Watched Pots, Orthopteran

When we’re five, the world seems to move at a snail’s pace, and when we’re ten times that (give or take), we often comment about how fast the years seem to go.

Lately, I’ve been getting an itch (other than the eczema). People talk about how SLOW traditional publishing is. It is a perennial theme, especially amongst us pre-published folk who yearn to control the experience of trying to get there by dint of “UNDERSTANDING” it in almost tortuous detail.

Nobody ever seems to think TP (hee hee) moves speedily, even those of us who have to stop between breathy astonishments every month that it has already gotten to be this month to take a bit of Metamucil.


I look around at “most writers” and think – good Lord, y’all are writing novels in the space of under a year, or getting published before age forty – and you think this is slow? Well, my LANDS!

If I were querying, (or if I ever do again), it’s probably cruddy self-admission, but any amount of reading at this blog is going to make it plain to any agent in the world – it took me a decade to write The Ax and the Vase, and the damned thing isn’t even out with anyone anymore. It’s “lying fallow” (a far nicer fantasy to hold onto than “I trunked the bastard”) and unlikely to see publication soon, and perhaps ever.

Ten years.

I queried it too early, squandered the first half of my forties, queried it still-too-early-but-less-egregiously-so again, kicked its ass, got it into shape, queried the four agents left on the planet not already pestered with the thing, and moved on to the WIP.

Research isn’t even remotely complete, and that’s months on now from realizing I had to let go of Ax. I don’t expect the WIP to take ten years again, but this novel won’t be written in months, either (hence letting go of Ax being so difficult).

Traditional publishing isn’t slow, it’s just that we are impatient. We’ve also had our attention spans reset – clipped ever slenderer – time and time again just in the last sixty years, and it’s more and more difficult to understand outcomes that cannot be had instantaneously.

I am old (Father William), and here is the irony – I rather savor the slowness of my education and prospects as an author. I do want to get there, but I’m not upset it’s not a shorter road, nor wishing my life away to get to publication, as if it is the only finish line worth reaching. Even with all the difficulties, there is some reassurance that anything left in this world travels at a pace deliberate rather than precipitate. All goals will come and go soon enough; met or not.

What I’m saying is …

Patience, Grasshopper.

Or, to jam on Janet Jackson

 

 

“I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”

Funny Thing Happened On the Way to Slowing Down ...

Uhhhh - I got seven queries out tonight. Holy damn.

If I Had My Druthers

Please accept my apologies for a late post from Monday ...


Monday mornings that start off rolling are the best beginning for a work week. I had a mental note or two coming in, only a minor glitch or two firing up, and a good, solid four hours of steady work to keep me going in the a.m. There were also two fresh new rejections (both of them expected, so the sting was minor); one on a query sent only yesterday, and one only a couple or three weeks old.

IF I HAD MY DRUTHERS

I honestly wonder, as I consider shelving (as distinct from “drawering”, which would imply entirely giving up hope) Ax____, whether it is right or wrong to do so. It’s hard to be open to the possibility of putting away a work I know is GOOD, even if I have begun to consider that it may not be the work that can launch my second career, but I am trying to allow the idea to be … okay. At the same time, yes, querying is a numbers game and this could just be my origin myth, the tale of the super-author in the making, the cred that makes my own arc as worthwhile as (insert respected/much-rejected author’s name here) – and as Clovis’ own.

That latter is tempting, and honestly I would hardly stop to think about “quitting” (for NOW) on Ax, except that … I feel like I’ve run out of lists to plunder, research resources to take advantage of. Options. I feel like I’ve queried every agent who even mentions histfic without dotting their eyes with little Regency romance hearts or … yeah, mentioning that it’d be nice to see something other than some white European king for a change.

Hilary Mantel did spectacularly well with Wolf Hall and Bringing up the Bodies, but … Hilary Mantel also wasn’t a debut novelist in the first place, and was writing and publishing on a different continent from my own in the second place. She had twenty years’ catalog of performance behind her. She also found a way to write about the perennially-blockbuster Tudors without quite treading old ground. And now she also has TWO Man-Booker prizes to her credit.

Not a platform I can claim to stand on. Though I’ve got a story that not only doesn’t tread old ground, but illuminates a huge swath of the history of the West *and* even some of the very reasons #WeNeedDiverseBooks today, it isn’t. Diverse. And nobody’s heard of Clovis I on this side of The Pond (a *selling* point that gets in its own way, Catch-22 style [an appropriate problem for an author named Major?]). It’s not MG, YA, or NA; there isn’t a single dragon, pneumatic beauty, or magically-engendered neurosis in it. Game of Thrones readers might dig it, but I’m not comping that and don’t have compelling plans to garner that audience nor proof I could.

And but.

And but.

And but.

Ten years I’ve spent with this novel, now. Learning from it and LOVING it, though that may not shine through given my dry and pragmatic statements about killing darlings and it being a product and oh-so-professional detachment. I LOVE Ax and the Vase, it has been both one hell of a good story to be part of, and iet means the world to me. It is a manifestation of something my dad talked about all his life (“somebody should write a book” was a stock phrase in my house growing up), and he died before I ever began to write. I have no doubt he’s rooting for it, and there is a minor, sentimental strain in wishing I could publish a book I know he’d probably have enjoyed immensely on its own merits … and been inexperessibly proud to know I wrote. (Heck, at that, half the dead folks in my family would probably like this book; those who have gone before me gave me the very voice in which it’s expressed, after all.)

I am to this day entranced by the story, to the point that actually feeling it’s ready, it’s finished, is still exciting – just to know I have done this thing, that I made it, I have something to do with something this great.

I’m proud of my work.

Even if I let it go for now, there’s no doubt I’d try to get it out there as a follow up. (It is a prequel of sorts to the WIP; they are as unalike as they are inextricably linked.)

Lord, just thinking and writing about it, I gnash and resist with a fury the idea there’s no agent out there who could (… who would …) do anything with this book. It’s a bloody good read, it’s a ripping yarn.

If only I could find some hidden stash, somewhere else to turn.


In the meantime, I must turn to the WIP. If I have missed some dozens of agents who would do my work proud, somehow or other I’ll find ‘em – and beware, agents.

This isn’t quitting. I’m just turning slightly to one side … for the moment …

DABDA

There may be five stages of grief - but many of us linger on one stage or another. Denial is popular, Anger is overwhelming, Bargaining is a cruel temptation ... Depression may be more powerful, even, than anger. Acceptance is the elusive one.

I'm considering it right now.



The Ax and the Vase is a great novel.

It's been my teacher and my child, something that ushered me into the world of an author, as opposed to a writer. I'm proud of it, and it's a hell of a read.

But. It doesn't seem to be a a viable product.

It's been a couple of months now since any agent even requested a read, and - good as it is - frankly, I just believe it's got an uphill battle in store in publishing, and ... if my plan is to be published, I have to provide the best possible material.

Ax is ITS best possible self, but it is not a market mover right now.

I haven't entirely decided to retire it; the fact that there are more agents to query is either a problem or a tempation.

But work on the WIP has become compelling, and though my faith in what Ax IS is unshakeable, if I'm not realistic about the industry, I'm not its best steward. And that's what I want to be. So I'm thinking it may be best to concentrate elsewhere. I'm opening myself to that possibility.


Anyone who's read me much knows I'm not very precious about my darling, special work, but they also know how much it means to me to have this consideration on my mind. My commitment to Ax is not minimal, nor is my confidence. But the odds are speaking to me, and I can't pretend not to hear. That would not serve Ax and would also hobble the WIP and the rest of my works.


This way of thinking has come on me a little suddenly - but, thank heavens, it's also coming at a time when my excitement about the WIP is building. I can't say there's no intentional connection there, either. If I have the WIP to sustain my hope, letting go of Ax would be ... not less difficult. But possible.

And so - I am considering possibilities. Feedback welcome, but most of my readers here at the blog have not been beta readers of the novel itself, so I understand if the comments stay quiet or theoretical. :)



Sigh.

Quick Hello

There is material waiting to get up on the blog, even a perfectly lovely post all written - however, as it would take me a few minutes to hunt down links and format and get everything done, the blog loses out, these days, to query research and other types of networking. I have some burning thoughts even still waiting for formulation, so things aren't dead around here (just ask the 400-500 bots coming to visit every single day now ... and what the heck is that? It's like the time LeVar Burton retweeted me in my stats these days, but it's all Russia and France - and who knew France was so infested with bots?). Just not prioritized. I haven't even been able to comment on Janet Reid's nor Jessica Faust's blogs lately, though I'm at least reading the posts and getting lost in increasingly arcane food in jokes.

Just wanted to say to everyone - don't forget PI DAY tomorrow! 3.14.15 - and celebrate twice, at 9:26 and 9:26, if you're feeling extra fancy. "Mmm. Pie."

Since we don't have time for a real collection post, do enjoy Two Nerdy History Girls' two recent posts: one on using shampoo safely in your own home! and another (with video!) featuring NOT Princess Leia making a new dress from an old.

Okay, ciao for now. See you all soon (bots and all - sigh).

"... ... NEXT!"

I haven't been around here or Twitter a great deal lately, not only because the paying job has involved a major launch this week, of which I was a core part for several areas, but also because it's seemed to me wise to let the page enjoy a little fallow time while I have been querying again.

Not so long ago, I was thinking I might be coming to the end of a resource to find more agents to look into, but more options have cropped up, and I'm quite enjoying the process right now. More than a couple of very interesting agents indeed have bobbed up, the kind I'm surprised and/or kicking myself for not having found sooner; but the nice thing is, it's not like I'm running out of options at a point where I've got a decent head of steam going.

We've also apparently set up a regular schedule of Thursday snowstorms in these parts, and I can't help but feel a bit like Arthur Dent about the whole winter thing in this regard.
But, even coming to appreciate the unique sense of anticipation for change living in a climate with season tends to include, I seem to be hanging in there with the ongoing winter. Whatever is absent, whatever is lacking, in my life, I'm managing to cope with.

Even Thursdays.

Query Count Count

Okay, after a couple days' worth of rejections, I wanted to reassure myself, and there are still eleven queries live out there. Researching more tonight, and I have a NICE fat list to keep submitting to.

So we've got that going for us ...

Collection (of Sorts)

Quick update, Gossamer continues to be nimble on his toes, and no blood today. His little white-sneakered foot is clean as can be.

Ahh, perspective - there's nothing like learning of others' struggles (and, perhaps, extrapolating on even worse ones) to put three rejections at once in a wider context.

The History Girls have Tanya Landman and a great post on one of my own failings - the whitewashing of history. I need to research diversity for the WIP.

Also - geez, in the space of five minutes I got a huge spike in its, and see no signs of bots in the stats. So hello, and welcome, whoever just popped in!

The Thing About Volume Querying ...

... is that you get a great feeling of accomplishment, BUT you also get three rejections in a day from some of the speedy responders. And one from an agent, maybe, whom you really wanted to impress and thought you could.

Le sigh.

I can keep in mind all the other queries still out on submission with no response yet (including that *other* agent or three I think are pretty neat). And I can stick with my philosophy that every R is the next step to being snapped up.

But still. Yeah. Sigh.

At least the one-space-after-a-period thing seems to be going fine.

Processs of Elimination

Unpublished authors, I think, often forget that there are two sides to every slush pile.  On the one hand, agents are out to eliminate queries so they can devote time to those magical manuscripts that will set them afire - and with which they can set the publishing world on fire in turn.

On the other hand, authors (lest we ever forget: the ones who create any and all possible product in the publishing market ... ALL. OF. IT.) have to remember we must eliminate agents, too.  We can't just query 'em all, it's no way to find the right one.

And research can be grueling.

Here's the thing, though.  Sometimes, we can make it easy on ourselves.

I just eliminated an agent from my list because, though they are listed as repping histfic, their own list of what they're looking for included "women's lit, chicklit, lady lit, and lad lit".

Nope.  Not my agent.  Ever.

Also:  gag.  Gag me with a spoon, even.  GAH!

I no more accept that literature needs a pink label on it so my soft little female brain will know I'm allowed to read it than I accept that razors and soaps and automotive accessories and anything sold in a hardware store (.... or, you know, anywhere at all) need to be pink so I'll know my soft little female hands are allowed to use them.

Ya gotta have limits.  When it's 74 degrees outside one day in December, 41 the next, and bouncing back up to 66 the NEXT, it may be said that limits can get as tight as your headbone.

Still, I don't think I'll run squealing back toward this one any time soon.  I'm on the lookout for the agent who reps my genre and maybe gushes about puddy lit too.

Cluster. You Know the Rest.

For the first time in years, I seem to have returned to The Land of the Cluster Migraine.  In some ways, "cluster" can be a misnomer for this type of headache.  When I was working for That One Guy lo these many years ago, I once endured a headache over the course of something like four months (no, it never stopped; no, not even when I was asleep - it just got worse or less-worse, with no cessation whatsoever, for actual months on end).  That ain't a cluster, that's a single nasty monster-ache, over a season or more.

Right now, though, "cluster" is about right - it's letting up from time to time.  But, I believe, my output here has been affected, and I can say for certain my output at Twitter has plummeted.  Perhaps all to the good, that part.

Unfortunately, the output in querying has been constrained as well.  I've never been an email blaster, but I can recall getting three and even six or eight queries out in one night, in the past.

So it is with tempered joy, but at least some satisfaction, I realize I've reached the point where I'm soldiering on through the pain.  Got some good submitting done tonight, and that after a seriously hectic, but rather rewarding (and long) day at work.

Not half bad, considering the unseemly relations I indulged earlier today, with a fist full of NSAIDs.

And so now:  beddy-bye time.  Anything that happens there with Gossamer the Editor Cat is strictly seemly.

#AmQuerying ...

Uuuugghhh.  I can't get the next query out until I revamp that stinking synopsis YET again to tailor it to yet another set of submission guidelines.  I refuse to flub "3-5 paragraphs" to the entire page it is right now, but sometimes (after a 9-hour workday, just for instance), following the rules gets exhausting.

Don't go thinking six or seven revamps is ever enough, either.  Sure, you might have a 3-5 page synopsis, a one-pager, a 3-5 paragraph one, and the query itself, but some agent you crave-crave-crave to impress is going to turn up asking for one seven pages long, or one TWO PARAGRAPHS long.  It's not their fault there's not industry standard!

Or is it ...?  :)

TONIGHT, WE RIDE

 It’s an over-used headline, sure – but that’s because it’s fun.

Today is July 18.  It’s an anniversary of something I’m familiar with, so I’ll remember this day.  And this day … is the day the querying begins once again.  And THIS day, THIS round:  will be the last.  This is the selling round.  This, as Max Quordlepleen is wont to say, is the proverbial IT.

I finished my last polish ... the word is back from beta-reading ... the last look has been taken ... and it is time (at last).

And so – with thanks to my wonderful writing friends, and a little encouragement from one pearl-grey, silken-coated and green-eyed boy – tonight, my friends.  Tonight, we RIDE!  Release the Kraken!  Let slip the dogs of literature!

You know - or cats.

And so on.

Gossamer the Editor Cat is up rarin’ to go to NYC and points beyond with the MS

Meat

Of the most recent four requests-for-a-full I had out (for those of you who aren't querying authors, a "full" means those agents who have asked to read the entire manuscript), I did not get any feedback from three of them.

One is a very very lovely woman I've met before whom I knew probably was not the right match for me, but you don't not-submit when someone gives the go-ahead - you never do know, in this world.  One seemed to me not really a personality match - and, indeed, I never even heard from her after submission, which from *my* end is a write-off.  Another was the ridiculously delightful Victoria Skurnick, who agreed to an interview on my blog as well (I need to get on that) but who, in the end, really doesn't do my genre, so as much as I adored her I knew it wasn't a good bet, and she was just as kind in letting me down as she was in opening the option to begin with.

The last one, though, whose name shall remain un-mentioned for now as I'm not convinced that book is closed, so to speak, provided nicely specific requirements and the salutation, "Back to work!"

The good news is, I agree with the feedback.  Indeed, during the last revision, cutting tens of thousands of words out of a completely ridiculous draft, I had thoughts cross my mind which reflect similar expectations.  So I'm going back to work - taking the butter knife back to the dragon's lair - and doing what I can to spread a bit of oleo.

The even better news than that is that this should not be a very big job.  It's a matter of some restoration, but not masses of new writing - nor of new cutting.  It's a matter of set dressing, essentially, and - of course - it does mean suspending any new querying for the time.  I won't pretend an excuse to suspend querying isn't welcome - even as sanguine as I am about the process, I don't think *anyone* would call it a pleasurable one.

And so today, back still hinky and kinky, enjoying my clean house, the open windows, a bout of laundry-doing, and the occasional nestle, I'm perusing scenes to see which ones are too free-floating--and SWEATING about my thoughts on which ones are "there" enough.  And, of course, dealing with the impulse to get into other things as well.  "Oh, wait, that character needs ..." and so on.  Some of it I should probably indulge.

But some of it I need to restrain as well - because here is the major thing:  this is not something I have endless time to fool around with.  An editorial agent (SQUEE) *might* care enough about my work to consider it twice.  The last time that happened, I took far too long, and the world changed by the time I got back to the interested party, and it transpired that there no longer was interest by the time I finished with the butter knife.

Part of the process of being a "potential" (published) author is learning, and learning-how-to-do at that.  I learned a lot, losing what I wanted to hope was a Dream Agent.

Not interested in losing another.

Saving Some for Later

It is perhaps weak to quit at three queries.  It is perhaps prudent to stop writing crucial correspondence after a day of work and an evening's query-prep.  My instinct is toward the latter.  Deborah Grosvenor will be next up, and there's even a MAN on my list in queue.  Yes, Virginia:  they let men be literary agents, too.

There will be more reason to squee about further progress tomorrow.  For now, I think - a cruise through my Roku box.

Pitchery

Thinking about The Query Shark’s posts on pitch sessions, and my own experiences both with these and with Pitchapalooza, I’ve been ruminating on how useful they are.  The thing is, I’ve had 100% success with in-person pitches – with “success” defined as “agent asks for partial or full” (and fulls are more frequent as electronic delivery improves; as Victoria Skurnick said to me, and part of the reason I asked her for an interview to be published here, “Why ask for a partial, it’s all the same by email”).  There was a time when a full request was a HUGE deal, but either out of my own experience or because technology has changed so much in the industry, even down to these preliminary events, it seems less earth-shaking now than once it did.

As for pitch sessions, part of Janet Reid’s objection is the nervousness and the novice state of so many of the writers she sees during sessions.  Much as I’m little burdened with preciousness about the killing off of my darlings, I was fortunate to have parents who very consciously and explicitly raised me and my brother to be able to talk to people in any walk of life.  Now, for me and my brother, this does NOTHING to actually eliminate nervousness, *but* it does manage the thing – and, frankly, there’s not much interest in a life into which a little nervousness never falls.  Nervousness is close kin to excitement – and, if you’re excited about what you have written, as far as a pitch session goes, that can bring you halfway “there” so to speak.

I pay attention to how I plan to pitch, but I’m not scripted beyond those points about Clovis’ story I personally found so compelling I needed to write it, and which I know make the strongest selling points both literarily and in the market.  Now, if I were blessed to attend conferences more regularly or closely dealing with my particular GENRE, maybe I’d have been agented years ago just off an in-person – but, as much as I love JRW, and as widely worthwhile as I find The Ax and the Vase to be … you may be astonished to learn that, apparently, the trade in ancient Frankish kings is not brisk in fiction currently.

(That’s not to say that the market is not good, but it does speak to Clovis’ relative obscurity next to the ubiquitous Tudors, Rome, and even the odd Plantagenet in histfic alone – and histfic is only one area out of many, when it comes to conference-planning for maximum impact.  Take a look at the fascinating data produced recently by a historical fiction survey; even keeping in mind that this was created by sampling a necessarily skewed sample, the results are interesting and even encouraging.)

I keep getting off discussion of pitching.  One has to be careful, you can do that in a 5-minute session, and POOF it’s all over then.

Another objection Reid has is that the five-minute pre set meeting is all an author gets, at a conference.  This is where my love of JRW forces me to point out that – SOME conferences invite participants/agents/marquee speakers/editors to come AND TO BE THERE THE WHOLE TIME.  Buttonholing agents in the hall is not merely encouraged, but built into the experience.  So, at JRW – yes, they have pitch sessions (as Reid points out, to omit them might cause riots from writers who expect them), but there is also the opportunity to pitch impromptu … and just to have LUNCH with people.  This past conference, I reacquainted myself briefly with Paige Wheeler, the first agent to ever request a partial from me (I need to re-query her ASAP!), and formally pitched both Victoria Skurnick and Deborah Grosvenor, who was incredibly generous in fitting me in at the end of an extraordinarly long day, and even got to just sit and relax for a while at a table off on its own slightly apart from the center of activity, talking cello music and mezzuzahs with Ms. Skurnick, who was so painfully delightful I asked for the interview then and there (and she was enthusiastic and lovely in saying yes, I’d love to).

So, clearly, I would number among those authors whose reaction to Janet Reid’s condemnation of these sessions would be resistant, to say the least.  But then, I’m among those lucky twits whose reaction to nervousness itself seems to be manageable and productive – and I am also smug enough to say to myself, an author who wants to sell a book needs to be able to sell her or himself, so for pete’s sake, pitch sessions are just part of that education we need in order not only to improve our pitches and queries themselves, but to participate in the larger world I am trying to become part of, that of Published Author.

Who the HELL put that soapox there, and how did I trip on it … ?

Um.  So – yeah, I kind of like pitch sessions.  I like being surrounded by friends old and new, sharing these tiny and painful short works, getting feedback, rehearsing, improving them.  Conferences have borne, for me, some of the best marketing work I’ve been able to produce in support of Ax itself.  And, nervous or not, I’ve never been to one where EVERYONE was not completely supportive, no matter the context.  And the agents are not the least of this.  I’ve learned, even those who don’t “do” my genre are generally delightful people, and at times there’ve been those it just hurts me to know don’t work in my area.  (Michelle Brower, I’m looking at you.)

Just thinking about all this makes me want to get a-querying and impress the pants off of those I’ve met – and Janet Reid herself (are you kidding me?  Love Query Shark like I do, and NOT take a chance?  No way – now that she’s open for queries again, she’s on the list, of course she is).  And so I must away, and get cracking.

Even if I can’t vomit on anyone’s shoes.

"Less Vomit" - on Pitch Sessions at Conferences

The Query Shark on pitch sessions, in two posts.

I'll sit in a room for 14 hours straight if you feed, water and burp me periodically.  I'll meet with every writer at the conference who has a query letter. I'll read the query and I'll offer suggestions for improving it. I'll read the revisions. I'll help every author there as much as I can. And I'll be GLAD to do it.

I'll query her long before the next Conference of course, but even if that comes to nothing, I'd love to meet her.

Tracking

With Note:  127,276.  Without:  119,541.  And only a little left to skim through at this point.  If I can't finish tomorrow night, it will be Tuesday.

Tracking

Psst ... I have this secret hope I may finish the final revision tomorrow.  Don't tell anybody, m'kay?  Thanks.

With Author's Note:  129,603

Without:  121,868

Good night!

Tracking

As of this morning - with the Author's Note - a nice, satisfying:  129,999!

Without:  122,264.

Yay!