't like anyone's query. Now that's selective.

Is it worth it to even try? She doesn't even bother with a website, which suggests an agent keeping a low profile. You'd get the impression that she doesn't actually want you to contact her.

Consider the statistics. According to the data at Querytracker.net, she's been sent thirty-six queries and not asked for one single submission. She hasn't requested one extra page, let alone the first three chapters, and certainly hasn't asked for a full manuscript.

On the bright side, however, if you should mail her a query, she'll reject you within a couple of weeks, and it's always nice to get a response of some sort in short order.

There are times in the agent search process when your letters are met with silence. At least a snail-mail query to Joy Harris would make some sound and let you know that you're alive and the postal system is functioning.

I Have A Feeling We're Not In Kansas Anymore

Here's a video that says it all, courtesy of the Corrigan Brothers. There's nothing I can add to this madness.

You Want Chips With That?

Athlone is a small enough town, small enough that the owner of the local Supermacs might have known all about the sixteen-year-old girl who was allowed to work more than four hours per day, and after ten o'clock at night.

The Department of Enterprise, Trade and Employment is based in Dublin, and would have had no idea that the young lady was supporting her family. Being in Dublin, they might not have much cared. The law's the law. Sixteen-year-olds can't work long hours and that's all there is to it. If her family can't pay their light or heat bills, well, the law's the law.

Judge John Neilan heard the case that was brought against the Supermacs. He determined that the bureaucrats were a bunch of feckin' eejits and the Supermacs was doing a good deed.

Times are getting harder in Ireland, and things are only going to get worse. Judge Neilan is aware that emigration is expected to climb, as people go abroad in search of work, and as far as he's concerned, trying to stick to the letter of the employment law was another way of telling Ireland's young people to pack their bags.

Cutting Behavior In Minnows

The whale-swallowing minnow that styles itself Education Media and Publishing Group is exhibiting some troubling behavior. The little fish is cutting itself, over and over, in a bid to deal with extreme stress.

The Wall Street Journal claims that 700 cuts have been inflicted in the Houghton Mifflin Harcourt arm (or fin, if you will). It came out some weeks ago that HMH wasn't buying new adult trade manuscripts for future publication, which suggests a bout of literary anorexia on top of the self-mutilation.

Sure there's a chance that someone would snap up the adult trade division, as if there's any kind of deal going down anywhere in the world these days. Credit Suisse might have a new fish on the line that's interested in hooking a segment of HMH, but who would be willing to take a chance, unless it's someone who thinks they could buy cheap, sell off the remaining assets, and make a profit as they walk out the door.

Until such a sale becomes reality, the minnow will inflict another gash, starve another day, hoping to slim down to a fighting weight. There is a risk, of course, that the minnow could become too weak and find that it can't keep up with the competition. Those who purchase educational materials are always looking for the newest, most innovative products, and if HMH isn't putting out new and innovative, sales won't climb.

Barry O'Callaghan's dream of owning the biggest educational publishing material conglomerate in the world is in danger of turning its belly to the sky. Unless he could somehow convince the U.S. Congress that he's in need of a bail-out.....HMH Bank and Trust, anyone?

A Little Reinforcement Would Help

While I wait for a couple of agents to decide if they like the current manuscript on submission, I know that I should get to work on a revision of an older work. If only I could get some kind of positive response on the queries that were sent out weeks ago. If only I could get another short story accepted, instead of being under consideration in the event that someone else pulls their piece and a slot opens up, only to be rejected in the end.

Eric Simonoff of Janklow & Nesbit liked the old manuscript, and back in the day when an agent had time to work with a new writer, I might have gotten representation. Those days are long gone, and I'm lucky to have gotten a bit more than a standard "Dear Author" rejection. Cutting at the front end and fleshing out the back end is needed to balance the sweeping epic.

The source material is sitting on the bookshelf. All six hundred pages. An exhaustive study of the Dublin lockout of 1913. Six hundred pages of information to be culled, to compose around fifty pages of manuscript.

That's the problem with historical fiction. You have to do research, find events that can fit into a story and then build a work of fiction on a frame of fact. The manuscript covers a multi-generational time span, and there's not enough between the Home Rule movement and the Easter Rising to make for a nice third of the total pages.

Sure there's plenty of things that happened that I can fit my characters into, but I have to sit down with a huge book and find those things that will work. I have verify that the historical people were in the place where I need them to be, interacting with my made-up people.

I'd be far more inspired if I felt that it was worth the time. If I could move out of the starting gate and make at least one lap this time around. Can I get a little positive reinforcement here?

Shouldn't He Be Lifting Weights In The Yard?

When you think of prison inmates, you envision desperate men milling about a confined yard, pumping iron furiously because they've nothing else to do.

Then there's the minimum security country club prison in Florida, where Conrad Black is pumping a keyboard with venom.

His Lordship is a "columnist", as it were, for The Daily Beast, a website that's overflowing with news and gossip and opinions. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, Mr. Black is able to spew bile through the ether and spout off about the vast injustices done to him. Blame Tina Brown for the whole thing.

The few left at the Chicago Sun Times, the newspaper he all but destroyed through theft, must be delighted that their former owner is now in the trenches, composing op-ed pieces and hoping that someone will read them.

They are most likely not in agreement with his opinion of Patrick Fitzgerald, the man who brought down the Black house of cards. Chances are, they don't subscribe to the notion that Mr. Black is a victim of the Fitzgerald juggernaut that bulldozed juries and muddled the unsolomonic (i.e. stupid) jurors. And they can't be happy that the website lists Mr. Black's credentials yet fails to mention that he's currently residing in a cell at the Coleman Federal Correctional Complex.

Sure a writer will always seek to write, and Conrad Black has an impressive bibliography. Those who have actually read his pieces on the website, however, wish that he would spend his time lifting weights in the prison yard rather than rattling off sentences that run to half a page of whinging.

A Hint Of Silver Lining In A Dark Cloud

Library usage is up.

As times get hard, people return to their local library. Maybe they're only there to use an Internet job search program on the public computer. They're there.

Reading is up a tick.

If you're out of work and you want to escape from the worries, a book at a public library is free and available and very effective. After you've scanned through the job boards on line, and the building's warm and inviting, you're likely to sit down with a book and pass the time with words that take you away from where you are.

In spite of the positive spin on a bad publishing future, Elyse Cheney is out of the office.

Out of the office until the fifth of January, and here it is a week later and her auto-response still claims she's out of the office.

No doubt she's at the big library in New York City, observing the unemployed to see what they're choosing. Market research is a slow process, but an effective agent knows what's in demand and what's going to sell in the near future.

Remember, it's all about escape. No one wants to read about financial wizards who fall into clever traps and lose it all and end up pan-handling outside of Grand Central Station.

The Dance Of The Political Veils

So history was made in Illinois. A sitting governor was impeached. Considering how many of the dishonorable gentlemen have gone to jail, the process would seem to be getting more efficient.

Talking heads spouted off, parsing the words of the press conference that followed the vote. Is he mad? Is he serious?

Rod Blagojevich is dancing.

He'd like a partner, of course. He mentioned Rahm Emanuel.

The point of the press conference was to curry favor with the public, who haven't grown thoroughly cynical. But in Chicago politics, it's the name dropping that says it all, the briefest mention of someone who will be taken down if the miscreant isn't supported.

Rahm Emanuel's seat in Congress will be won in a special election, and the new representative will get there in the same way that Rahm Emanuel got there---via the Chicago machine. Jimmy DeLeo, reputedly the Mafia's representative to Illinois state government, is organizing the Democratic slate, just as he did for Mr. Emanuel.

Blago knows all about the machine, since he's a creation of its churning. And he let everyone know that if he goes down, he'll take someone down with him, someone who's close to the President-elect who would like a flawless inauguration.

It's all a dance, choreographed and performed with skill. Rod Blagojevich will not dance alone, and his potential partners are running for cover.

The Concert That Isn't

U2 and Slane Castle---an Irish band in a famed Irish venue. Except it's not about to happen.

Have you been to globalticketshop.com? Put down four hundred euros for a July 1st concert? Congratulations. You've been scammed.

There is no concert at Slane Castle on the first of July.

LiveNation is the sole promoter of U2 and they're the only ones selling tickets to concerts that are scheduled and this isn't their website and they're not selling tickets.

The Garda Fraud Squad is getting to the bottom of it, but the website is owned by someone in the States and that makes it a bit more difficult to put an end to the scam. On top of that, the website host is in India and the phone numbers on the site are based in England. It's a job for Interpol.

Lord Henry Montcharles, who owns Slane Castle, didn't find out about the fraud until his people started fielding phone calls for information. He's asked that the website take down the fraudulent offer, but when last he checked, it was still there.

So if you think you're one of the lucky few to score tickets for a premier U2 event, you might want to contact your local authorities and your credit card issuer. You've been had in a modern day version of scalping.

The Perfect Time For A Carbon Tax

1900 Dell employees in Limerick just learned that they'll have no job by this time next year. What better time for Eamon Ryan, Minister for Energy, to introduce a new tax?

No job, no income, budget stretched to the limit? You're clamoring to pay more for your carbon footprint, begging for another financial burden to be added, and Mr. Ryan has heard your plea.

It's time to reduce Ireland's dependence on fossil fuels, and putting people out of work is just one way to reduce the nation's carbon footprint. Social welfare payments can only be stretched so far, and if it's even more expensive to heat the house you're about to lose in foreclosure, you'll use less and be thrilled to bits at the opportunity to help the planet.

A carbon tax on electricity production will come in handy when the bill collectors come around to call. You'll be sitting in the dark, in your cold home, and it's ever so easy to pretend that no one is home. A carbon tax will practically pay for itself in Limerick once Dell closes up shop.

Eamon Ryan believes that the carbon tax will be applied this year, as multinational corporations pack up and move away, in search of cheaper places to build and operate their factories. His timing couldn't be better.

Funny thing, though. There's no talk in Poland of carbon taxes and such.

The Minnow Has A Sinking Feeling

How dare Moody's downgrade Houghton Mifflin Harcourt!

And who is Standard and Poor's, to state that Education Media Publishing Group is one of Europe's ten most likely to default?

Granted, the buyout was highly leveraged, but not so high as Moody's seems to think. Officials with HMH hold firm to the belief that earnings will see see growth in the double digits for the year just ended. So there.

The little minnow that swallowed the whale isn't sinking to the bottom, in spite of all the begrudgers and the nay-sayers. All the loan covenants aren't creating stress on liquidity, not at all.

Besides, if HMH can sell its trade division, that's a nice income right there so who's sinking to the bottom of the publishing pond?

It's not as if Standard and Poor's is all knowing or anything, and Moody's rating service has come into question now that the financial sector tanked in spite of positive ratings.

As long as there are people in need of educational materials, there's a glimmer of hope.

A Plan To Repatriate The Poles

For a time, Ireland was an emigrant magnet. People came from all over Eastern Europe, as the Irish had once gone to Australia and America, in search of work.

For a time, the Irish were alarmed at the strange faces and foreign tongues in their midst. They feared that the Poles and Lithuanians were only there to take advantage of social welfare and would become a burden.

How to get rid of them all? So many foreigners, so much change. Could they be paid to go home?

Dell is considering a move out of their facility in Limerick. The computer maker has indicated an interest in relocating to Lodz, Poland, where labor costs are lower. Of late, Dell has been struggling to compete and they have to decrease expenses. Cheap help and an educated work force can be found elsewhere and 2000 jobs in Limerick are on the line.

So the work is going to Poland. The workers can follow, and leave Ireland to the Irish.

Not quite what anyone had in mind when they complained about the immigrants in their midst. Not at all what anyone had in mind when minimum wages were raised, with a promise that the workers would find prosperity on the back of the Celtic Tiger.

Moving On Over

Were they cleaning the office because they were closed for the holidays, or was it the result of moving out?

Joanne Brownstein of Brandt & Hochman responded to a query that I mailed last May. And she's sorry it took so long, but I'm not surprised that a stack of queries could get lost in a literary agent's office.

I'd assumed it was lost in the mail and had already checked it off as a rejection. Having my suspicions confirmed wasn't important, but Ms. Brownstein took the time to reply just the same, via e-mail.

Now, was it a form rejection?

Beyond a mention of the office cleaning and the discovery, her rejection letter was boilerplate, but there's always something for an author to pin a hope on.

Thanks for the query, good luck, and here's our new contact info.

So there you are. The writing couldn't have been too pathetic, or she'd not invite me to query her again, in her subtle manner. We're off to Kansas City, Missouri, and here's where to mail the queries in future, she implied.

Where? you're asking yourself. To 909 Walnut Street, Suite 1207, Kansas City, MO 64106.

And I'm asking myself, why would a literary agency move to Kansas City, Missouri? Is someone retiring from the business? Needing to take care of elderly relatives? Is it worth it to submit to Brandt & Hochman?

Won't know unless I try.

Last Chance To Complete Your Crystal Set

There was a time when owning Waterford crystal was a mark of economic success, but those days are behind us.

The Irish firm that produces the famous cut glass objects has gone into receivership. If you had a notion to some day own a complete set of wine goblets for eight, or you've had your eye on a candy dish, it's time to take action.

The company, which also makes Royal Doulton china in its Wedgwood line, has been losing money for the past five years, and the current economic crisis is a final nail in a coffin that's been under construction.

Buy up what you can, what you've always wanted but feared you couldn't afford. Soon it will be gone, and the pieces that you own today will become that much more precious. Soon, there won't be any more and the county of Waterford will suffer the loss.

In Need Of A Word Fix

Why have I been so short-tempered of late?

Point a finger at the past two weeks, and mumble about the schedule I've kept and who wouldn't be cranky? All the visits, the relations spending a few days, the entertaining of guests, and anyone would be tired out after such a time.

Blame the holiday season, but the real reason is the lack of writing.

All the words are going around my head, desperate to escape onto a piece of paper, yet there's not been a free minute for release. I haven't had a chance to sit down for my daily hour or two of writing, and like any other addict, I'm suffering from withdrawal.

My fuse has burned short. I'm so happy that the Christmas season is now done and over. It means I can get back to the re-worked query. It means I can do the re-write on an old manuscript to bring it up to date for re-submitting to the new agents who weren't around for the first round of queries.

Holidays are grand, but sometimes they drag on too long.

All Politics Are Local, All Decisions Are Not

Sorry, Mayo County Council, but you've overstepped. You might think that you know what's best for the people of Mayo, and you might believe that you're acting in the best interests of your own friends and neighbors, but the Minister for the Environment knows far more than you ever could.

John Gormley is so put out over the actions of the Mayo County Council that he's about to introduce legislation that will consolidate zoning decision-making power in his own green hands. Can't have local people making these important plans, not when there's a Minister sitting in Dublin who should have such authority.

Too much land is being zoned for development, in Mr. Gormley's eyes. We need green space, and if county councillors can't figure that out, someone has to do the figuring for them.

The Oireachtas Committee on the Environment, however, doesn't agree.

Sean Fleming, the committee's chair, is quite confident that Mr. Gormley has more than enough power already, and it's not fair to the local citizens when their elected council gets overturned behind closed doors without public meetings. If the people of Mayo want to allow new houses to be built, and Mr. Gormley doesn't, what right does he have to deny the people?

That's Paddy McGuinness's view. It's Gormley's way or the highway, the Mayo County councillor believes, and where's the give and take, the compromise that gives everyone a chance to get something in the end?

The people in Clare thumbed their west-of-Ireland noses at Mr. Gormley after one of his directives, and the councillors in Monaghan and Waterford are under pressure to adhere to the Minister's notions of proper planning. Laois and Rathdown have already felt his green power to overrule.

Give a man an inch and he'll take a mile, and then he'll tell the people who own the mile what they can do with it. Until new legislation returns decisions to the local level and puts Mr. Gormley in his place, that is.

Resolved To Another Year Of Futility

You won't get published if you quit trying, so you keep going.

On the other hand, chances are you'll never be published anyway, so all that trying is entirely in vain.

Contacting agents has become a hobby of mine, which puts the process in a different light. Some people build model railroads. They have no hope of ever being employed in the rail industry, but that makes no difference to those who pursue the activity.

On Monday, the publishing industry cranks up for another year, a year expected to be as bad as ever. Fewer new titles will be bought, fiction will be an even harder sell, but if trying to be published is your favorite past-time, it makes no difference. The queries will go out and the rejections will come in and the circle will spin around for the length of 2009.

Scott Gould at RLR Associates will still not respond to my queries, in spite of the SASE enclosed. I'll still be waiting to hear from Laura Blake Peterson at Curtis Brown. It's been over three months already, and I don't expect things to change.

And on Monday, I'll send off a new query to Stephen Barbara, who will be starting his first day as an agent at Foundry Literary + Media. Chris Park never sent back the SASE, so I'll try someone else. Nothing changes.