Neighborly

The hearse just pulled up across the street ten minutes ago, and two polite men in white shirts and black ties have just taken the stretcher out of the back after spending a few minutes with the family.

Mr. S isn’t one of the neighbors I have known best, but he was always so nice, and he’s been suffering from cancer for well over a year now. He’s probably not more than fifty-five. Maybe sixty, but that’s still a young man. Just weeks ago, he had a turn for the worse. Family have been here frequently ever since. Just yesterday mom asked me how he was, and I knew it could not be good with all the visitors. I knew he’s been given hospice care.

The stretcher is sitting in hot, bright sunshine, its sheet as vivid and clean as the polite men’s shirts.

And now sweet neighbor hippie boy walks by with his dog. And the body is waiting. One white shirt at the foot, head bowed; the other at the door just for a moment. And now they are off. Soft thump of the door closing.

My prayers are already with his family.


Goodbye, Bill. Peace be with you. And also with your family.

The Ultimate Answer Minus Ten

Thirty two agents' names to find. Two of the authors I'll search for are women who've written similar works to mine. Two stars on each of their names.

Hunting

... and now we have completed the job hunt for the day. Two new applications in (with the new place I've added to my list).

One of which might even be worth something.

So there's that.

Sellin' S'more

The list tops out at twenty-five authors right now.

Just longer than the list for my job hunting.

Which I suppose I should get to at this point, or shortly.

Anyway. One more start.

Here's hoping SOMETHING turns out not to be a false one.

*Pleh*

Not Yet

I'm just not in the mood right now for the daily job site check. Later, yes. But not now.

Now, I am finalizing my list of authors to really consider finding agents for, thence to query. I know I need to gold-star those who do foreign rights, but will query all these on my list, and tailor the letters. My query is good - and the work is so much better.

So far, sixteen definites to contact, with one in particular a woman (and one of the few who's taking on territory outside ancient Rome, at that). That one gets a special letter too - "you took on one woman writing about the Crusades ... ".

BLEAH I say.

Bleah.

Sellin'

There's a short swath of my personality that wants nothing more than to call my best friend TEO, and cry, and say, "Why don't employers and agents WANT MEEEEEE???"

But the truth of it is, I'm actually a professional about writing. That swath doesn't dominate the rest of my drive, and my drive is going somewhere. No question.

I wonder, though, if there is a certain proportion of gender difficulty here. I don't mean NO woman will ever want my work. But the extent to which it is exceptional and unusual for a woman to *write* what I have, I think may also inform the extent to which a woman will want to represent it. This is just a perhaps, but it's not unreasonable.

Much female-authored histfic tends toward romance (see: Victoria Holt and the like), and some toward feminist exploration (Marion Zimmer Bradley). It's all wonderful stuff, but few authors seem to live in the world Mary Stewart, for instance, was willing to take on when she wrote her Arthurian series - first person - from the point of view of Merlin. Stewart has certainly produced her share of more romantic works, but she didn't stint in writing from a male character's perspective.

But this is unusual. Apart from Robyn Young, I can think of (nor find) many women who seem to write anything like my own work. Some fantasists write extremely brawny work. But in historical fiction, in epics, etc., it tends to work out that women take other kinds of ground.

I had a previous meeting with an agent, three years ago, who listened to my description of this novel, asked me about other work, I pitched her the not-exactly-a-sequel, which is ALL about women, and at that one she lit up.

I suspect the agent from this year might have found it easier to generate passion for the second work as well.

My old king, though, demands his primacy. And with me, he does have to come first.

And so I plan my list-of-agents research, and I'll pay attention to how many of them are men. It's an interesting consideration (no biological plumbing will prevent my submissions; but I will notice, I think, the comparative responses to my work).

Ask, and Ye Shall Receive

I heard back from the agent this morning (I did go with a short note to follow up):

Thanks so much for offering me the chance to consider your material. The timing of your follow-up email was perfect. I was just getting to your material (yes, it's been AGES!). Unfortunately, your project doesn't seem right for me. Since it's crucial that you find an agent who will represent you to the best of his or her ability, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to step aside rather than ask to represent your manuscript.

You have a great imagination - I love the premise and setting - and you're a good writer, but I'm sad to say that I just wasn't passionate enough about this to ask to see more. I wish I could offer constructive suggestions, but I thought the dialogue was fine, the characters well-crafted, and the plot well-conceived. I think it's the kind of thing that really is subjective - why some people adore the book on the top of the NYTimes bestseller list, and others don't.

Also, please keep in mind that we welcome queries for exciting new projects from authors who have previously submitted other projects to us.

Once again, thank you for the opportunity to take this on.

Of course.

Why should my talents and fabulousness have any different effect on an agent than it has on potential employers (and, historically, on men for that matter)?

"WOW you are amazing! Bye-bye now!"

*Pleh*

Magic Time (or, "I smell robot.")

Sometimes hormones can be a real gas. There are times I revel in feminine emotions, love the way things "get" me more occasionally.

Now's probably not a good time (see also - listening to my dad's memorial and a subsequent nosedive in that fabled "attitude" of mine), though, for this sort of extremity.

My first strategy was to watch "Samurai Jack" for a while there. Meh, I just wasn't really in the place.

Then I took "Stage Beauty" off the shelf (review, by the way, to follow shortly - great film, that one). The harrowing climax really did it to me. Nope, not the ticket.

So this evening, I took Big Bang Theory down and popped it in the DVD player. Aw. Sheldon Moon Pie. Laughter.

Even though I just watched these like a couple months ago here - just the thing.

I adore that Sheldon does biofeedback. My mom still talks about biofeedback. It's so delightfully seventies.


***


BBT got me through one of the most stunningly awful times of my life a couple and a half years back. It made me laugh when I really didn't understand that was possible.

But my "aw gawrsh" affection for this show, thank heavens, doesn't do thing one to make me all misty and goopy and stuff.

NOT Lame

Okay, quotes of the day aren't *always* lame. Such as this, today, from TEO ...

(W)oe betide the parent who cannot find the Necessary Food.

Amen!

TEO is so awesome.

To Email, or Not To Email ...

I'm trying to decide whether (and, if so - when) to follow up with the agent on the submission. Feedback welcome on this point.

Dailies

Okay, so twenty-three sites each day means I spend a significant chunk of time every day sitting at the laptop poking around for jobs. Add to this the minor but real frustrations of reading a book electronically instead of in hard copy, and I'm still only halfway into the full reading of my own novel. Given that I've now been unemployed five full weeks now, and I'd started well before losing my gig: I am well aware this is an unconscionable delay. "Hey!" says my brain, though, "the agent's not done with three little chapters yet, and it's been like NINE weeks for her!"

And then my subconscious beats up my smarty-pants brain, makes it cry like a beat dog, and ties it up in a corner without any water. Shut up, brain.

Then it's time to go do some more laundry.



Man. Considering how little wardrobe one really requires, being without a job, I sure am READY, when someone will finally require me to get out of my house.

All those lovely summer suits just going to waste in my closet. It's a pity.

Yobs Yobs, We Got Yobs

People keep telling me I need to look at the county. "There's a sign out front of their complex!"

Yes. I'm sure there is. And yes, for goshsakes, I actually AM LOOKING. My brain functions without external assistance (even lemons).

The county, by the way, is hiring custodial workers at moment. The last time I did see an administrative opening, its TOP limit on salary would still represent a thirteen thousand dollar pay cut. I'm sorry if I seen needlessly SNOBBY in saying this, but: no, kids. Just for Maud's sake no.

Good grief.

YES, Please

Another thing to share with E ...

A drive out on a night like this, windows and sunroof open, and nowhere urgent we need to be.

Definitely.

Silly

I've been doing a Queenie voice with Siddy of late. Poor old girl. She does put up with my ancient tendency to theatrics.

Lost Sharing

E and I always thought we would see TON play again. Over the time he has been gone, so many of the things we envision together have also gone. I do still hope to go to church with him, though.

*Pleh*

Even with adding four new companies to my list of e-searches, I only found one new listing to apply for today.

Flipped Off

In all the weeks I've been job hunting, FlipDog has worked in an attempt to search listings only one single time. Now, through Yahoo HotJobs, CareerBuilder, and Monster, I have learned that clearly companies really aren't useing these boards anymore. But one that will not even WORK at all is pretty pathetic. I don't really even know why I keep the bookmark - except that it's better to look than not to, by some theory or other.

Thoughts By the Bullet

I don't wish to try to organize this post into some sort of essay, because attempts to make spirituality coherent in that way smack of trying to control it. As much presumption as I'm capable of, in this instance it seems superfluous.

And so.

• What a genuine and total thrill it was to arrive at church this morning to see the happy blue banner announcing WE HAVE A PRIEST!
• She is lovely so far, I enjoyed her message more than any since the first interim rector left in November.
• Wherever I may or may not appropriately stand doctrinally, the prayers of the Episcopal church touch me very very strongly. And what is more fundamental to the religious portion of faith than prayer?
• Wherever I may or may not stand doctrinally, Christ is *necessary* to my spirituality. I literally *wonder* at resurrection - and the loving gift of G-d's redemption.
• I said "we" have a priest above. It has been made clear to me, even though I have been a non-member attending for a year now, that I am not allowed to count myself separately. This is Christianity. This is fellowship.
• The time has come to really seek guidance on the question of becoming a member.
• Everyone had name tags so the new priest would be able to have everyone's name. They thought they had made a tag for me, but had left me out. One was made right then and there. The priest (Mary - how perfect, eh?) really appreciated this.
• We really do have wonderful acolytes.
• I am so grateful for this church.
• I wore my grandma's brooch today. I'm not sure how she would have felt about the service, but she would have loved the food afterward. I felt close with her this morning.

Sunday is off to a lovely beginning.

Hot Saturday Afternoon

Ninety today, and housecleaning is going even more slowly than mowing did yesterday. Well, it *is* a bigger job ...

Dear Abby

Since I was thirteen years old, I have been someone others turn to when they are in need of sympathy. It's always been "my thing", though I have never really understood why. I don't know what ever happened that started the tendency, I don't know why people were drawn to me in such a capacity before I really began cultivating and considering this aspect of myself (which wasn't until I was at least thirty, really).

I'm not a nicey-nice person in the sense that my sweetness would seem to be much of a draw (shut up, ALL of you who know me personally ...). I am certainly kind, but my generosity and general sweetness are NOT central character traits, and in fact I tend pretty much to resist the latter (the former takes incredible effort on my part, but I swing it from time to time). Nobody I've ever known has thought of me as the sort of person who gives of herself first and foremost, not if they are honest.

But I do have some sort of innate charisma for people in need. I've always drawn them, and presumably been drawn to them. I have a streak of melancholy, that may be some part of it. And I do, regardless of how precious my personality tends to be, have an enormous depth of interest in people's wellbeing.

When I was younger, it often included people I didn't know very well. I remember, after I dated the guy who went to rehab, literally *years* of acquaintances who came to me to worry about their various addictive or unhealthy choices. I was The Straight Girl, and those who felt bent under the weight of whatever their issues saw me as some sort of guide.

I've also always the girl who didn't date boys who mistreated her. The girl who wasn't promiscuous, or unhappy, or abused, or (unusually) confused about guys.

I was no paragon, and I claim no special behavior on my own part. But compared to the drama of some kids I knew, I (a) came to stupid behavior fairly late, and (b) tried to get over most of my stupid behavior when I felt how ugly it really was. So I didn't suffer what some women I knew did when they were very young, and what I did "suffer" I took a lot of responsibility for and tried to change.

But all my life, people have come to me because something about me offers, if not peace nor resolution, at least some sort of relief.

When I needed my mom's sympathy last week, I realized that mom's first response to other people's pain is to try to fix it.

For whatever reason, I have always known: that is the last thing people want when they're in pain.

Sympathy comes first. Retreat from it. Otherwise there is no way to regroup TO deal with things practically.


Mom said to me, "I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do."

That is the thing. Sympathy is not about saying, nor doing anything. I have long known somehow that the only possible thing you can do for someone in acute pain is to distract them from it. You can't hope to relieve it, nor cure it, by focusing ON it. You have to deflect, draw away. Coax someone's attention onto irrelevancies, and slowly, somewhere altogether else.

I can make the angriest people laugh. This astounds me. I don't understand it, really. I don't understand why people turn toward me, nor how I am or can be helpful. But I do understand that, in most situations, I get there. I figure out how to wrest someone out of the hole. I don't think I do much to fix, to "help" - as is my mom's instinct. But I can help turn down the static, if little else. Even mom herself has turned to me. Which is humbling.

It's also perhaps the sole interpersonal skill I have in excess of her. To fix is a marvelous impulse. But it is not always (not even usually) possible, or may not be in a sympathizer's reach. But to participate with someone emotionally - to, trite as it is, "be there" for them - is always there. And most often the only thing desired.

I'm not very nice. But my need to see those I love and care for ... well ... at ease ... is fundamental to me. I *am* kind. In that context, I would give all the time someone's need requires. My ears have bottomless depth to listen, and my arms are capacious to hold on, hold up, smack you on the back. Reach out.

This was supposed to have been a worthwhile post some way or another - but it's turned out to be a prancing "look how great I am" little mess. Hm. I had something to say, but managed to distract myself from it.

Typical, really. And this is a blog, after all. Ah well. Let it stand, then.