I’m going to blog my heart out for a while. I’m not angry, but I am tired of all the bullshit I have to wade through, day in and day out. I need to give my brain a douche. Flush the clutter from between my ears. So, with that said: The state of publishing today, or, what’s wrong with this picture?

　

Today’s economy influences the decision making process, from publishers to agents. Quite a few are making bad decisions, from my perspective, and then they bitch about the consequences of those bad decisions. True enough said for agents as well as publishers, but to me as the outside observer, the whole symbiotic relationship between agent and publisher looks like one big, unsatisfying cluster fuck. Because of this confusion, writers like me are getting a lot of bad advice, along with the good. And it has nothing to do with the state of today’s economy. I can safely say that things have been building to a head for the last two decades.

　

As writers, we look at a hundred different sources of information, we’re supposed to put it all into perspective, and we almost never get it right. That’s not our fault. For the past two decades agents and publishers alike have been speaking to us with forked tongues. A good example of that would be: Publishing uses the mid-list to nurture unknowns into bestsellers, when us writers know the mid-list died twenty years ago, and publishing has yet to bury the corpse. I have the feeling that publishing will keep parading that sorry old cadaver around until the last shred of skin flakes off. Or, how about this little nugget: Write what you are most passionate about; then we’re told to know what is currently hot, and write something similar. The latter being the bad advice, but half of everybody jumps on that slow mule to nowhere and whips away. The latest I saw on an agent’s blog: Epic fantasy has grown cold, don’t bother with it, unless it is exceptional. Yet, publishers keep pumping it out, one series after the other. I would safely say that almost all fantasy today is (using the term as an umbrella) epic. Book One of the Whatever Saga, followed by several more sequels. I don’t see any stand-alone urban, high, modern, or whatever fantasy novels. A story that starts and ends with that one book. Do you? Can anybody name me one recently published stand-alone fantasy novel? Oh well, science fiction has their space operas.

　

Here is a classic "what the fuck?" I’ll share. I went to Publisher’s Marketplace, Association of Authors’ Representatives, and AgentQuery, giving each of their search engines only one parameter. Fantasy. Find me agents that represent Fantasy. I got a big list of possible agents back from each site. I weeded out the questionable agents, weeded out those who are more interested in selling me their books and shit than take my query seriously, and was left with an impressive list of about 70 names. I then went to their Web sites and very carefully read their Areas of Interest. Just over 50% didn’t want Fantasy. No Fantasy! You think they could update their listings. Now I’ll add another "what the fuck?" to my first "what the fuck?" I dug a little deeper. Out of the twenty-five names I had left, I took a look at their clients lists. Half seemed to only represent women writers. One male writer represented for every twenty to thirty female writers seemed to be the norm. I’m a man, hence the beard in my photo, so I’m interested in things like that. But, don’t take my word on it, look for yourself. And, between you and me, I don’t think I would stand a snowball’s chance in Hell with those agents, even if my every word dripped gold.

　

The business of publishing is all about the Benjamins. Publishers, agents, money rules their world. Everything they do has dollar signs attached. Don’t let them tell you differently, because they would be lying to your face. As writers, the gatekeepers to the publishers we want to publish with, are the agents. If they don’t think they can sell your project right here and right now, the answer with a choice few is a maybe, and 99.8% it’s a no. It all has to do with what’s hot. Right now it is everything vampires. I’d love to shove everything vampires up their overpaid asses and twist. Why? These vampires fight crime. They not only save the world, they have kind and compassionate souls. They fall in love, and angst just flows from the pages. WWBD? (What Would Buffy Do?) Kill them all and let God sort them out. Why do I feel this way? Simply because there are some fantastic books out there, literary masterpieces, which will never see the light of day. One or two of the bravest agents out there today, blogging their hearts out, even admit that what I just said is true. They will pass on a literary masterpiece, a potential Pulitzer Prize winner, if they think they can’t sell it, right now, today. That right there, that attitude, is so wrong, words cannot express how I feel.

　

As a writer I’m not sure what to think, or what I should do. My options are limited. I perfect a query and send it off to my agent list. Once at the agent’s office, I might have to get past the unpaid intern first, before the agent even reads my query. If the intern doesn’t like my query, I get a rejection slip, or I’m ignored. If the agent actually reads my query, but they can’t sell my book right then and there, today, I get a rejection slip. If I write what fills my soul with passion, but it’s not part of what agents consider a hot-market book, I get a rejection slip. After the agents, I can send my stuff out to various small publishers. There are only ten to twelve small publishers recognized by the industry as legitimate publishers, so again the overall market is small, there might be a little money made, very little money made, but that’s about it. Writers then turn to self-publishing their novels. That’s all they have left. Agents and publishers alike say that’s the worst thing a writer can do; self-publish their novels. But, you know what, I think that’s the best thing we could do. The agents didn’t want them, the publishers (the very few who might know of their existence) didn’t want them, so what’s the problem?

　

There is no problem. Readers expect a few flaws in self-published books, and they can tell when a writer has taken great pains to produce an exceptional read. They forgive us our faults. We make some money, not much, but a little, and I don’t see anything but good in self-publishing. We can and do correct our mistakes, and republish our novels, giving our readers only the best of us. We learn and grow from their feedback.

　

And, you know what? If a writer happens to sell a book through an agent to a big publishing firm, the last thing they’re going to care about is a few self-published novels. In fact, if you happen to pull in some good sale numbers, those same publishers will then buy that book, opening all the doors that have been slammed in your face in years past.

　

And, just in case you ever wondered about it, sequels serve a purpose. If you happen to buy book three of the Whatever Saga and like it, chances are real good you’ll buy books one and two of the Whatever Saga. Money. It’s all about the Benjamins. See you next week.

Monday: Seven hours were devoted to editing one book, and only two chapters of that book were picked over. That link I provided a couple of weeks ago, the one with the all-encompassing list of common mistakes writers make, helped me find and correct seven typos within the total manuscript. I added ten commas to help with clarity, and made a few changes I felt strengthened my novel. I watched an hour of television, cooked supper and cleaned house; then played my game for an hour. I chased cats for a half hour, trying to get the kittens in the house for the night. I posted last week’s blog entries, checked three e-mail accounts, read the agent blogs, scanned Publisher’s Weekly online, and didn’t win the Hot Lotto last weekend. I saved the files I changed, using three separate flash drives, put stuff away, and went to bed.

Tuesday: Two hours were devoted to editing, before I shut things down due to storms. I don’t have my computer on during stormy weather, due to me replacing my modem card last year. I disconnect everything computer during bad weather. Lightning strikes are bad for systems, even with a surge protector. I made supper, cleaned, did dishes, read, and made notes.

Wednesday: Took my mother to her doctor’s appointment, a 45 minute drive up, and the same amount of time back. We stopped at Perkins on the way back. The chicken biscuits (2) topped with gravy, two over easy, hash browns, that was great. The coffee left something to be desired. She’s healthy for her age, BTW, and I have a year before her next checkup. Stopped at the library to return some books, came home, mowed the lawn. I took three breaks to cool down, drank lots of water, and still it wiped me out. Three beers later, some leftovers for dinner, I felt more like myself. I read a Star Trek book cover to cover, went to bed. Slept like shit. The book was okay. No back flips or cartwheels.

Thursday: Got up, spent three hours mowing the neighbor’s lawn. Took two breaks. Spread the clippings out in the garden, and banked dirt and clippings against my potatoes. I scraped the mower clean underneath, washed the bag out, washed the air filter, and put it away. I gave another neighbor a hand, played an hour of my game, and made dinner. I played another hour of my game, a neighbor dropped by for an hour or so, and the rest of the night was dedicated to editing. Three hours. Though, I did sneak in an hour of television. I watched Supernatural. Rerun or not, it’s a good show. And yes, I caught the death of Michael Jackson. A sad end to a very sad man. Farrah, on the other hand, put up a brave fight. For her I applaud. I checked for e-mail, looked for any new blog entries on the blogroll, went to bed.

Friday: Had toast for breakfast. Had my wife pick our first, out of three, patches of beets. I cleaned house, watched an hour or so of television, took some photos, made supper, played my game for an hour, and spent five hours editing.

Saturday: Again had toast. Washed dishes and pint jars, and my wife washed the beets. Cooked the beets for an hour, let them wallow in the hot water for another hour, cooled them off in cold water, and then my wife skinned them. I cut them up, packed five pints full of sliced beets, poured the pickling solution over them, and processed them for the required amount of time. Played my game for two hours, and edited for six hours. I saved my files, which I do every night, just in case of a computer meltdown. Watched Doctor Who. Big fan, love the new shows. Started another book until my eyes crossed, went to bed.

Sunday: Got up and made muffins. Fed the cats and retrieved the paper. My wife readied the green beans, and I managed four pints. Cleaned the house and did the dishes. Lunch and supper were whatever was leftover. Edited for five hours, finally reaching chapter eight. I averaged 30 pages per chapter, so there’s a lot of work to each chapter, considering I’m working it line for line. Watched almost no television. Played my game for two hours, instead. I posted last week’s blog entries, checked three e-mail accounts, again read the agent blogs, scanned Publisher’s Weekly online, and didn’t win the Hot Lotto last weekend, which, again, sucked. Read for the rest of the night, and made some notes. Call it a typical week for me. If I’m not editing, I’m writing, or I’m reading.

Here is a picture of my critters, minus two. Do I like cats? The almost blind cat is Baby. She loves the outdoors, and most of the time I can get her in the house for the night. I included a picture of the garden, and one of my pickled beets. See you next week.

Four new subscribers last week, and three dropped out the next day. I gave out some good information, a great link to follow, and three dropped out. This isn’t a television series, folks. I don’t solve crimes. I don’t explore archeological sites. I sit in front of my computer day in and day out, writing, editing, researching, hoping and praying I’ll get my contract. I read book after book, good and bad, learning from them my craft. That’s all I do. All the bestsellers out there, that’s all they do. No shit. They sit and write, edit and research, all day, everyday.

A whole lot of editing going on this week, and I spent one whole day on chapter four. The prologue took a day, and the first three chapters took two days. I had to add to chapter four and smooth it out. I deleted a few lines that compromised the flow of the chapter. I put it away for the night, and the next day I read it again, making a few more small changes. Now it’s ready. On to chapter five. I may spend another day on this chapter, or it may be good to go. I started reading another traditional fantasy novel by a renown author, making notes, and then I lost my notebook for a day. The cats, and I have a dozen of the little eating machines, knocked it behind the chair.

And, talking about cats, I did have to shoot a mean tom cat this week. Fatso had killed one of my other cats, and was after my kittens. I can’t have that. I keep a small herd going, because nature and the highway thins them out, but a mean tom would eventually kill them all. I like my cats. The kittens play in the garden, the adults play with the kittens, and they’re very entertaining. Right now they’re all outside. By next month, that’s where they will all live. Outdoors, where all good garden kitties belong.

I play one computer game, Oblivion - The Elder Scrolls IV, as my reward for a good work week. I get a lot of work done, I put in a few hours. I started the game in January, explored every cave, ruin, site, whatever, on the main game, and was halfway done with the Shivering Isles, when both my save games glitched. I saved just as a fireball had been launched at me. My own fault, I’m sure, for saving my game where I did. I started over. My character was at level 42, which means I was about as powerful as I could get. I had great armor, could carry almost a ton, had my luck level up to 89. I was cute, too. I play as a young girl. I found I’m not as likely to take stupid chances with her. Starting over means I have to design my character again, and it’s hard to get that same look. I was real cute. The bad thing about this is all that hard work exploring, down the tubes. The good thing is, when I start over, I’m going to try hard not to die, even once. I died three times, during that last game. And, always give the beggars a coin. I don’t know why, but all that goodwill builds good karma.

I update my life blog once a week (next time big pictures, not small), and the Central Park blog once a month. I’ll post something good for next month, though I’m not sure what it will be. Maybe some of my new stuff. See you next week.

For my new subscribers, this is a list of words that are, many times, redundant. Words to waste. Hit the edit tab in whatever program you write with, find the "find" or "find and replace" feature, and give each word some space. Or, space, word, space. That isolates the word from word fragments. Then ask yourself if the word should be deleted. Most of the time that word can be removed without harming the manuscript. It’s a good thing. Sometimes the word should stay, and only you can decide that. It also helps with the odd typo, when one word is spelled almost the same way, but has a different meaning. Either way, in no real order, this list was lovingly drawn together over many years, and I love it. Consider this as my gift to you. If you want to add to the list, leave a comment.

NO, ON, IN, SO, AS, UP, NOW, INTO, WHEN, THEM, WERE, WE’RE, TO, DIE, DYING, BUT, AND, HAD, WAS, THE, NOW, ALL, HERE, KNOW, LEFT, MORE, WITH, THEY’RE, HERS, THROUGH, NEXT, OUT, THEY, THAT, EVEN, JUST, OVER, HAVE, THEIR, THERE, RIGHT, THOSE, THESE, YOU, YES, THREW, THEN, SOME, FROM, GOOD, VERY, ALSO, THIS, ONTO, THOUGH, BESIDES, ALWAYS, OF, THE, OF THE, ITS, IT’S, BIRTH, TOO, DYE, THAN, DOWN, TWO, AGAIN, BERTH, BORNE, BORN, IT, AFFECT, EFFECT

Also, you can find a more comprehensive list, when words are spelled almost the same way, but have a different meaning, here.

The language of fantasy is like traveling in one direction, but the road used has in it a fork. One road is paved, the other is mud, and both take you where you need to be. Urban and modern fantasy has a language it uses, and so does traditional fantasy. Two roads. What I’m exploring is the language of traditional fantasy. The mud road. It helps if I leave my nads in a drawer, because the mind set, overall, is different. I describe it, the language of traditional fantasy, as being more effective when female oriented. Character-centric yes, but the world is not our world, and needs to be properly distinguished. Emotions and moods are explored, adding a subtle layer of needed definition. Men tend to not explore emotions or moods. To that end I’m reading several author’s most successful novels, making notes, getting to know the language, and getting to know how my voice will use the language. It harks back to modern media overload, and purging my mind of those influences.

It sounds weird, but when I sit down at my desk with a cup of coffee, I mentally shift gears into book mode, and I have more than one gear, though I can only use one gear a day. That makes for an interesting trip through the alphabet. One day I can spend hours writing horror, using the language of blood to set the mood. The next day I can shift into Sam Spade mode, and write crime fiction. The day after I can ride my fantasy mode for as many miles as it takes. That’s not a good thing for most folks. But, I suffer from ADD, and that is how I need to function. There are perks. It’s not so bad when I get stuck on one novel, and can switch to another until I’m good to go, with my problem solved. It takes a lot of day-to-day pressure off me, I’m never bored, and I manage two to four novels in any given year. I expect to finish three novels before this year is up, and each one will be commercially viable. Highly polished efforts. A lot of self-confidence on my part, but I’m worth it.

I averaged a thousand words a day this week, which is a little low. I also read one book, making careful notes.

My research is progressing, and has taken on a life of its own. I have a flash drive for Web pages I’ll read more in-depth, taking notes, keeping my computer clear of trash. I’m researching the 1850s. The gold rush era, Oregon Trail tales, how the city life was, and wasn’t. I’ll be picking up the Ken Burns documentary soon, because nobody does it better than Ken Burns. Some of the stories are amazing. The little old man who put everything he owned in a wheel barrel, and walked the whole way. He made it, too. There was an elegance to their simplistic words, not being subject to mass-media overload. I like the past. Our golden age is now, to be sure, having leisure time, opportunities to explore our vast world, instant everything, but there is something to be said for years past. Imagine facing the unknown, contemplating the dangers involved. I want you to believe I was there, in the 1850s, living my everyday life.

My writing is taking on new life. I’m almost done with my crime thriller Earth Improvement Day. I’m still working on Love’s Gift: urban fantasy that doesn’t include vampires, werewolves, or other paranormal elements that throttle bookshelves these days. I like to think of this one as pleasantly different in a wonderful way.

On the editing front, I slowed myself down. I get to know each paragraph first, removing the clutter and the redundancies. That fluff new writers can’t get away with, while bestsellers get to add all they want. Fluff doesn’t make their books any better, it just makes their books thicker. I do add a few words, when needed for clarification, but that’s rare. See you next week.

Results of query five? More rejection slips. One agent said I could write, and meant it. That same agent can’t remember reading my last four queries, and didn’t even remember my name. That’s what I’m up against. How frustrating is that?

Do you want to know why I do this, month after month, year after year? Have you ever been moved to tears by the ending of a story? Have you ever been propelled to joy? Have you ever finished a novel, and the core idea that drove the plot left you thinking for days afterward? Have you ever been sucked into a world so real you felt it move and throb underneath your feet? Deep in your heart? As if it was a part of your mind? That’s why I felt it was right to follow my heart, writing the novels I felt most passionate about. Pap, Keeping his first soul. Judas, naked, in pain, outracing Hell with Tamera in his arms, a baby in her arms. Raphael, leading two lost souls into Heaven. I do everything I can to cram my own soul into each story. I let the characters drive themselves into life, as they lead me from place to place, point to point. I believe.

　

Mark Twain was credited with the first truly American novel, and the question is why? Look at his past. Growing up Sam used to spend hours on the porches of former slaves, listening to their stories. How they said what they said influenced his entire life in words. Huck was the subject of that truly American novel, and he crawled into Huck’s head and lived in it, thinking Huck’s thoughts, speaking as Huck spoke. He told the story as Huck would have lived the story, and so made literary history. I like this way of thinking, because it fits me as a storyteller. Each sentence I write means was it says, and says what it means. Language is a tool, and each word has its function. Plain language novels concentrate on the plot and characters, while descriptive language novels concentrate on the characters, their perceptions, while plot is secondary. Some of the best use descriptive language plus a strong plot, and are character centric.

　

My biggest mistake was submitting books or queries before I had the mechanics down. There are rules, more rules, and exceptions to the rules, which are rules unto themselves, and I have to know them all. Most of what I’m talking about deals with grammar and punctuation. The rest of those rules are unspoken rules, dealing with book construction, editing myself into print, crafting a killer opening, making sure the middle of a novel doesn’t sag, and providing an explosive finish. I just discovered another mistake I’ve been making. I’ve written Fantasy, Horror, Crime, and one damn good sexual satire. And that’s the mistake. I should have been concentrating on one genre, like Fantasy. I love Fantasy, though Horror is my first love. I jumped from genre to genre as the muse struck, knowing that what I was doing, following my passion, infusing those words with strength, was a good thing. I wrote some great books, but I’m too jumpy for agents. I should have stuck with one genre, and built myself up from there. They’re more inclined to build on me as a fantasist, rather than a renaissance man.

　

What that means for me is I get to finish my crime thriller, and then concentrate on Fantasy, and nothing but Fantasy. The thing is, Fantasy can be broken up into several sub-genres. Modern, traditional, or otherworldly. Magical beings or just plain magic is the common thread. Modern Fantasy is here and now, with magical beings and magic, such as Harry Potter. Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit is traditional Fantasy, and otherworldly fantasy is nonhuman beings and the magic they live and use. Some folks consider that Sci-Fi, but unless you have a spaceship in the mix, it isn’t Sci-Fi.

　

I also made another mistake with query number five. My credits paragraph read as: As for my credits paragraph, you probably know it by heart. Now, take a moment to ponder something that is very much true. Every short story I ever wrote was published, most more than once. Every short story I ever wrote was published. Keep in mind I haven’t written a short story in years, because I want to write novels. I feel I earned this right. I’m a storyteller, balls to bone.

　

That statement, meant to be informal but still have impact, called into question my credibility. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t true, because it was. I can try to defend myself now, which is a lost cause, or send this list out with my next query letter. Here is the list. All the short stories I ever wrote and finished and submitted. All were published, and chances are it still won’t mean a damn thing. But, I didn’t lie. If they want to believe otherwise, I’ll just have to deal with it. Those years afterward were spent teaching myself how to be the best, with proper grammar and punctuation. Saying what I want to say, how I want to say it. Editing and polishing all my finished books to the highest possible shine, before I submitted them for consideration. And, making mistakes.

　

ABRACADABRA IS JUST A WORD, ISN’T IT?

2001 - Gateway SF Magazine

2002 - The House of Pain

　

CONJURED FROM STONE & STEEL

2001 - Weird Visions

2002 - Shadow Keep

　

FIT FOR SURVIVAL

2001 - The Ultimate Unknown

2002 - Shadow Keep

　

PERCIBLE TRAYNOR’S QUEST FOR IMMORTALITY

2001 - Fear of the Dark

2002 - The House of Pain

　

SERVE REVENGE HOT

2001 - The Ultimate Unknown

2001 - Shadow Keep

SHOOSH, IT’S A SECRET

2000 - The Ultimate Unknown

2001 - Shadow Keep

2002 - The House of Pain

　

WISDOM DIVINE

2001 - The Ultimate Unknown

2001 - Fables

　

ORIGINS: LITTLE DEMON DOLLY

2002 - Shadow Keep

　

ONLY _ DAY(S) LEFT UNTIL XMAS

2001 - Shadow Keep

　

FOR THE GREATER GOOD

2002 - Fantasy & Legends

　

FIRE WITH FIRE

2001 - The Murder Hole

　

HOW THE PEOPLE KEPT THEIR POWER

2002 - Twilight Times

　

HAVE YOU EVER FELT REAL . . .

2002 - The Murder Hole

　

LOVE’S GIFT

2002 - Twilight Times Books - featured download.

　

MONKEY’S MEAT

2002 - The House of Pain

　

WELCOME TO MACHINE

LEA BETH

TWO SOULS AT SUNDOWN

THE LAST FIRST HOUR

1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE

2003 - Bent Offerings

I don’t post that often for a reason. I certainly don’t Twitter, don’t have a Facebook profile, I’m not on MySpace or any other social networking site. Why? I have to write novel after novel after novel after novel after novel after novel after novel after novel. Not just the first three chapters like in the ‘50's, ‘60's, ‘70's and ‘80's, but entire novels. Many agents have been burned by writers submitting three chapters, and when the full novel was requested, either the writer couldn’t deliver a finished novel, or delivered shit for a finished novel. Agents today will not consider a submission unless the novel behind it is finished, polished to a high shine finished. Print it out and mail it finished. You can see for yourself I don’t have time to Tweet jack or profile squat, because I’m too busy writing another novel I hope my potential agent will like. Now, I can guess at publishing trends, based on information gathered from various sources, but I try to write stories I would enjoy reading. Trends never explain those four to five books each year that buck everyone’s expectations to sell in phenomenal numbers, worldwide. Risking everything, does. It’s all about risk.

Think about it from my perspective. I decide to write something that excites me personally. I love the idea behind the novel. I’m motivated to do my best from start to finish. Months pass. I’m done. I just spent an undetermined number of months taking a huge risk with my newly finished novel. I spent hours upon hours on my query letter, synopsis, my sample pages, and the answer from all the agents I submit to is no. I don’t fit. Somehow I don’t fit. On to the next novel. I decide to write something that excites me personally. I love the idea behind the novel. I’m motivated to do my best from start to finish. Months pass. I’m done. I just spent an undetermined number of months taking a huge risk with my newly finished novel. I spent hours upon hours on my query letter, synopsis, my sample pages, and the answer from all the agents I submit to is no. I don’t fit. Somehow I don’t fit. On to the next novel. I decide to write something that excites me personally. I love the idea behind the novel. I’m motivated to do my best from start to finish. Months pass. I’m done. I just spent an undetermined number of months taking a huge risk with my newly finished novel. I spent hours upon hours on my query letter, synopsis, my sample pages, and the answer from all the agents I submit to is no. I don’t fit. Somehow I don’t fit. On to the next novel. I decide to write something that excites me personally. I love the idea behind the novel. I’m motivated to do my best from start to finish. Months pass. I’m done. I just spent an undetermined number of months taking a huge risk with my newly finished novel. I spent hours upon hours on my query letter, synopsis, my sample pages, and the answer from all the agents I submit to is no. I don’t fit. Somehow I don’t fit. On to the next novel. I decide to write something that excites me personally. I love the idea behind the novel. I’m motivated to do my best from start to finish. Months pass. I’m done. I just spent an undetermined number of months taking a huge risk with my newly finished novel. I spent hours upon hours on my query letter, synopsis, my sample pages, and the answer from all the agents I submit to is no. I don’t fit. Somehow I don’t fit. On to the next novel. I decide to write something that excites me personally. I love the idea behind the novel. I’m motivated to do my best from start to finish. Months pass. I’m done. I just spent an undetermined number of months taking a huge risk with my newly finished novel. I spent hours upon hours on my query letter, synopsis, my sample pages, and the answer from all the agents I submit to is no. I don’t fit. Somehow I don’t fit.

Six novels in the above paragraph. Six risks that went nowhere. Years of my life down, me taking huge risks, and I don’t fit. I’m not right. On to the next novel. I decide to write something that excites me personally. I love the idea behind the novel. I’m motivated to do my best from start to finish. Months pass. I’m done. I just spent an undetermined number of months taking a huge risk with my newly finished novel. I spent hours upon hours on my query letter, synopsis, my sample pages, and the answer from all the agents I submit to is?

I’m willing to take that risk. I’m a writer. It’s who I am.

I have a few wild ideas in my head, damn good ideas from my perspective as a reader, and I read a lot of books. Half the books I read are okay. Very few leave me geeking. And that’s the point. What am I willing to risk, and is my risk going to pay off?

I’ve been reading How Fiction Works by James Wood, and find it interesting that I’m a modern Flaubert, without realizing it. The idea being to set the literary stage by amassing detail as the eye or movie camera might see it, from the outside in or the inside out, and use what is needed to make the scene work best. Several times over the years I’ve stressed the point that God is in the details, and I pay particular attention to my details. I also sometimes gloss over detail to stress what is important about a particular paragraph, writing to the point. Try doing both at the same time, writing to the point with phenomenal detail. I admit I’m one of those writers who usually sits down at their desk and sweats blood. The book I’m working on now (my seventh novel) is two-thirds of the way done, 58,000 words in, and I’ve edited it from front to back, not once but twice. I wanted it tight and to the point, with detail aplenty to enjoy. Once the first draft is finished, I’ll stick in a drawer for a few months and let it ferment.

At the start of the book Mr. Wood seems to say we are basically stuck in First Person or Third Person narrative ruts, and Second Person has rarely been done outside of Bright Lights, Big City, which was powerful, but could have been better (and 10,000 needed words longer) with the right added detail. Not many people understand what the Second Person POV can really do. How it can handle the most powerful, visceral emotional narrative, and allow the reader to live it as that character. I published a successful short story (this one story was published several times) told in the Second Person, and could have worked the same tight concept into a full-blown novel. What I’m waiting for is a character concept, this outline of a person, who can do a Second Person POV justice.

Number four query was sent to my long list of agents, with very little to show for it except 10 more rejection slips, and more than that ignoring my submission. In other words, nothing was unexpected or surprising. I did, however, get rid of several agents on my list. What I did was sort through their various sites and look at their sales for the last year. Those that primarily handled chick lit (those whose average client list, lists one male client for every thirty female clients) got taken off my list. Sorry, I write like I have a penis. Those that were questionable as real agents (2) got scratched, and those whose lists come nowhere near what I’m doing, they’re gone too. Those that never returned a query with a rejection slip, gone. That left me with fifteen names I can work with, and new research to do. Maybe add a name or two to my list.

My fifth query will go out soon, and I already consider it DOA, because of the naughty nature of the material. Alice! XXX is 60,000 words of the nastiest, hellbent-without-leather version of Wonderland you could ever hope to read. A sexual satire, following the original chapter for chapter. However, I did (thank the literary gods) add a plot. The Queen has been possessed by her dead mother’s soul, and only Alice can free her, destroying the evil Sea Hag once and for all.

I’m taking a huge risk with that query, knowing it won’t go anywhere and might actually hurt me in the short term. But, I’m taking that risk because I have to. Alice! XXX, is a fine example of my ability to write well, exceptionally well, and none of that will matter because the material is pure sexual satire, and hard-core enough to be considered out-right porn. A lesbian sex romp. Why bother, you might ask? I have to be true to myself. I’m a very self-confident person. I know I’ve made mistakes, don’t know everything I probably should know, but I’m good. Besides, after two mainstream Fantasy novels, several Horror novels, and my crime novel, I had to do it just to give myself a break. I had fun.

Queryfail popped up on Twitter around the end of March, and I’ll have to admit my curiosity got the better of me. A query can be likened to the copy you might find on the back of a paperback book, or the teaser found on the inside cover of a hardback. It’s advertising copy designed to get the attention of the potential buyer. Writing our own queries we seek an agent and publisher, seeking them as our buyers. Queryfail highlighted the worst written queries participating agents had recently received. I considered it a chance to learn more about what agents consider is a good query, by the comments given on the bad queries. What actually happened was the level of (writer) disdain, weighed against the self-importance agents have—something writers have suspected for years, never proven until now—reared its ugly head in a nasty way.

The level of backlash was monumental, to say the least. Writers everywhere are now making an effort to read agent blogs. They want to know whom they’re wasting their precious time on, and which agent actually realizes the only way to make money from publishers is to respect the source of their income.

A week later Agentfail took the writing community by storm, listing how us writers feel about bad agents they have encountered, though no names were mentioned. Writers listed what they perceived were agent attitudes encountered. And you can trust me when I say they were spot-on. I actually counted seven specific no-no’s some agents ritually expect us writers to stomach, and four real (agent) attitudes that could use adjusting. A real verbal lynching.

Writers, like me, we take our craft seriously. I spend many days on the first paragraph of my query, and the second paragraph, keeping in mind a third paragraph is one paragraph too many. My credits paragraph? Every single short story I ever wrote was published, some stories more than once. But, take a moment to reflect upon what I just said. Every single short story I ever wrote was published. I’ll also admit I haven’t written a short story in years, simply because I wanted to concentrate on writing novels. I spent years learning how to craft marketable novels, and how to self-edit my well-crafted novels. I want to write novels. I’m a storyteller. I have earned the right to be taken seriously as a novelist.

My query letter is always two paragraphs on the book, one paragraph listing my credits, and then my contact information. One page. My query is one full page. If I was to print it out, same thing, one full page. After the query letter you will find my synopsis. What was once three to five printed pages, is now one page, to one-and-one-half printed pages long. I’m required to provide no more than this for a synopsis. I have to craft each synopsis, and sometimes spend two months (a couple hours each night) on this one item, trying to get it right. After that is the first five pages of my novel, or the first ten pages of my novel, or the first three chapters or fifty full pages of my novel, whichever comes first. That’s seven total pages, or twelve total pages, or up to fifty-two total pages. This is all I’m allowed to land an agent.

120 e-mail queries have been submitted to date, and I got to admit I’m getting some great rejection slips. 53 actual rejection slips, so far; then there are those who simply choose to ignore everything I send them. Out of the 53, 35 are people who take time to address me and my work by name, saying things like "intriguing" and "interesting." What does that mean? They want to see more from me, and they want me to send something that puckers their butts. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s kind of a letdown, but that’s the nature of the business.

Number four query out of seven is being edited. I won’t get a request from any agents to see that novel, either. How can I be so certain? The state of the economy. My opening blurb has to be just right, the synopsis has to be perfect (and about a single page long); then I have to provide the first three chapters or the first 30 pages, whichever comes first. They have to be perfect, too. A lot of work for so little hope.

Some of the agents I query will get nothing more than my query letter. That’s it. Two small paragraphs that tell them what they need to know. Some will get the letter, synopsis, and first five pages of the book. Some want the letter, synopsis, and ten pages of the book. Others will get the full query package. This is all I can do: Write and edit book after book, sending out their query packages. 97 % of all published authors made it that way, and 97 % of all authors to be published in the future will do it that way. If you can prove me wrong on that, do it.

I will be cutting down my agent list after this next query is out and back. If, after four queries, I’m still not good enough in their eyes to even send out a form rejection slip . . . I can only assume nothing about my writing excites them in any way. They will be stricken from my list. My thinking on this is: If agents want to see more of what I’m doing, they address me and my books by name; they think I have potential, they address me and my books by name; they want to encourage me to succeed with forty published books in fifteen years or less, they address me and my books by name; they can make oodles of greenbacks with every published book from me whether I use my name and one or two pen names, they address me and my books by name. I have the drive and the talent to keep the pot boiling.

From the time I roll out of bed, to the end of my day, I’m busy with my writing career. I do take weekends off, simply to detox from the five days before. I measure my progress in goals accomplished, not in the number of words down. I’m trying to put in more words per day, certainly, but that’s not the end all to this life. I found I’m working on three books at the same time anyway, so gave in to that irresistible impulse. In the morning I work on my crime thriller. In the afternoon I work on my sweet G-rated fantasy. In the evening I work on a complicated fantasy. I also read everyday, and, I do some editing.

My crime thriller stands at 90 pages, my G-rated fantasy stands at 75 pages, the complicated fantasy novel stands at 40 pages. Yesterday I managed five good pages on my crime thriller, three pages on my G-rated fantasy, and one page on the complicated fantasy. I edited 30 pages on a past project to take a creative break, sent out 40 queries, and read a chapter from a book I thought I should read. I have a theory going as to what makes a good book great, and going over great books; then good books and bad books, confirms what I had been thinking all along.
Of course the rejection slips are coming in, one, two at a time, but that’s to be expected. I’ll wait until next month before I do more agency research, and see if anybody new that’s real has opened their doors to my e-mail queries. No paper used. Green is good.

I took a tour of the WWW today, looked around, thinking many thoughts. I stopped over at the Self-publishing Hall of Fame. Not much new, but it’s a fun read. I read several other writer’s blogs, and I’m boring compared to them. It’s okay. I don’t mind. Read the industry news from several sites, and didn’t find anything I could use. I’ll work on chapter five of my crime thriller today. I have to go back a few pages and insert a little something that will help me out with the ending.

I decided I’ll add to this piece until after the holiday season is over, and then post it. It’s the least I can do for myself.

I’ve written the equivalent of eight books. I read constantly. I’m developing killer editing skills. My head aches because of the above, but I’m not complaining. I have to do more. I have to bleed words. *G*

I’m trying to get into a space, a mind set, a habit where each new day is as productive as the last. Even if one day is worth five hundred new words on a project, or two thousand new words. (Let me stray a moment to say that I spent the last two years trying to learn all I can about editing for fiction, proper grammar and punctuation, the impact of the sentence, only to learn the rules vary depending on what I’m saying, and how I want to say it. The rules also have exceptions I should be using where appropriate. No one single book lists both the rules and the exceptions, all of it, all at the same time. So, I’ve been working out of four different books. I’m 98.9% sure that what I’m doing, now, is as correct as possible. I’m a semi-closed punctuation kind of guy.) Today I’m shooting for a thousand new words, but I want the new words to work.

I’m about to send out another agent query, sure that my full query is mistake free. I found several things that I corrected. I’m not going to rush through this process, though I feel like I should push the agent list hard, and then push harder. My instincts say to do that, but this time they’re wrong.

I need to take my time and only show my best work. The new economy needs to be considered. Agents will still sell new novelists to established publishers, but not as often. I have to stand above everyone else. There are agents I’m querying know I’m one to watch, but I have to give them something they can stand behind and sell. It all comes down to me. I’m not a one hit wonder, but I can’t break into the business with what I have (so far). I have to give them something that puckers their butts. This will be my third query out, making the rounds. Three more books will be queried after this one, with two more finished books getting the editorial asses wiped and powdered, pinned up in proper nappies.

I just read Nora Roberts, writing as J. D. Robb. I found the first chapter (and the rest of the book) riddled in mistakes I certainly couldn’t get away with, but these were not typos, as more mistakes of omission. Words left out of the prose, which would have cleared a few things up for me as I worked each disjointed paragraph. The characters, the feel for them, all seemed to bleed together. Two dimensional. I’m also reading Michael Connelly, who makes each character stand out as an individual. His prose is easy, relaxed, thought out. He sits down and sweats blood over his prose, and I see it. Easy, relaxed, thought-out prose is a lot of hard work.

I’m not a perfectionist, though I do try hard to get it as right as possible, and do it the first time around. With that said I’m about to send out my third offering to all the various AAR accredited agents. Three down, and four to go. In the old days the writer would write out the first three chapters, and send that out as a submission to agents; then write the book if an agent was interested. Now agents want writers to send their submissions, but only on finished novels. No partials allowed.

That means I have to really turn up the heat and let my creative pot boil over. No problem. I have so many ideas, it’s spooky. Actually, that many ideas can become distracting. I still write them all down, because I never know when I might need them. And pushing out two to three novels a year means I’ll need them. Brainstorming, alone, looking for creative magic, now that’s hard. I love the pressure. I live for the pressure.

Have I surfed enough, discovering new and exciting sites, compelling me to share? No. I don’t have time for that. My local newspaper decided the book section was unimportant, so I have to spend time looking up what’s hot and why, searching for possible trends. How my plans and my ideas fit within these lists and possible trends. Everything says book sales are declining, yet book sales tend to stay at a certain level, even during the worst of times. History proves that book sales stay steady, or even improve over the long haul, especially during the worst of times. People want to escape, and escaping into a good book is a good thing.

I have to ride out the next few years, just like you have to ride out the next few years, and all of us have to hope for the best, while planning for the worst. Just do what I do. Never give up.

I’m on hold from editing my next book, while the muse takes hold and pushes me through another novel. It’s a crime thriller, four chapters in, and I have to pull together the events for chapter five. I’ve never lacked for good ideas, they come too fast for me at times that I can scarcely get them all down. I’m not participating in any of the contests out there, or online sites, or any campaigns to save other writers. I’m pushing all that aside as distractions I can no longer afford. My soul, their souls, mine done got saved and their’s is damned. (Grammar, I know, but I meant to say it the way I said it. I can do that here and get away with it.)

I’ve been getting some interesting rejection slips lately. Not the form rejection slips I used to get, but a more personable rejection slip that says I’m interesting, but I haven’t shown them something they can stand behind. That’s after two mailings. I’m taking it to mean I have to keep on plucking away, but pluck in different directions. That’s why my goal for the next twelve months is pull three fully fleshed novels out of my magic hat. Each novel takes me in different directions, stretching my writing chops, though I will have to pin myself down to one specific genre once I’m published by one of the big boys.

It’s time for my second cup of coffee. Hang on.

Pour a hot cup of coffee, and then put an ice cube in it. Better than an IV push.

The holiday season is upon us. I have my turkey, with all the fixings. Though I can’t say I’m looking forward to Christmas this year. My money is tighter than yours. I can only hope to make it into January without the holiday ripping me a new one. Still no snow, and for that I’m grateful, but my massive garden is worried. I also curbed my need for oil to heat my house. No more oil, no more of my money funding the Middle East, though I still have to drive my car twelve miles one way for groceries. Still, I’m taking positive steps to keep all of my money here in the US, reduce global warming, and not worry about my future. I saving money in the long run, which is always a good thing in tough economic times. I voted for Obama, so I’m anxious to see how the next four years, next eight years, will play out.