Your wrist

That scene
in Pippin.
Where Catherine sings paeans
to the arch of his foot.

In high school, that was illuminating
and silly...
and I liked it and laughed at it,
though not because
I understood.

Today
the picture of you
Your face is always visible from its place
but today
I saw only the line of your wrist
and for a moment
it was unfamiliar
wrong
but I stopped, I looked at it
and was reassured.

Your wrist is elegant. As are your fingers.
Long and lean, immaculate, powerful.

Your wrist.
I miss it.
It held me once.

Missed.

Seriously?

Are we in third grade (in 1933) and the boys still need to have a He-Man Women Hater's Club? I'm honestly too baffled to even get as far as being offended.  It just seems like a bizarre story from several generations in the past.  And these men actually think that being expected to ... allow a woman to PLAY GOLF ... is akin to having a bayonet pointed at them?  What?

Way to minimize things that are actually dangerous, guys.

This is beyond my paltry feminine comprehension:  that there actually, really are still any men walking and breathing who are this scared and resentful of their gender privilege.

And all that over this cheesy, ugly garment.

Nice one, Augusta.  Yeesh.

Happy New Year

Oh, my achin' back ...  *Grin*

I do enjoy Christmas decorations, and the holiday was REALLY lovely - nice time in my own home this year, just me mom and her husband - but me oh my, how I do love how big and clean and bright the house seems for New Year's when I take it all down again.  It wasn't up long this year, scarcely over two weeks.  But today I finally got a huge new piece of furniture brought into the house.  Today all the dismantled tree bits, and boxes of ornaments, and standalone knickknacks are all stowed.

Today the house is very much lighter and more open.  Larger and spacious - even with a huge new piece in the dining room.  Today the stress of moving that, and all the picking up is done.

Tomorrow, I return the furniture dollies.  Tomorrow, I go to the grocery for a few very special ingredients.  Tomorrow, I will observe my New Year's rite - and worship - and dust and scrub the small stuff.

Tomorrow, the decks will be clear, the work of 2011 done - and I will be loaded and ready to fire away for 2012.

De-Listed

I've finally just completed researching (and querying - woo!) the final agent on that long list.  Apparently, I went in the right order - all the dead ends first, and ending in a few good shots.

This weekend, I completed four new queries.  Not too bad.  There are three I need to research further, and one I"ll just keep on a "check back" bookmark, as they're not accepting queries but state this is a temporary policy.

Now I need to put together yet a new list.  There is one resource I know I need to get to.  Once that one is done - I'll need to find more resources too ...

Shot

I don't succumb very often to very much.  It takes an enormous stimulus to push me to inflict bleakness on me, and not many people nor things can do it.

But, right now - especially after that long list of useless research - I just feel sort of "over" the shilling and querying.



Which is why I started off my computer activity, today, by following up with the agent who's had my partial for two and a half months.

I know how to respond to my brain's attempts to bother me.  Whatever I don't let annoy me makes me stronger.

I may allow myself not to finally finish off the last few from that list.  But today:  I get my house clean.  And tonight, I go out and have some fun.

Some time soon, the agent responds to me, maybe asking for the full finally.  And all the other queries which are still active (I had several out before this stupid list) come to their conclusions too.

For today, maybe I see some good friends.  Maybe I dance.  The house will be clean and cool, and my weight is a little more satisfactory.

Don't try to get me down, life.  You haven't got the power to own me.

Time and Retooling

One of the frustrating things about how long it takes to query a novel is that you find yourself improving the query itself, until you are happier and happier with it over passing iterations ...

... and you wish you could go back to some of the plum agencies you were excited about at the beginning, and re-query them with your new and improved setpiece of an introduction.



This is why I wish sometimes I could meet them all in person. I do SO well with in person agent meetings. As good a writer as I am, it frustrates me that's usually the ONLY possible format in which to present yourself.

Yes, I know how bad that sounds. Even so - I would bet good money some of the agents out there wish they had more authors who *could* present themselves better in person. They may not advertise that. But a property is a property.

Ngrgh

Not only not going out for champagne toasts and drunk drivers: I would seriously like to go to bed, and it's barely past eight-thirty.

Rock and roll, yo.

Agency

One of the agents I met this weekend, apart from looking so terrifyingly young to me I got a bit of a complex again about being almost 43 and JUST having completed my first novel this past year, was one of the most brilliantly inspiring guests JRW has had in my six conferences.

This is the agent who works with the one I met last year, my first request for a partial. This is the one I thanked for being so simple, smart, and instructive - and who said I should query her, even though she doesn't usually handle my genre. I was honored by her generosity.

But more than anything, I was genuinely impressed by her. The agents *always* seem so young when I see them, but they also always more than display their professional competence. It's not by accident they have the success they do, and while my reptilian slacker-brain gawps in wonder at someone being so accomplished in their twenties-or-so, I've learned to take it on faith that most of the agents and editors I've met through JRW are serious, and are *taken* seriously.

Okay, YOUNG. Shut up, Di.

The point is that over the years I've seen enough agents to have some sort of educated idea of what a good one has to offer, and to also have some ideas about what "good" means for me specifically. Some agents are hands-off, but some are editors - I think I would do best with the latter brand. I'm not dainty about my precious work, and I have no compunction to kill off my babies. I think, too, there's a lot to be said for surgical amputations. My work is 168,000 words. For histfic, this might pass, but it's a chunk to try to sell, no matter the genre, in this publishing day and age. If I find an agent, I won't cry if he or she forces it down to size. My *instinct* is that it is the size it needs to be.

But I'm not the professional agent. And I know I need one, if my product is to be sold.



So.

M. B., this particular agent, was not merely personally appealing, but professionally impressive. She's the sort of agent who knows how to say things very well indeed - and I *have* seen a few, over the years, who weren't good at that, some very poor in fact. She seemed energetic, enthusiastic, friendly, and sincere, and she really was enough to make you wish she handled your genre. When I told her I was grateful for her contributions, she seemed truly to take it to heart that she'd made a difference - and I know for a fact I was in the majority, appreciating her presence. She makes me want to write right to her particular catalogue, just to work with her, you know?

But of course, that would take time ... and I am old already. Heh.

The effect of meeting one of these people is that they inspire you doubly - and you also sort of eat your heart out a bit, too. When you meet one of the good ones, it's both reassuring, and depressing, because you think, "Oh, will I ever find the one who's THIS good ... ?"

I think there are a lot out there. I know I won't just grab for dear life at the first offer I get, if it is not from the "right" person.

But it's like the job hunt: while it's going on - during the period when you can't know what your outcome will be - you just erode, eating your heart out. "When will I ever get just the right job?" "When will I ever meet just the right person to love?"

"When will I ever get the right agent - and SELL this thing!?"



Life's little list of questions.

Kind of a pain in the behind.

Kind of invigorating.