Ending the Year Without a Whimper...

I know it's been ages since I've blogged. For those of you who have followed me, it's been a rather long haul, listening to my general frustrations. I hope my basic optimism shone through, all the same. I'd hate to be accused of ending the year with a whimper.

On the agent front, I have nothing new to add. The manuscript for my first book, A Place of Dreams, was read in full by a wonderful, to-die-for New York agent, but eventually rejected as "too quiet". Isn't that sad? Sad for me, of course, but also for all those writers out there who still believe there is a place in literature for stories that contain nothing blood-curdling, gruesome, or violent. According to the agent, the writing is remarkable, characters well-formed, plot momentum excellent, but, in the end, not exciting enough. 

I still have a Full out there for one of my other books, which is in the supernatural genre so beloved by most, but I find it hard to feel much optimism about it. The truth is, as this year closes, I'm not thinking much about my writing at all. I've put everything on the figurative back burner of my brain. 

In the last week, I've produced six new paintings, and have more in my head ready to go for the New Year. They are amazingly therapeutic. I have no idea what other rejected writers do to heal their wounds (Chocolate? Shopping? Booze? Weed? Sex?), but I wish them nothing but the best for 2013, once the healing is complete.

My latest story, which is sitting at about the third chapter, will remain dormant for a while. I found I was thinking about how I could tart it up to make it less quiet, more violent, a little gruesome, and realized that this is a cop-out. I write what I feel, and I don't particularly like writing that other stuff. I certainly don't write what I think will be popular. It's my curse, I guess. 

In the meantime, let's keep on keeping on, all of us. Our eventual readers are waiting for us. (Such patience!) 

May you all have a wonderful Yuletide season and rewarding New Year. 

Earning Something from Writing...Daydream of an Indomitable Writer

I had never missed a month in the years I've been posting this blog. Until now. I overlooked January 2012. Shame on me. I've been painting. No excuse at all.

I am quite poor, you know, mostly as a result of traveling too much (internationally relocating too often, to be precise) and following my two other major raisons-d'etre - writing and painting. I am able to augment my meagre income with the occasional sale of humble artworks, but there is absolutely no financial gain from my (less humble) fiction. To date. Which leads me to my little dream of 'what if?', which rarely presents itself, but when it does, I indulge it.

What if I do sell one of my novels...even all of them (four so far)? How would this change my life? Being very equitable in my attitude to money, I'm not expecting to reap huge rewards. Why should A earn so much, compared with B's earning so little, for the same standard of work? So my theoretical advance from a publisher would be suitably undramatic. A few grand, ten or even twenty. Wouldn't that be nice? No expectations of six figures, which I think is a fantasy some cling to.

To be earning something from my writing would have to be the greatest thing in the world, even if it barely covered a mortgage. I rent at present. It makes me miserable. I am only truly happy owning my own home, even if a lot of it is co-owned by a bank.

Selling a book - whatever the print run - would be heaven. And I've started thinking about that scenario again. Jaded and disillusioned as I sometimes get about the industry, there is still this microscopic - no -  nano-hint of hope in my brain.

You're probably aware (if you've read my snippets before) that I have an agent. She was quite ill in 2011, but is well into recovery now, and actively trying to seduce editors into looking at her undoubtedly fat list of manuscripts. One of them is mine. I daydream about her dialogue with one of said editors..."You must read this one first," she says. "This one will blow your socks off," she says. "Don't look at another submission until you've read this," she says. Oh, and I just love how warmly she says it, and how the editor's eyes widen with anticipation. This then, she thinks, is the one we've been waiting for, to put this company back in the limelight.

I love my daydreams. For a while, I believe. We writers have to be the most optimistic people on the face of the earth. But you knew that.

It's now one year since I completed my last book. Enough is enough. This painting has to stop. It's a substitute for my real work. I hope I have better news next time.

"...Stay Drunk on Writing So Reality Cannot Destroy You."

Ray Bradbury said that, and I like it.

I do get drunk on writing. Painting isn't the same. I become a bit starchy, and frown a lot more, especially when my little treasures don't sell. Writing transports me. I resist returning to reality.

So I believe I will have to get back to that fifth book in the New Year. Which leads me to wonder why anyone else would be interested in that.

Before we all became so jaded about the publishing industry, there was such a sense of belonging and excitement reading writers' blogs. I was hungry to hear how others were doing, what their feelings were. (I also made a few new friends I've come to count on, some of whom are actually published.) But I believe there's been a distinct shift in thinking. It's tedious to hear, once more, that an agent hasn't been found, or that an agent was found but is finding the book a bit of a hard-sell. To sum up: nothing is happening. Who wants to read that on a regular basis? Masochists most of us are, but why make things worse?

People are split into two camps, it seems, judging by comments on other sites:

Those who love uplifting blogs, where the writer has just sold their first novel, and there's a mention of foreign rights, a TV movie, perhaps. And we know this blogger, don't we? Followed her all last year, didn't we? And now we can share in a little of the triumph.

And there are those who frankly enjoy a bit of misery. Hearing how terribly so-and-so was rejected, and how bitter he is about the whole process. Never going to write again. (Or worse, he's going to self-publish.) People so like reading this sort of thing, and it makes them feel less alone with their own frustrations, and possibly a whole lot better.

But blogs that are neither triumphant nor terribly, terribly poignant are just plain blah, let's face it.  And that's where mine is now. The only new thing  is that my agent (who has been in poor health) wrote that she is 'ready to get back in step and get this book (The Place of Dreams) sold, for heaven's sake!'

And so, in this last week of 2011, I wanted to let you know where my head is. I wanted to thank you for your readership and your comments over the past three years, despite the blahs. Oh, I've been gung-ho and rhapsodic at times, but Reality kicked in and now I need to re-immerse myself in the writing so that it can't destroy me.

My wish for all of us in 2012 is that we all get drunk together on our writing. And screw reality.

Thanks for the tip, Mr. Bradbury.

Writers Who Need Writers, and Santa Claus Agents

I've said it before, but it's worth repeating. I love my little group of supporters. To open up my blog, and have no comments, or - even worse - no visitors, would be a real downer.

As writers, or artists, we work alone, with no one looking over our shoulders and smiling, or saying something encouraging, and the aloneness of that could make for a very uninspiring day. But you guys make sure that never happens.

I know that we all lean on one another, relying on the feedback from our cheerleading squads. At times we are uncertain, hesitant about the work, believing that we are somewhat alien from the real world, that no one can really understand us, or the life we choose. (Correction: do we really choose it, or did it choose us? I think the latter.) We need to feel part of a whole, to be members of a welcoming and loving club. Well, blogs make all the difference. Without my followers, I probably would have experienced far more down time, misery time, if you like. Just when all is looking particularly dark, be it the work, or our lives, you're all out there keeping an eye on things, and watching out for one another.

Yesterday's blog drew a lot of interest, and I was once again moved by just how kind you all are. There have been many times when I've had tears in my eyes at your words over these past months. So today, again, I wanted to say thank you. How on earth did I manage before I started my blog?

I found this sentiment on line from Einstein, a uncharacteristically gooey one, to be sure, but it says what I'm feeling today.

“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”

—Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965); theologian, philosopher, physician

Today I'm thinking of you all with deep gratitude.


My query stats for Orphan Hafan Deg as of this morning: 18 Pending, 2 Partials, 11 Rejections, for a total of 31.

One of my partials (which was snail-mailed) had been out there for a while, so I thought I should follow up on it. I read this particular agents' blog, and they hadn't mentioned being bogged down with queries, so I half-expected a rejection. The next day, there was their response, and I sighed (as usual) as I opened it. It politely told me that my MS was safe, and that I'd hear from them in about 30 days. My orphan is safe...how nice to hear that. I wish all agents would respond to our queries with "We have received your orphan, xxxx, and she is safe." Makes all the difference to how we feel at that terrible moment just before we press "send" yet again.

Of course, I've sent out new queries, because I replace the rejections each time, and one of these agents included the following words on his web site:

"XXXX Agents were formed in mid 2007 to help overcome some of the genuine frustration and feeling of helplessness felt by so many writers trying to get their book published - in particular their feeling that no one cares enough about their work to read it properly.

"It is our policy at XXXX to read and reply to all emails within 48 hours whenever possible. Of course it will take us longer to read your whole manuscript but in most case we will give you an answer within 2 to 3 weeks

(Re formatting) "....don’t worry too much about presentation or minor errors at this stage, they will make little difference to whether we like what you have sent us and we can fix it later."

Well, this is either Santa Claus working in his offtime, or the Good Queen Glinda's husband.

Why can't they all be like this?

Oh, and if anyone is interested in this agent's name, email me.

Writers' Blogs, The Ebb and Flow of Interest

There's a measurable ebb and flow in the amount of interest in blogs, I've noticed. At first, I thought it was just me, that I was somehow not sparking enough interest with my postings. But then I realized that I don't read all my favorite blogs each day, either. I might catch up with them later on in the week, or miss them entirely because I was involved in other things, as a lot of us are. So ALL bloggers, on the whole, must see this reflected in the number of hits they receive. Ebbing and flowing with no discernible cause... I apologize to my favorites, but I know we're all guilty of this. It's not YOU. It's ME.

My art page always does well. I've decided that this is because it's mainly about pictures, not requiring huge concentration, not asking for analyses, discussion, or any deep thought. It simply requires you to look. And people do. They know when they open the page that I'm not going to be demanding anything of them, other than perhaps linking to the artist I'm featuring. I certainly don't say very much, nor expect much back. Perhaps this is the ideal blog. We've all become so scattered in our thinking, our interests, degree of concentration, that we often long for something easy to look at.

Well, it stands to reason that a writing blog is never going to be easy. We Blogging Writers are always complaining about something, that the writing is going badly, that we received another rejection, whatever - just plain feeling sorry for ourselves. Sometimes we're enthusiastic, and - very occasionally - ecstatic. As the enthusiasm and ecstasy is less evident most days, this would indicate a rather serious read.

I always liked this bit of reality from The Writer's Chapbook:

Reader: "Miss Moore, your poetry is very difficult to read."
Marianne Moore: "It is very difficult to write."

I try not to put too much of my private day-to-day life into my blogs, not because I'm secretive or fear exposure of some hitherto-unknown weakness, but because this was meant to be about writing. One day, I might consider a social chit-chat blog, but not yet. If I take off again for Parts Unknown, I'll tell you where I am, and what I'm doing, but that's about it. After all, you read my blog for glimpses into the writing life, don't you? Does it really interest you to know when my washing machine breaks down, or when my cat wipes his bottom on my rug?

I'd be interested to know what you DO expect here.