Monday, November 3, 2008
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Revisions are DONE
Hot dog! The last major revision of number one is complete. Now I can return to...um. Shit. Gotta write the next book.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Just Sayin'
The expresion "Just sayin'" must be the most played out, lamest* hiptard two words in the world of online commenting (or anywhere else, for that matter). It's like the "not!"* of the 21st century.
Just sayin'.
*A close second is the suffix "-ist" attached to a blog name. Unless it was something totally cool like "Genital Mutilationist" or "Paducah Kentukyist." That would be rad.
** See explanation of "not! joke" in Borat: Cultural Learnings of America Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakstan.
(Semi-related: Some day I'll post and tell the story of my two pals who, while visiting Alma Aty, Kazakstan, were pistol-whipped and detained by mafiosi in a basement for several days for "inappropriately touching" an "exotic dancer.")
PS: Genital Mutilationist? That would be the Jake Barnes blog.
Just sayin'.
*A close second is the suffix "-ist" attached to a blog name. Unless it was something totally cool like "Genital Mutilationist" or "Paducah Kentukyist." That would be rad.
** See explanation of "not! joke" in Borat: Cultural Learnings of America Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakstan.
(Semi-related: Some day I'll post and tell the story of my two pals who, while visiting Alma Aty, Kazakstan, were pistol-whipped and detained by mafiosi in a basement for several days for "inappropriately touching" an "exotic dancer.")
PS: Genital Mutilationist? That would be the Jake Barnes blog.
Mind Games!!
I got going on Number Two last week (after some struggle to choose what narrative voice I'd use, groan!) and the juices were flowing, I was totally stoked, and I was hammering the keyboard as fast as I could because I was just trying to keep up with the thoughts as they were coming -- you know the feeling, right? There's also a strange, exhilarating/terrifying feeling that comes with the knowledge that holy shit I am contractually obligated to write this thing and it's going to be published!! There's another feeling -- mostly relief -- in knowing that I'm not going to have to joke around with finding an agent, sending out queries, etc. etc.. By the way, thank you Mr. Agent!
It's also strange, I should add, to think about how a giant media conglomerate owns an idea that exists only in my head! Holy smokes!
So things were going great, I had a few nights of stellar writing, and then I got an email from Ms. Editor asking me when the best time would be for her to call so we could discuss some edits on number one. Sheeeeit. I mean, I knew this would be coming, but having my stellar momentum on Number Two interrupted sort of sucks, right? I'm not complaining or anything, really, because the suggested edits make total sense and I'm feeling so good about Number One that it's still a lot of fun to go back to it. Now the breaks are totally on Number Two, and I'm immersed again in Number one.
But still, I have a huge task ahead of me -- I have to edit Number One, and there are only 348 days left to complete Number Two. So it's time to employ Mind Games so that I may finish both of these jobs. I'm sure every writer does this; weird stuff like abstinence from sex/meat/booze/general vices until a certain goal is reached like finishing a chapter or completing a revision or something like that. It's the ridiculous carrot that keeps you going toward a certain goal.
For my Mind Game, I'm going totally big -- a deprivation appropriate for the size of the jobs ahead. I have a deep love of alcoholic spirits, particularly cocktails, most especially Martinis made with Bombay Sapphire gin. So here it is: until either a) Book Number One is released (July '08, gotta celebrate, yo), or b) A full draft of Book Number Two is completed, I'm fully going on the wagon. Like the carrot hanging before the proverbial donkey, I'll keep an empty martini glass on my desk to egg me on.
This is a painful step, but pain is necessary. Right?
It's also strange, I should add, to think about how a giant media conglomerate owns an idea that exists only in my head! Holy smokes!
So things were going great, I had a few nights of stellar writing, and then I got an email from Ms. Editor asking me when the best time would be for her to call so we could discuss some edits on number one. Sheeeeit. I mean, I knew this would be coming, but having my stellar momentum on Number Two interrupted sort of sucks, right? I'm not complaining or anything, really, because the suggested edits make total sense and I'm feeling so good about Number One that it's still a lot of fun to go back to it. Now the breaks are totally on Number Two, and I'm immersed again in Number one.
But still, I have a huge task ahead of me -- I have to edit Number One, and there are only 348 days left to complete Number Two. So it's time to employ Mind Games so that I may finish both of these jobs. I'm sure every writer does this; weird stuff like abstinence from sex/meat/booze/general vices until a certain goal is reached like finishing a chapter or completing a revision or something like that. It's the ridiculous carrot that keeps you going toward a certain goal.
For my Mind Game, I'm going totally big -- a deprivation appropriate for the size of the jobs ahead. I have a deep love of alcoholic spirits, particularly cocktails, most especially Martinis made with Bombay Sapphire gin. So here it is: until either a) Book Number One is released (July '08, gotta celebrate, yo), or b) A full draft of Book Number Two is completed, I'm fully going on the wagon. Like the carrot hanging before the proverbial donkey, I'll keep an empty martini glass on my desk to egg me on.
This is a painful step, but pain is necessary. Right?
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Just What is a Partial?
So you've written your perfect query letter, and sent it out to some appropriate, well researched* agents, and lo, you've been asked to send some sample pages. Hot dog! This chunk of sample material is known as a partial (not to be confused with a full, which is, duh, the whole manuscript), and you will be so stoked to be asked for it that you will run around like an idiot and call all your friends and post on the writers' boards and shout "an agent requested some pages!"** Most partials (and there will be many, friend) that you send out will be the same (a cover letter, sample pages, SASE), but some agents have special demands (synopsis, secret code on envelope, payment***).
Dear Ms. Agent,
Please find enclosed the requested first pages of my novel, SO ASPEN, SO EXTREME, along with a copy of our initial email correspondence. I've also included a SASE, but email remains the best way to get in touch.
Thanks again for taking a look, and very best regards,
Anonymous Novelist
Sample Pages
Fifty or so, give or take a few pages so you can hit a reasonable break in a scene. You won't be punished for sending 48 or 53. Sometimes, agents will request the first 75 or even 100 pages; same rules apply for hitting scene breaks. ALWAYS send a sample that begins at page one. Sending something that begins in the middle of the book because you think it's stronger writing only tells the agent that you think part of it is weaker. And none of it is weak, right?
SASE
That's a Self Addressed, Stamped Envelope. And even if it's used less and less in the world of email, it's just part of the protocol, so put one in there. I liked to change fonts for my address from time to time when I was querying, because you can tell the age of the query (I had one that took 13 months to come back). Oh, yeah, one other thing: when you see one of these in your mailbox, it's ALWAYS a rejection. If they had liked it, they'd have emailed or called.
Copy of Initial Correspondence
Decidedly not part of the usual protocol (but some agents will ask for it), but I like to print it up and throw it in there so the agent knows that a) I'm not a crackpot pretending the requested something (it really happens), and b) to remind them how gushing and excited they were when they requested the stuff in the first place.
The Envelope
Nice, big manila-type envelope. Doesn't need to be padded. Slide everything inside and seal it with a clear piece of packing tape.
Secret Message
Sometimes, an agent will ask that you print something on the envelope to ensure proper delivery. I've been told to write "requested," "requested materials," and "requested by (agent name)." Only do this if asked.
Synopsis
You should put this one of for a couple days. I hate writing these things. If it was a second-choice agency, if I didn't have one written already, I might even accidentally forget to put one in, or just forget about sending the partial altogether. Just remember, when you settle down to write this, you are in for a couple days of misery and anguish. You've been warned.
What Not to Include
No Photos, of you or anyone (or anything) else. Nothing cute. No colored paper. No confetti. Keep it simple.
One Last Note:
You should send via US Postal Service. Everyone gets the mail, and USPS delivers during regular business hours. Don't do any stupid delivery confirmation thing that an agent will need to sign for -- it creates more work/hassle for them, and makes you look insecure. Also, keep your receipts; postage adds up, and it's deductible.
That is all. Back to writing.
* Don't be ashamed -- everyone uses this site, and no one admits it. Dude's creepy, though.
Let's take a look at the contents of that envelope, shall we?
Cover Letter
Keep it short and professional. This request for materials does not mean you are pals now -- it only means more work for the already harried agent (or his/her assistants). I like something like the following (in standard business letter format, preferably on some nice, thick paper):
Dear Ms. Agent,
Please find enclosed the requested first pages of my novel, SO ASPEN, SO EXTREME, along with a copy of our initial email correspondence. I've also included a SASE, but email remains the best way to get in touch.
Thanks again for taking a look, and very best regards,
Anonymous Novelist
Sample Pages
Fifty or so, give or take a few pages so you can hit a reasonable break in a scene. You won't be punished for sending 48 or 53. Sometimes, agents will request the first 75 or even 100 pages; same rules apply for hitting scene breaks. ALWAYS send a sample that begins at page one. Sending something that begins in the middle of the book because you think it's stronger writing only tells the agent that you think part of it is weaker. And none of it is weak, right?
SASE
That's a Self Addressed, Stamped Envelope. And even if it's used less and less in the world of email, it's just part of the protocol, so put one in there. I liked to change fonts for my address from time to time when I was querying, because you can tell the age of the query (I had one that took 13 months to come back). Oh, yeah, one other thing: when you see one of these in your mailbox, it's ALWAYS a rejection. If they had liked it, they'd have emailed or called.
Copy of Initial Correspondence
Decidedly not part of the usual protocol (but some agents will ask for it), but I like to print it up and throw it in there so the agent knows that a) I'm not a crackpot pretending the requested something (it really happens), and b) to remind them how gushing and excited they were when they requested the stuff in the first place.
The Envelope
Nice, big manila-type envelope. Doesn't need to be padded. Slide everything inside and seal it with a clear piece of packing tape.
Secret Message
Sometimes, an agent will ask that you print something on the envelope to ensure proper delivery. I've been told to write "requested," "requested materials," and "requested by (agent name)." Only do this if asked.
Synopsis
You should put this one of for a couple days. I hate writing these things. If it was a second-choice agency, if I didn't have one written already, I might even accidentally forget to put one in, or just forget about sending the partial altogether. Just remember, when you settle down to write this, you are in for a couple days of misery and anguish. You've been warned.
What Not to Include
No Photos, of you or anyone (or anything) else. Nothing cute. No colored paper. No confetti. Keep it simple.
One Last Note:
You should send via US Postal Service. Everyone gets the mail, and USPS delivers during regular business hours. Don't do any stupid delivery confirmation thing that an agent will need to sign for -- it creates more work/hassle for them, and makes you look insecure. Also, keep your receipts; postage adds up, and it's deductible.
That is all. Back to writing.
** Your friends will all tell you great job, and then you will be rejected with a form letter. The end.
*** Kidding!! You know better, right? NEVER EVER pay an agent anything. Ever.
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Fear, or, Time to Get Started, I Suppose
A couple of times, after I got my deal, I expressed some apprehension to my editor about being able to have a finished manuscript by August of next year. "No problem!" she said. "You've got plenty of time." I believed this, for a while, but now I am becoming consumed by The Fear as I think about how, really, I don't have so much time to get this done. Time management seems like be a reasonable practice to take up.
A couple of years ago, when selling my own stuff seemed like some freaky dream, a writer friend of mine, Mr. New York Times Bestseller FBI Agent Thriller Writer, told me about how he had to purchase an automatic blood pressure cuff to monitor his health because he was so gripped by The Fear regarding his seemingly far-off deadline. I laughed about it when he told me, but now it doesn't seem so funny.
The first book, the one I sold (not to be confused with the practice book), took me less than a year to write (and that's including weeks-long breaks in writing where I got drunk a lot). So, if I know I can write a book in a year, why should I worry? Because I am now owned by a giant media conglomerate, and am contractually obligated to finish the damn thing by a certain date. This is a vastly different sensation than writing a book with no knowledge that you'd ever sell it (but you always believe that you will, right?), and no clue what things would be like once you did. (And, seriously, the way publishing seems to work is so different than I had ever imagined.)
So I guess it's time to get over The Fear, and write word one. I'll skip the blood pressure cuff (for now).
A couple of years ago, when selling my own stuff seemed like some freaky dream, a writer friend of mine, Mr. New York Times Bestseller FBI Agent Thriller Writer, told me about how he had to purchase an automatic blood pressure cuff to monitor his health because he was so gripped by The Fear regarding his seemingly far-off deadline. I laughed about it when he told me, but now it doesn't seem so funny.
The first book, the one I sold (not to be confused with the practice book), took me less than a year to write (and that's including weeks-long breaks in writing where I got drunk a lot). So, if I know I can write a book in a year, why should I worry? Because I am now owned by a giant media conglomerate, and am contractually obligated to finish the damn thing by a certain date. This is a vastly different sensation than writing a book with no knowledge that you'd ever sell it (but you always believe that you will, right?), and no clue what things would be like once you did. (And, seriously, the way publishing seems to work is so different than I had ever imagined.)
So I guess it's time to get over The Fear, and write word one. I'll skip the blood pressure cuff (for now).
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