Editor's Choice!

I read Salon pretty often. Recently after the VT murders (which hit me really hard as you well know, I wrote a comment on an article on what English teachers ought to do about students who write disturbing stuff. Out of 122 comments, mine was chosen as one of 20 Editor's Choices. I'm tickled. Read my comment. You may need to click through a "day pass" advertisement if you don't have a Salon subscription.

On the Edge the Serial Chapter 100 has been fixed

Thanks to the three people who wrote to me that On the Edge the Serial: Chapter 100 was broken. It seems like I've fixed this problem at least 23 times since I started running the site and every time I write the code over, I forget to do it right and do it wrong and then 2 years later, it requires fixing yet again. Anyway, I finally DID fix it. Future chapters should work.

Thanks much to the people who are still reading On the Edge the Serial. Someone posted a comment and asked what I planned to do with On the Edge... the answer is, "I have no freaking clue." The serial is still (or SHOULD still be) being posted at the rate of about one chapter every 10 days. Beyond that, God knows if I will ever have the money to publish the novels again. I want them in print and that costs. I never seem to get ahead-er enough to make that happen. It's depressing, I know. All I can say is keep checking back on the figure skating fiction at Skatefic.com and on this blog here. When anything happens, I'll let you know.

Figure Skating Worlds Coverage (Not!)

I got a comment the other day which asked if I was going to do play by play coverage of Worlds this week. While I'm gratified that someone was interested enough to ask, I must confess that I have a BAD case of busy this spring. I barely have time to watch skating much less spend hours watching every skater while typing reports.

Presently, I am working hard on the second edition of my Google book. My co-author and I have roughly four weeks to finish and we are already three weeks behind. I am preparing taxes again this year for the AARP TaxAide program two days a week. And we are moving again... by CHOICE. I can't believe that last one! But we are. I'm struggling to clean and pack and sort and get the mortgage crap done and so on.

This past week has been about my third week in a row where I have EIGHT days of work to complete in five days. I'm pretty much worn out. So if you are looking for Worlds coverage this year, my apologies. It's not happening. I just don't have any time and I have less energy. Maybe next year.

On a brighter note. Props to my favorite obscure skater Tomas Werner! I have loved Tomas for several years now--as far back as when he was skating for (was it?) Germany. Werner skated the lights out in his long, landed two BEAUTIFUL quads, and ended up fourth at Worlds after being like 19th last year. Go Tomas! On the other blade, sighs for Evan and tears for Johnny. I haven't watched any of the other coverage, and probably won't. I am falling into bed exhausted at relatively early hours and don't get to watch much TV.

Figure skating is my life, but sometimes work gets in the way.

How could I have forgotten to tell you!

So the last time I posted about The Barunian Incident, I was 70 words short of half finished. And then I forgot to update again!

I FINISHED!

On January 24th at 5:40 PM, The Barunian Incident clocked in at 87,543 words.

And since the muse refused to be silent, I wrote 12K words of the sequel Tavilis Rex!

And then, of course, as she often does, the muse went back to Tahiti. I got stuck somewhere in chapter 5 of the new book. I'm not really worried about it. I say this with a nod to Mr. T Wanker, "the passion will return." In the meantime, I have work to do.

I sent the MS to a friend to read. Still waiting to hear what she has to say. She did say that she's in the middle and enjoying the book. So that's good.

I'm not really looking forward to the editing process, if the truth must be told. I joined a critique site that produced good advice during the test I made with the prologue. But it's still going to be a HUGE amount of work to send it through critique because for each chapter iIsend through, I have to crit a chapter of someone else's work. And then I have to read all the commentary and decide what revisions to make.

I did read the book again last week, and it still seems like a pretty good book. Maybe not enough sword fighting and too much love making. I've been keeping track of revisions I want to make. There are about three major ones and ten minor ones. I did at least one revision suggested in the critiques of the prologue. The shuttle launch was too much like the US space shuttle, and it shouldn't have been. That made a lot of sense to me since the book takes place like 5K years in the future. But some other things... dunno.

I'm also not looking forward to the marketing process. I've been trying to write a kick ass query for the book. My query for On the Edge got my foot in a LOT of doors (which were subsequently slammed in my face), but hey! It got me in those doors and even got a "what a fantastic query" from Ethan Ellenberg (who didn't want to read it, not his genre). I also have to do a synopsis... <funk> I hate synops. I hate them with a PASSION (see, Wanker!)! I am not looking forward to rejection after rejection. I got my fill of those with OTE. On the other hand, this isn't a skating book, so it is quite possible that it might actually SELL, which OTE didn't really have a snowball's chance in hell of doing no matter how well written it was.

Anyway, I have gotten past the delightful hours of drafting and now comes the hard work of critique, revision, and polishing, marketing and pitching, and taking rejections in stride... and the not giving up. I am going to try... not to get demoralized with this novel. If it doesn't sell, I'll write another one. Maybe even work on Like Chocolate and Cayenne (a foodie chick-lit that Natalie R Collins is always bugging me to write). I keep trying to convince myself that I SHOULD write it because it would sell... even when my heart isn't in it.

Oh dear.

I've just exposed myself as the consummate NON-professional.

I still want to write what my heart is in. With fiction, I allow myself that luxury. I spend a lot of time writing what I have to. On my own time, I write what I want to. And the truth of the matter is, if I write a foodie chick lit and it sells, The Powers That Be will want me to write another. And I don't want to. The future of foodie chick lit novels stretches out before me like an endless moving walkway at the airport. It's intolerable to go in a direction I don't want, to get on a plane I don't want, to take a trip I don't want... to get to a place that maybe I want to be. Alina Adams wrote 20 category romances before TPTB would let her write a skating novel (it sold like 25K copies too). I'm not sure I can do that.

See, JulieAnn, we don't disagree after all.

Utter nonsense

I have been having a completely awful last-7-days. I was away on business last week in San Fransisco. It rained the whole time and I was in constant pain from my arthritis (which the medical plan won't pay for a medication to control, but will pay for something cheaper which leaves me in constant pain). I did get to see a lot of people I care about, but it is just so much fun when you're sore and tired every moment of every day. Then I come home to disaster after disaster—I'm not even going to go into them—the worst of which was my oldest daughter getting the stomach flu AND appendicitis at the same time. And needless to say, I'm in a FUCKING BAD MOOD.

So, a dear friend who means well sent me the following poem "so you want to be a writer?" Go ahead. Go read it. I'll wait. And it just sent me through the roof. What utter and complete nonsense!

Writing is HARD. Writing IS rewriting. Writing is writing when you don't wanna. Writing is being critiqued. Writing is putting food on the table. Writing is not sexy and not glamorous and not always fun, expressive and a delight. Sometimes it's just damned hard work.

So this is my response:

The Professional Writer Responds to Charles Bukowski

If you can write when it's not flowing,
you're a professional writer.

If you can write when your heart, mouth and gut are dry,
you're a professional writer.

If you write despite how HARD it really is,
you're a professional writer.

If you do it for money,
you're a professional writer.

If you do it so you have a bed to sleep in and a roof over your head and a spouse to share it with,
you're a professional writer.

If you have the guts to sit and rewrite over and over and over,
Celebrate! You're a professional writer!

If you do it despite how hard it is to think about it, if you can write in any style any time,
you're a professional writer.

If you can write even when the roar of inspiration is muted,
you're a professional writer.

If you first read it to anyone and you take their critique with equanimity and incorporate their suggestions,
you're a professional writer.

If you're dull and pretentious enough to make a living instead of being a starving artist,
you're a professional writer.

The poseurs of the world have cried themselves to sleep wanting to be YOU.

Add to it.

Do it.

It's not rockets, madness, murder and suicide.
It's professionalism. Do it.

When the sun does not burn and the neither does the gut,
do it.

If you wait to be "chosen" you will waste your life and your talent and your drive.

Do it.

There is no other way.

There never has been.

Figure skating and bad news

I haven't figured out why when I have some novel news, I don't just post it. Maybe because in the throes of dealing with bad news, I don't much want to dwell on it. Anyway, I had sent On the Edge to Thompson/Gale's Five Star line on the recommendation of a published author friend of mine last summer. They read it mainly on her recommendation. And for the next three, she told me again and again how she was sure they would buy it. It was a good book. Gale is a library subscription publisher (rather than a bookstore trade publisher). They would buy it.

Yeah, right.

Thanks for your e-mail, and for submitting your novel On the Edge to us for consideration in the Five Star Expressions line. While we think that your novel is very well written, I'm afraid that it skews too much toward the YA-fiction genre, and therefore, I'm afraid that it is simply not right for our Expressions line, which skews toward a more adult tone and theme (I was hoping this might be the rare exception that could have fit into our line, but I'm afraid that wasn't the case). I thank you for your patience while we reviewed your novel, and wish you the best of luck in placing it elsewhere.

Thanks again, and please let me know if there is anything else we can do.

So, if I'd HAD any hope to begin with, I would have been crushed. As it was, I didn't dare hope, because I knew that I couldn't face another rejection. Losing my agent just about killed me. I couldn't face it again. I didn't hope and as such, I was less disappointed. But it's still a big bummer.

What does that mean? Well, basically, it means that On the Edge is dead. It's been queried to pretty much every possible agent in NY. It's been read by half of the people queried. It's been agented. It been shopped. It's been dumped. No, I'm not putting it out through Lulu or iUniverse. But I will be self-publishing it under the Private Ice imprint when I get around to making it happen. The question remains if I will then try to sell Desperate Times to NY or not. I suppose it depends. But if you love me, buy the book, okay?

~~~

Of course, with bad news, comes good news. For the first time in 2 years, my muse has come for a winter visit. Normally she just sends post cards from Tahiti. But I've been writing for three solid weeks now, and I strongly suspect that if I pace myself, she'll stay the winter. I've written about 25,000 words on The Barunian Incident, which brings the total to just 70 words under 40K. I am SEVENTY words from half done. I don't know whether to celebrate or run screaming through the neighborhood in frustration.

I'm sure, if the muse hangs out, you shall all be treated to the travails of trying to get The Barunian Incident published. I suspect this one might sell. It's sexy. The characters are sympathetic. It's got explosions and sword fighting (and a heroine who KICKS ASS). So far, both my husband and my 11 year old like it. Cross your fingers. The Barunian Incident has been in progress for nearly 5 years. I did the treatment based on a dream I had in 2001 and have worked on it sporadically since. I just want inspiration to hang around long enough to finish.

Oh, and it has NOTHING to do with figure skating.

~~~

On the professional front, I am now blogging for Ars Technica's Infinite Loop, a Macintosh blog. Things are things at Newsforge. I picked up a new client, Off the Record Research and that did nicely paying for Christmas. I'm also in negotiation with two new local clients, both of whom should mean regular income. We'll see. More on that when it happens.

~~~

And to feed my survey taking jones—because I watched return of the King THREE TIMES this weekend (more for boredom than enthusiasm, though the man candy is truly excellent)—here's which LOTR Hero I am:

Figure Skating's Best Query Letter Writer

Years ago, when I was pitching On the Edge to agents, I got a gratifying, but ultimately disappointing reply. "Not my sort of thing, but what a fantastic query!"

And THAT is the story of my writing life.

I write fantastic queries. For those of you who are not writers, a query is a pitch letter written to a literary agent or editor to tempt them into reading your work. I get read more than pretty much any writer I know. Fully half of the agents I pitched On the Edge to read at least some part of it. A 50% request rate is most outrageously awesome for an "unpublished" writer.

So I was pretty disappointed when only two of the sixty letters I sent out for Nobody's Hero (my picture book about a dog who saves the life of a boy during the tsunami in India in 2004) came back with requests. But, I figured, "if you can only get two, then Houghton Mifflin and Arthur A Levine (Scholastic) are about the highest profile publishers one could possibly have interested." In short, not many nibbles but both from big fish from the biggest pond.

But, the industry is a sucky place. Response times vary from 2 to 8 months, so I never follow up until at least 2 months have passed. So, 2 months after submitting the story to Levine, as requested, I sent a follow up email. The response I got came from a different editor. Turns out, the editorial assistant who requested my manuscript had left at the end of the summer (to go back to grad school) without any action on Nobody's Hero. But the editor promised to have it read right away.

The rejection came roughly a week later with a two line criticism--"though this truly is a powerful story, I think it important that the emotional impact not rely too heavily on the real world tragedy." What the HELL does that mean?! I vaugely think that maybe the story was too emotionally intense... too scary. Cheese-n-rice, it's an adventure story about one point of light in a major world tragedy! Okay, I just don't get it. Maybe my terminal lack of touchy-feely-ness is going to be the death of me.

The reader--"Editorial Assistant"--had an unusual name, so I looked her up on the web... a 20-something grad student. I got a GFY from a freaking KID. Oh, NOW, I feel better. The rejection from Houghton Mifflin, with an even WORSE "this didn't fit our line," came two days later.

Another door slams.

I shed a few tears, told a couple of real life friends who were sympathetic, talked it over with my bud Natalie. I'm still bummed pretty bad. It just seems so hopeless. If I can't sell the story that kept the kindergardeners in my daughter's class absolutely spellbound, can I ever sell anything?

I sound depressed. I feel depressed. I have good reason to be depressed. My arthritis has been acting worse and worse. I'm in pain pretty much all the time no matter what I take for it. I don't feel like doing anything. So the housework and the writing are piling up around me making me feel even LESS like doing anything.

Eight years and two million words, give or take a hundred thousand or so. Someone tell my again, why am I doing this to myself?