Back to my blog after a break. I meant to be here sooner rather than later but in the final analysis I do what I can when I can. Often, it seems the action is painfully slow if I apply measurements. So, I try to measure things of more consequence like the weight of a raindrop versus a dewdrop, the velocity of ideas, and the power of doing.
I am witness to some positive and forward movement in another writer's career. Since this writer is also a close friend, I have a terrific vantage point. What I see gives me hope and helps me in retooling some of my practices and assumptions.
Several things have propelled this writer as I understand it from what we have discussed and what I have gleaned.
1- An abiding belief in her work. Repeat the mantra. I am writer, it is what I love and will do. This is not to say she has not had doubts. The final few weeks before her break were the most intense I witnessed. Fraught with self doubt and exhausted by the rejections, there were times I know she wondered if she would "make it". How much can one frail writer's ego endure? Turns out, much more than you would think. Try over 186(I think) at last count.
2-A support system of writers who share her dream, believe in her talent, and believe in their talent. Add a shake of K. Gibran's directive that Work is love made visible. Viola - an important network for bouncing ideas, rewrites, and reminding one another after the umpteenth rewrite to wish upon those falling stars (after pausing to absorb and jot a few notes about the beauty of the night sky). Reciprocity-in the middle of the day, the night, returning the energy invested by reinvesting in other writer's works and struggles. My friend introduced me, a loner, to a community of heart, brains, and tenacity. I'm no longer flying solo with no net.
3- The Work, the Art, whatever you use to describe that which is produced should be the best it can be. Your best- each and every time - that is what you as a writer/artist owe to the effort. This means rewrite, rethink, redo. For me this is one of the most powerful aspects of writing - bending, folding, morphing creativity. There may not be any new ideas; most writers have heard, "I had that idea for a book." How we tell the story, the characters who they are and the emotions they evoke in readers, this is where I think there is newness.
So, a heartfelt thank you to my writer friend for keeping me in the loop and energizing my dreams again. And a huge congratulations for crossing over into actualization. Well done!
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Rejection
Another rejection and not just a rejection but the dreaded form letter without even a comment. My hope was that the agent would recognize the writing as good and ask to see something else. Yikes- my worst case scenario for this venture.
This submission was to an agent whose agency I hope will one day represent me. I studied the market and I respect the work they are doing. When I receive this type of rejection from them I take it seriously even though it smarts. Okay, it hurts. But I am learning not to be ultra-hyper-sensitive. It’s a long overdue lesson that I think will serve me well. And it is a relief not to lose my way because of disappointment.
The book is not what they are looking for - What does that mean?
Probably a number of things but the lack of comment leads me to conclude a few things.
Probably accurate to surmise: the writing did not wow -the book did not wow.
For me as a writer, the goal is to wow.
As tough as rejection is – I personally want to write the book that shines. The book that causes the agent and editor to pause and to be excited. To think automatically, this is good.
I know I am not there yet. But with each rejection comes an opportunity for insight and to improve. Time to put this book aside for awhile. Later I may consider t submitting to others. On to a new project.
This submission was to an agent whose agency I hope will one day represent me. I studied the market and I respect the work they are doing. When I receive this type of rejection from them I take it seriously even though it smarts. Okay, it hurts. But I am learning not to be ultra-hyper-sensitive. It’s a long overdue lesson that I think will serve me well. And it is a relief not to lose my way because of disappointment.
The book is not what they are looking for - What does that mean?
Probably a number of things but the lack of comment leads me to conclude a few things.
Probably accurate to surmise: the writing did not wow -the book did not wow.
For me as a writer, the goal is to wow.
As tough as rejection is – I personally want to write the book that shines. The book that causes the agent and editor to pause and to be excited. To think automatically, this is good.
I know I am not there yet. But with each rejection comes an opportunity for insight and to improve. Time to put this book aside for awhile. Later I may consider t submitting to others. On to a new project.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Contests that offer score sheets
I decided to enter a few contests at the urging of other writers. The primary benefit cited by the writers was the feedback.I had nice news yesterday. I placed in a RWA local chapter’s contest. My scores were lower than I hoped.
I read the judges score sheets and comments several times. For me there is no doubt this will be beneficial. The scoring helps to gauge how I scored among the other contestants. The comments interjected throughout and/or at the end are instructive and worth their weight in gold.
It is the kind of feedback an aspiring and sometimes lost writer craves. The feedback is concrete and specific. Some information I should have known but did not – don’t confuse an editor by using minor character's name- designate by their job or relation, i.e. bodyguard, sister etc. There were also several suggestions for mistakes or weakness such as: starting in the wrong place, lack of layering and dimension in one central character compared with effective treatment of the other character.
The judges volunteer to read and comment. The local chapters organize and conduct the contest – all an investment of their time and energy. My limited experience has been terrific- a help in a way I most need-specific feedback even though all is subjective. But editors' decisions although determined by experience are also subjective. Thanks to those published writers, editors, aspiring writers, and groups who offer and judge contests. It’s another resource available to struggling writers.
I read the judges score sheets and comments several times. For me there is no doubt this will be beneficial. The scoring helps to gauge how I scored among the other contestants. The comments interjected throughout and/or at the end are instructive and worth their weight in gold.
It is the kind of feedback an aspiring and sometimes lost writer craves. The feedback is concrete and specific. Some information I should have known but did not – don’t confuse an editor by using minor character's name- designate by their job or relation, i.e. bodyguard, sister etc. There were also several suggestions for mistakes or weakness such as: starting in the wrong place, lack of layering and dimension in one central character compared with effective treatment of the other character.
The judges volunteer to read and comment. The local chapters organize and conduct the contest – all an investment of their time and energy. My limited experience has been terrific- a help in a way I most need-specific feedback even though all is subjective. But editors' decisions although determined by experience are also subjective. Thanks to those published writers, editors, aspiring writers, and groups who offer and judge contests. It’s another resource available to struggling writers.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Gift of other Writers/Artists
Lost a day – I planned to post yesterday.
I meant to write but important to mundane things circumvented my course, my drive.
It’s now the day after tomorrow and this passage of time may help illustrate my topic, Why networking and writers/artists are important.
The pattern:
As mentioned in a previous blog, I tend to be a loner and isolated.
I can entertain myself endlessly when I’m up or on a roll.
I have more interests than I can attend.
I get myopic, then full swing and I chastise myself for my silly pursuits and hobbies.
Sometimes I feel like I should apologize for these inclinations.
I do what’s before me to meet expectations and obligations, both real and self-imposed.
No matter how far I stray, eventually I come back to writing.
The problem is I lose my focus and my momentum.
Over the years writing has remained at the bottom of my list.
Until recently it was below doing the dishes and doing wash!
It is still below cooking dinner but happily that seems to be slipping this past year.
Recently I have come to know and interact with a few other writers and artists.
So far my reaction is – Wow! – have I ever been missing out!
Networking: A few important components:
There is an ongoing dialogue about writing.
Providing feedback on another writer or artist's work.
Feedback on your work.
Keeping directed on the goal with like focused individuals.
The gift of other writers/artists is important: What other writers know and give-
Yen and Yang –someone is hurting, doubting – someone else is there encouraging, celebrating that someone.
A belief in the same dream,
Understanding how it feels be thus afflicted.
Writers/artists don’t make you feel odd for being odd.
Writers/artists know when you need to be alone and when you don’t, no matter what you insist.
Writers/artists will tell you you’re getting too damn odd and snap out of it!
Writers/artists commiserate with you while you wait for the rejection and then get rejected.
Writers/artisits recognize the accomplishments even dinky ones.
Writers/artists celebrate the acceptance...being published. They know what it takes; they live it.
The obvious benefits for writers/artists who connect:
Growth
Brainstorming
It’s easier to find hope when you do not always solo.
I’ve been isolated for so long that I suspect my perceptions are slightly skewed.
I can’t accurately gauge where I stand on the weird meter.
However, without my writer/artist friends I would be stuck in that dark place I know too well, again immobilized.
I meant to write but important to mundane things circumvented my course, my drive.
It’s now the day after tomorrow and this passage of time may help illustrate my topic, Why networking and writers/artists are important.
The pattern:
As mentioned in a previous blog, I tend to be a loner and isolated.
I can entertain myself endlessly when I’m up or on a roll.
I have more interests than I can attend.
I get myopic, then full swing and I chastise myself for my silly pursuits and hobbies.
Sometimes I feel like I should apologize for these inclinations.
I do what’s before me to meet expectations and obligations, both real and self-imposed.
No matter how far I stray, eventually I come back to writing.
The problem is I lose my focus and my momentum.
Over the years writing has remained at the bottom of my list.
Until recently it was below doing the dishes and doing wash!
It is still below cooking dinner but happily that seems to be slipping this past year.
Recently I have come to know and interact with a few other writers and artists.
So far my reaction is – Wow! – have I ever been missing out!
Networking: A few important components:
There is an ongoing dialogue about writing.
Providing feedback on another writer or artist's work.
Feedback on your work.
Keeping directed on the goal with like focused individuals.
The gift of other writers/artists is important: What other writers know and give-
Yen and Yang –someone is hurting, doubting – someone else is there encouraging, celebrating that someone.
A belief in the same dream,
Understanding how it feels be thus afflicted.
Writers/artists don’t make you feel odd for being odd.
Writers/artists know when you need to be alone and when you don’t, no matter what you insist.
Writers/artists will tell you you’re getting too damn odd and snap out of it!
Writers/artists commiserate with you while you wait for the rejection and then get rejected.
Writers/artisits recognize the accomplishments even dinky ones.
Writers/artists celebrate the acceptance...being published. They know what it takes; they live it.
The obvious benefits for writers/artists who connect:
Growth
Brainstorming
It’s easier to find hope when you do not always solo.
I’ve been isolated for so long that I suspect my perceptions are slightly skewed.
I can’t accurately gauge where I stand on the weird meter.
However, without my writer/artist friends I would be stuck in that dark place I know too well, again immobilized.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Rejection and is it possible I suck mega?
Talk about ruining a writer’s morning – the arrival of another rejection. This particular rejection was whammied on another writer but my defenses went into overload along with my friend. Rejection unleashes a fierce and reflexive response. I’m working on disengaging the automatic trigger. For me, it is vital to learn how to handle rejection in a productive and understandable way as I continue to submit.
Rejections are about as fun as flatulence in a quiet room. It feels like the world pauses, all eyes are riveted on you - you stand alone, a beacon of the uncouth and laughable. It’s embarrassing. Over the years I have received plenty of thanks but no thanks. A couple stand out because they were not form rejections. Today my focus is on a couple of poetry submissions. In the future I will share some memorable book rejections.
Once an editor took a red pen and hand-wrote personal comments on my submission. He hated the poem and felt so strongly that he was compelled to underline key phrases. I suppose he thought I was of questionable intelligence and might miss the point. The gist of his words: I was a hack, a no talent. I was devastated.
Not long after that, I received another poem graced with another editor’s hand-written rant. Basically, he advised me to stop being an idealist and get real. The dreaded words that he carefully printed in pencil (no red ink) were: Flowery and pretty, you've worn it out. To make sure I understood how juvenile the work was, he placed a happy face on the poem.. Talk about a bad few days and a counter productive response, we are talking brain farts of the first magnitude here. I was mortified.
To me it was a clear and official message, YOU SUCK. I have a dear writer friend who having steeled herself as best she can against rejection, sings the “I suck song” as she travels down the harrowing road of submitting her work. I agree with her assertion, “Writing is not for sissies!”
Several things occurred concurrently with the two editor’s rejections.
1-The handwritten comments from several other editors (one editor loved the same poem the editor red-inked) were positive and encouraging.
2-The same two poems were liked enough by other editors to be bought. Granted, I think at the time it was $10 a poem but it was a validation.
3-Said maligned poems were published, appeared in print.
However, the positive responses did not counter or balance my read of the rejections. Following the two handwritten rejections, I didn't write poetry for years and that morphed into less and less writing in general. I was hurt. Being sensitive, and in my cases as a young writer I was hyper- ultra – sensitive and shy to a ridiculous degree, did I mention I was shy?
Now I’m mature and I'm only overly sensitive and neurotic. Happily the instances of blushing and being tongue-tied are far less frequent. I get lost in the flow of writing and forget personal barriers. What a relief and what fun!
Posting my poetry and writing, as well as blogging is good for me,a form of stretching. I have been rewarded with some favorable responses and readers. Readers, the end goal- to write – to be read. I have gleaned a few things that apply to me about the process.
For too long, I didn't have anyone outside of my family with whom to seek council and to exchange ideas, talk writing. My family has been incredibly supportive but face it, is the man you’re sleeping with going to tell you you’re a hopeless idealist or get real? Not if he’s smart. He will say something diplomatic and clever like, “Look you got a strong reaction at least your work moved the guy. He really hated that poem! That means your poetry works.”
If you’re lucky family and friends recognize that you're doing something you love and they support you. If they think your work stinks, you'll probably never know.
Both of our daughters write and one of our sons is beginning. The last two years I have enjoyed writer time with my family as writers. It has provided another direction. I attended the RWA conference in DC and in the midst of over 2,000 other writers I discovered the importance of other writers.
Tomorrow – what I am discovering about networking and writing.
Rejections are about as fun as flatulence in a quiet room. It feels like the world pauses, all eyes are riveted on you - you stand alone, a beacon of the uncouth and laughable. It’s embarrassing. Over the years I have received plenty of thanks but no thanks. A couple stand out because they were not form rejections. Today my focus is on a couple of poetry submissions. In the future I will share some memorable book rejections.
Once an editor took a red pen and hand-wrote personal comments on my submission. He hated the poem and felt so strongly that he was compelled to underline key phrases. I suppose he thought I was of questionable intelligence and might miss the point. The gist of his words: I was a hack, a no talent. I was devastated.
Not long after that, I received another poem graced with another editor’s hand-written rant. Basically, he advised me to stop being an idealist and get real. The dreaded words that he carefully printed in pencil (no red ink) were: Flowery and pretty, you've worn it out. To make sure I understood how juvenile the work was, he placed a happy face on the poem.. Talk about a bad few days and a counter productive response, we are talking brain farts of the first magnitude here. I was mortified.
To me it was a clear and official message, YOU SUCK. I have a dear writer friend who having steeled herself as best she can against rejection, sings the “I suck song” as she travels down the harrowing road of submitting her work. I agree with her assertion, “Writing is not for sissies!”
Several things occurred concurrently with the two editor’s rejections.
1-The handwritten comments from several other editors (one editor loved the same poem the editor red-inked) were positive and encouraging.
2-The same two poems were liked enough by other editors to be bought. Granted, I think at the time it was $10 a poem but it was a validation.
3-Said maligned poems were published, appeared in print.
However, the positive responses did not counter or balance my read of the rejections. Following the two handwritten rejections, I didn't write poetry for years and that morphed into less and less writing in general. I was hurt. Being sensitive, and in my cases as a young writer I was hyper- ultra – sensitive and shy to a ridiculous degree, did I mention I was shy?
Now I’m mature and I'm only overly sensitive and neurotic. Happily the instances of blushing and being tongue-tied are far less frequent. I get lost in the flow of writing and forget personal barriers. What a relief and what fun!
Posting my poetry and writing, as well as blogging is good for me,a form of stretching. I have been rewarded with some favorable responses and readers. Readers, the end goal- to write – to be read. I have gleaned a few things that apply to me about the process.
For too long, I didn't have anyone outside of my family with whom to seek council and to exchange ideas, talk writing. My family has been incredibly supportive but face it, is the man you’re sleeping with going to tell you you’re a hopeless idealist or get real? Not if he’s smart. He will say something diplomatic and clever like, “Look you got a strong reaction at least your work moved the guy. He really hated that poem! That means your poetry works.”
If you’re lucky family and friends recognize that you're doing something you love and they support you. If they think your work stinks, you'll probably never know.
Both of our daughters write and one of our sons is beginning. The last two years I have enjoyed writer time with my family as writers. It has provided another direction. I attended the RWA conference in DC and in the midst of over 2,000 other writers I discovered the importance of other writers.
Tomorrow – what I am discovering about networking and writing.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Getting unstuck
It's official, I'm stuck. The story has been in my head for several years. So far that's where most of it is staying. One strategy for moving past a block or a lull is to write something else. It's a means of freeing my brain. It can be a refreshing break especially when I find myself where I am now, running in place.
Start from scratch or return to something you have written and put aside. I am also interested in a young adult novel. My exercise is to write between 250 and 500 words about a youngster's walk to school. You can find prompts online at various writing sites including the Writer's Diget site. http://www.writersdigest.com/WritingPrompts/
The day was warm and golden as the sun glowed. This new morning sparkled and crackled. Everywhere she looked was warmth and life.
As the wind tousled her hair she knew it was a dinosaur wind, a wind that had blown a million years before perhaps across the flanks of a triceratops or brontosaurs, or maybe a marauding T-Rex. She ran, soaring, flying over the ground as her feet scarcely touched the ground. After all, she was nearly as fast as the wind itself, as light as air. Sometimes she ran faster than the wind and in those moments she became invisible, there was nothing she could not conquer.
Each morning the same magic awaited, the sun warmed her, the wind carried her setting her adrift in a universe of unlimited potential. The morning routine possessed a momentum of its own and then abruptly she would find herself staring at the sullen brick of Grady Elementary.
The building seemed amiss among the swaying pines and the swirling Texas wind. The school looked as though it had clawed its way up from the bowels of the earth and she swore most times it smelled like it. In her deepest reservoir of wishes she wished the earth would suddenly open and swallow the hideous place that demanded her attendance and precipitously snatched her form her world.
It wasn't that she disliked school, she was ambivalent at best. It was an aspect of existence over which she had no control, much like her cowlick. Much to her grandmother’s alarm, no amount of hair product tamed her dark wavy hair. Hair that her mother cut short with little regard to style or symmetry.
Just as she learned to accept the strands of hair that defied gravity, she accepted school. Early on she grasped that sometimes the best way to resolve a problem was to minimize its impact. She participated, made good grades, and was repeatedly patted on her cowlick by approving adults. Then sighing, the ever vigilant adults turned dour expressions to the problem children.
Her parents placed undue significance on her performance. Clearly they never understood her motivations. If they had they would not have strutted like vain peacocks waving the straight A reports cards as a testament to their superior parenting.
There was no honor involved but survival and sanity-it kept adults at a tolerable distance. Adults most outstanding and unifying characteristic was the ability to kill the magic that abounded, if one would look, move, breathe, the magic was everywhere.
"Good morning Maddie," Mrs. Grayson smiled at each child as he or she entered the room. Maddie called them graded smiles, each child began their day with the appropriate Mrs. Grayson brand. Maddie was greeted with her "A" smile while Dwight received the "C" smile. Susie and Danny were "D" smiles.
Mrs. Grayson barely kept the wrinkled corners of her mouth from turning downward when those two entered. If Mattie was very still she felt Mrs. Grayson's disapproval moving from her withered lips across the room like a cold wrinkled hand shaking the two children ever so slightly. More than once she knew Susie and Danny felt her palpable condemnation as she watched them both suddenly shiver before taking their seats.
I'll let you know if the exercise helps me to get back on track.
Until later -
Start from scratch or return to something you have written and put aside. I am also interested in a young adult novel. My exercise is to write between 250 and 500 words about a youngster's walk to school. You can find prompts online at various writing sites including the Writer's Diget site. http://www.writersdigest.com/WritingPrompts/
The day was warm and golden as the sun glowed. This new morning sparkled and crackled. Everywhere she looked was warmth and life.
As the wind tousled her hair she knew it was a dinosaur wind, a wind that had blown a million years before perhaps across the flanks of a triceratops or brontosaurs, or maybe a marauding T-Rex. She ran, soaring, flying over the ground as her feet scarcely touched the ground. After all, she was nearly as fast as the wind itself, as light as air. Sometimes she ran faster than the wind and in those moments she became invisible, there was nothing she could not conquer.
Each morning the same magic awaited, the sun warmed her, the wind carried her setting her adrift in a universe of unlimited potential. The morning routine possessed a momentum of its own and then abruptly she would find herself staring at the sullen brick of Grady Elementary.
The building seemed amiss among the swaying pines and the swirling Texas wind. The school looked as though it had clawed its way up from the bowels of the earth and she swore most times it smelled like it. In her deepest reservoir of wishes she wished the earth would suddenly open and swallow the hideous place that demanded her attendance and precipitously snatched her form her world.
It wasn't that she disliked school, she was ambivalent at best. It was an aspect of existence over which she had no control, much like her cowlick. Much to her grandmother’s alarm, no amount of hair product tamed her dark wavy hair. Hair that her mother cut short with little regard to style or symmetry.
Just as she learned to accept the strands of hair that defied gravity, she accepted school. Early on she grasped that sometimes the best way to resolve a problem was to minimize its impact. She participated, made good grades, and was repeatedly patted on her cowlick by approving adults. Then sighing, the ever vigilant adults turned dour expressions to the problem children.
Her parents placed undue significance on her performance. Clearly they never understood her motivations. If they had they would not have strutted like vain peacocks waving the straight A reports cards as a testament to their superior parenting.
There was no honor involved but survival and sanity-it kept adults at a tolerable distance. Adults most outstanding and unifying characteristic was the ability to kill the magic that abounded, if one would look, move, breathe, the magic was everywhere.
"Good morning Maddie," Mrs. Grayson smiled at each child as he or she entered the room. Maddie called them graded smiles, each child began their day with the appropriate Mrs. Grayson brand. Maddie was greeted with her "A" smile while Dwight received the "C" smile. Susie and Danny were "D" smiles.
Mrs. Grayson barely kept the wrinkled corners of her mouth from turning downward when those two entered. If Mattie was very still she felt Mrs. Grayson's disapproval moving from her withered lips across the room like a cold wrinkled hand shaking the two children ever so slightly. More than once she knew Susie and Danny felt her palpable condemnation as she watched them both suddenly shiver before taking their seats.
I'll let you know if the exercise helps me to get back on track.
Until later -
Monday, November 30, 2009
Five Minutes
It is not unusual at this time of year to contemplate gratitude. Much has been written about developing an attitude of gratitude and the benefits. It seems the more we practice something, the more we become convinced. This cuts both ways. Insecure artists, which I think are the majority and not the exception, know where I am going with this.
This Thanksgiving I hobbled around on an aching knee that limited my mobility. By Friday after the usual holiday cooking marathon Wednesday and Thursday, I hurt and I was not feeling great.
However, I ended up having a laid-back holiday in spite of the discomfort.
I did a lot of reading and pondering, two favorites that often are on the bottom of my list.
After two days of grape seed, ice packs, ibuprofen and msm/glucosomine/chondroitin …much better today. I love Mondays...new week...new beginning.
I was planning the have to do this week vs. can be put off which led me to wonder when I would get back to my walks. When would I ever be healthy and fit again…and it went on from there. I miss my walks, the new neighborhood has failed to engage me. Now I am between the Gulf of Mexico and the Grand Lagoon, my lack of interest has to be about me, not the place.
I hobbled a bit, did a few stretches and put on my walking shoes, grabbed my camera and decided – I was going to shift my focus, take a different path even if all I managed was five minutes.
Doing and not doing are decisions, each weighty and with consequences. Beliefs, fears, and doubts can be appropriate but must lead to change, new insights, some type of cognition and growth. Even if you decide to never, ever do that particular thing again.
If no change comes then these thoughts are traps. Looking at the big picture may be daunting... go for small victories. Take five minutes…listen to music, listen to the quiet, doodle, practice deep breathing, write a sentence of your novel...get up and move. Reinvest in your dreams and aspirations. Recognize failures for what they are – the result of effort and direction, energy invested, and it provides experience and opportunities to succeed.
I arrived at the launching dock to meet the caution sign and it was correct. The dock was shaky and shifted as I walked out. And what I wanted, the lagoon, was just beyond. I wobbled and shot some pictures and then sat. The pictures are not what I imagined in my mind but I will try again with another camera...another day...in one of those Take Five times.
Try replacing one negative and/or doubt with something new. Come on you have plenty of other downer thoughts, relinquish just one. I use,
I am a writer on the road to being published. It's exciting and I am going for it.
You are welcome to try it.
Of course I’m listening to Dave Brubeck’s Take Five as I write.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Please remind me
As I posted on Facebook - Because the looming deadline to submit a partial to the agency was not stressful enough AND I am obviously unhinged- I have been rewriting/editing/reworking the damnable pages.
Been a marathon 36 hours or so.
I have never been happy with Chapter Two and various passages throughout.
The passages to me were almost there but not quite. Not good enough.
Seemed to throw the flow off.
Chopped 6500 words.- more pleased with the work now.
Additonal Thoughts: Sometime later today or early Tuesday morning, the final rewrite will be finished. Then I will upload the partial to the literary agent’s site. This is the agency I sincerely hope will eventually accept me as client. The agency represents a range of books including literary fiction, young adult and paranormal, all of which I am interested in writing.
I am finally at peace with the submission. This is the first time I have felt like this about any book I have written. I can read it without stumbling over cadence or questioning word choice or POV. It is as seamless and polished as I can manage. It has been an evolving work for more than a year.
As I was editing and rewriting for the umpteenth time, I wondered how many hours were invested in this project. A lot – that's all I know. But it’s been interesting. I learn more with each edit and revision.
I’ve been studying the market, reading agents, editors, and publishing house blogs. It’s grim out there. Although romantic fiction continues to survive, the competition is fierce. Shelf space and shelf life are tough to come by but not impossible.
I am not sure I have one voice which has troubled me. Then I realized I write like I paint- all over the place- in different voices- different schools and hopefully I will develop a truly unique style. But like my work, I am a work in progress. I am finally smart enough to see how far I have come and to understand “making it” is a state that occurs in many different ways.
When I first decided to approach an agent I was somewhat ambivalent about the novel. Now I feel and think differently. It takes a lot to offer your work to an objective and business-minded world.
Success or failure are intimidating options. Every writer dreams of hitting with their submission. That acknowledged, I am a dreamer by choice, by design, but I am also capable of being a cold-hearted realist. Published authors with a track record are being turned down; it is a tough market.
My realistic goal is to have the partial read and make an impression. To have the agency acknowledge I have talent and ask to see more of my work and at some point I will make it.
I am happy to be at this place. And I have far to go and no guarantees.
But it is the journey as they say. Please remind me of my goal when I get the blues.
Been a marathon 36 hours or so.
I have never been happy with Chapter Two and various passages throughout.
The passages to me were almost there but not quite. Not good enough.
Seemed to throw the flow off.
Chopped 6500 words.- more pleased with the work now.
Additonal Thoughts: Sometime later today or early Tuesday morning, the final rewrite will be finished. Then I will upload the partial to the literary agent’s site. This is the agency I sincerely hope will eventually accept me as client. The agency represents a range of books including literary fiction, young adult and paranormal, all of which I am interested in writing.
I am finally at peace with the submission. This is the first time I have felt like this about any book I have written. I can read it without stumbling over cadence or questioning word choice or POV. It is as seamless and polished as I can manage. It has been an evolving work for more than a year.
As I was editing and rewriting for the umpteenth time, I wondered how many hours were invested in this project. A lot – that's all I know. But it’s been interesting. I learn more with each edit and revision.
I’ve been studying the market, reading agents, editors, and publishing house blogs. It’s grim out there. Although romantic fiction continues to survive, the competition is fierce. Shelf space and shelf life are tough to come by but not impossible.
I am not sure I have one voice which has troubled me. Then I realized I write like I paint- all over the place- in different voices- different schools and hopefully I will develop a truly unique style. But like my work, I am a work in progress. I am finally smart enough to see how far I have come and to understand “making it” is a state that occurs in many different ways.
When I first decided to approach an agent I was somewhat ambivalent about the novel. Now I feel and think differently. It takes a lot to offer your work to an objective and business-minded world.
Success or failure are intimidating options. Every writer dreams of hitting with their submission. That acknowledged, I am a dreamer by choice, by design, but I am also capable of being a cold-hearted realist. Published authors with a track record are being turned down; it is a tough market.
My realistic goal is to have the partial read and make an impression. To have the agency acknowledge I have talent and ask to see more of my work and at some point I will make it.
I am happy to be at this place. And I have far to go and no guarantees.
But it is the journey as they say. Please remind me of my goal when I get the blues.
Friday, November 20, 2009
someday i will untie myself
What a surprise to find this and a pleasure to read.
A comment following In A Day Gone posted by Hetro
someday i will untie myself
from this rock, love of you,
and i will no longer be lashed
i will rise through the water
no longer dropping down
seeing the sun translated through ripples
as i am bourne skyward
i will feel the nearing warmth
gravity reversing its hold to propel me home
and when i break the surface
the question will be answered:
can i breathe the air of the new day?
or have i grown gills
and now belong to the depths
tied to this rock, love of you
My thoughts - Good imagery and mood in this -
seeing the sun translated through ripples
gravity reversing its hold to propel me home
I particularly like the ideas and feel of Stanza 4 and
The use of gills and depths in the final stanza is stark and perfect.
Only suggestions I have are minor –
in stanza one-
delete love of you,and maybe change lashed to bound
to read
someday i will untie myself
from this rock
and i will no longer be bound
Last stanza
delete rock
and flip now and belong
to read
or have i grown gills
and belong now to the depths
tied to this love of you
This is one of the aspects I love about poetry – the range of voices, emotions, and interpretations.
BTW feel free to critique my work. I hope the blog will become a place to discuss and share writing. Thank you Hetro.
A comment following In A Day Gone posted by Hetro
someday i will untie myself
from this rock, love of you,
and i will no longer be lashed
i will rise through the water
no longer dropping down
seeing the sun translated through ripples
as i am bourne skyward
i will feel the nearing warmth
gravity reversing its hold to propel me home
and when i break the surface
the question will be answered:
can i breathe the air of the new day?
or have i grown gills
and now belong to the depths
tied to this rock, love of you
My thoughts - Good imagery and mood in this -
seeing the sun translated through ripples
gravity reversing its hold to propel me home
I particularly like the ideas and feel of Stanza 4 and
The use of gills and depths in the final stanza is stark and perfect.
Only suggestions I have are minor –
in stanza one-
delete love of you,and maybe change lashed to bound
to read
someday i will untie myself
from this rock
and i will no longer be bound
Last stanza
delete rock
and flip now and belong
to read
or have i grown gills
and belong now to the depths
tied to this love of you
This is one of the aspects I love about poetry – the range of voices, emotions, and interpretations.
BTW feel free to critique my work. I hope the blog will become a place to discuss and share writing. Thank you Hetro.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
A road map from Mahatma Gandhi
In college I met a student pursuing a degree in journalism. Through several conversations I learned she was an avid reader and her passion was to be a writer. At some point I asked to read her work. She told me she didn’t do a lot of writing but did do a lot of thinking about it. She shared a paper awarded high marks and considerable praise by a professor.
Several things struck me. At this time I was pretty nomadic. I had few possessions – my cats, my paints, and several boxes crammed with writing. I could easily move – except the piano that I still have not learned to play. Does Jingle Bells and the first stanza of Across the Universe (painfully slow) count? A story for another day. I did not think of myself as a writer. Writing was something I did. I couldn’t Not write.
I think often about how we define ourselves and by extension our lives. To my way of thinking, she was and is by definition a writer. I too, have spent considerable time ruminating before I get the words to paper. However, as a writer if publishing is the endgame then you must write. I hope that for most writers to be read is the goal, to share, to contribute somehow. For me at least hence and now, it is the reward - the reason I write. There is joy in writing. I get high when I am writing…and I can go through ridiculous lows when I am not. Still working on that.
Mahatma Gandhi words:
Your beliefs become your thoughts
Your thoughts become your words
Your words become your actions
Your actions become your habits
Your habits become your values
Your values become your destiny.
In applying this to writing, I acknowledge his application was intended as a philosophical and practical application for living one’s life. In using it in writing be warned – it may become a part of your philosophy. Whoopee!
As a writer. I pay special attention to:
Your actions become your habits
Your habits become your values
Your values become your destiny.
Write in your heart, your mind, and believe. If you think you are a writer, you are. Writers write- basic rule. Seems simple but it has taken years for me to move that privilege, that necessity, to the top of my gianormous To Do list. Enjoy learning. It is wonderful to see how far I have come – I can read earlier attempts without laughing hysterically or dying a tiny death from embarrassment.
Take the initiative, make writing a habit. Value the act. Be an active participant in your destiny.
Several things struck me. At this time I was pretty nomadic. I had few possessions – my cats, my paints, and several boxes crammed with writing. I could easily move – except the piano that I still have not learned to play. Does Jingle Bells and the first stanza of Across the Universe (painfully slow) count? A story for another day. I did not think of myself as a writer. Writing was something I did. I couldn’t Not write.
I think often about how we define ourselves and by extension our lives. To my way of thinking, she was and is by definition a writer. I too, have spent considerable time ruminating before I get the words to paper. However, as a writer if publishing is the endgame then you must write. I hope that for most writers to be read is the goal, to share, to contribute somehow. For me at least hence and now, it is the reward - the reason I write. There is joy in writing. I get high when I am writing…and I can go through ridiculous lows when I am not. Still working on that.
Mahatma Gandhi words:
Your beliefs become your thoughts
Your thoughts become your words
Your words become your actions
Your actions become your habits
Your habits become your values
Your values become your destiny.
In applying this to writing, I acknowledge his application was intended as a philosophical and practical application for living one’s life. In using it in writing be warned – it may become a part of your philosophy. Whoopee!
As a writer. I pay special attention to:
Your actions become your habits
Your habits become your values
Your values become your destiny.
Write in your heart, your mind, and believe. If you think you are a writer, you are. Writers write- basic rule. Seems simple but it has taken years for me to move that privilege, that necessity, to the top of my gianormous To Do list. Enjoy learning. It is wonderful to see how far I have come – I can read earlier attempts without laughing hysterically or dying a tiny death from embarrassment.
Take the initiative, make writing a habit. Value the act. Be an active participant in your destiny.
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