Sherri Cornelius

I have an artist and writer friend named Marta. It's her art you're looking at right now. She's commented here many times, because like I said, we're friends. Well now Marta's living her dream. Her debut novel, The Blue Jar, will be out in a little under a month! I can't wait to buy it.

To give you a little taste of Marta's writing (yum yum) I thought I'd post one of her fairy tales that I happen to love. Later on as the release date gets closer, I'll see if I can't post an excerpt of The Blue Jar with links and everything. But for now, enjoy!


Sharp, Glittering Things
by Marta Pelrine-Bacon
copyright 2011

Clarice possessed a fascination for sharp, glittering things. In her upstairs room she kept knives, needles, and razors hidden in a red box under her bed. Almost every one of them was stolen. Her mother couldn’t even abide the sight of cutlery and the sight of blood made her faint.

Clarice didn’t understand her mother at all. Everything had to be soft. Edges were rounded or padded. Once Clarice had gotten a paper cut and her mother had nearly banned all books. Even so, now she had to wear white gloves to turn a page.

Then there was the nightmare of birthdays. Clarice hated birthdays. Her mother spent hours at the guest list. She never crossed off a name but added and added. Every year, as the children made more friends she had to lengthen the list. Everyone in the house had to check the list so many times they could recite the names in their dreams.

A maid did all the cooking, so the children were not allowed in the kitchen and all the food was served cut into pieces for them. The children were not to lose the smallest drop of blood. Nannies and tutors were fired if one of the children scuffed a knee.

Nor did her mother sleep well. “I’ve slept enough already for several lifetimes,” her mother would say. Late at night her mother stayed curled up on the sofa and stared at the television. She watched movies and shows of other worlds and times and great adventures.

On the night of her sixteenth birthday, Clarice snuck out of her room. For years, she’d imagined being out, unmissed and unguarded, and the first step beyond the sight of the house sent a thrill through her heart.

Clarice had planned to wander. She wanted to take her time. Touch lampposts. Run her fingers along brick walls. Stop in a diner and order food that required a knife.

For her adventure she took thinnest sharpest blade from the red box and slipped in the side of boot. When she stepped out the back door, the knife’s edge pressed into her ankle, but she didn’t stop to check her skin.

The shadows of the nighttime world surprised her in spite of all the stories she’d read in preparation. She couldn’t shake the feeling the shadows were the cloaks of ghosts as if they’d been there all this time waiting for her. She decided to find a place to sit and think about her plans.

At the first bench she came to sat an old woman. Clarice had no fear of an old woman, and so she sat at the other end of the bench. She took her lipstick and a mirror out of her purse.

“That’s a very pretty shade of lipstick, dear,” the old woman said.

“Thanks. It’s called True Red,” Clarice replied. “Or something like that.”

“A good color for a girl wanting adventure.” The old woman worked at the many rings around her fingers.

Clarice laughed. “What are you doing out here at this hour? My parents always tell me the world isn’t safe for old people and children after dark.”

“You’re here too,” the old woman said. “You can’t listen to your parents and my parents have long been dead.”

“My parents are afraid of everything. Especially my mom.”

The old woman nodded. “Parents want to protect their children. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Were you like that? With your kids, I mean.”

“I never had children of my own.” She continued to twist her rings.

“Those are pretty rings,” Clarice said, feeling she should give the woman a compliment as well.

The old woman held her hands out in front of her with her fingers outstretched. The silver bands, some with stones, gleamed in the streetlight. “Thank you, dear. Though I’m really getting too old for such frippery.”

“Such what?”

The old woman smiled. “Which ring do you like best?”

“Oh. Well. That’s hard to say. But, if I had to choose, I guess I’d choose that one with the stars.” A stream of sharp-pointed stars wrapped around the woman’s gnarled finger.

“Good choice.” She slipped the ring off. “Here, dear. It’s for you.”

Clarice sat up straighter. The ring wasn’t candy from a stranger exactly, but her mother would see it the same way. “Good heavens, ma’am. I can’t take that. You don’t even know me.”

“I’m old and have no children,” the woman said. “I had a son once.” Her voice trailed off. “You’re young and have adventure waiting for you. Take it and you’ll remember me. You’ll be about the only person to do so.”

Clarice let the woman place the ring in her hand. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Go on and put it on.”

“I hope it isn’t too big.” The ring rested in Clarice’s open palm.

“It will fit. I promise. On your ring finger—like you’re getting married.”

“I’m too young to get married.” Clarice wasn’t sure what to make of the old woman’s smile, but she put the ring on like she was told, and just as the old woman promised the ring felt as if it had been made for her. “You know,” said Clarice, “you don’t seem that old.”

“It’s hard for the young and inexperienced to know what they see.”

“I wish had something to give you…wait.” Clarice took the knife from her boot. “You could take this. You could use it to protect yourself.”

“Then what would you have for protection, dear?”

“Oh, I’ve got a box of knives under my bed at home.”

“That’s too far away now to be of much use,” the old woman said, taking the knife from the girl.

“So you think my parents are right then—the world is a much too dangerous place?” It seemed to Clarice the old woman was looking less and less old and strangely less womanly.

The old woman straightened her back. “What is dangerous to some is thrilling to others.”

Clarice frowned. She must be more tired than she realized. The shadows played tricks on her mind. The old woman didn’t even sound like a woman anymore. “You said you have a son.”

“Hmm.” The woman worried the knife handle between her fingers.

“It’s odd,” Clarice said. “Looking at you now, I can see what he looks like. It’s amazing, really. I could almost trick myself into thinking I’m talking to him instead of to you.”

“The eyes play all kinds of tricks in the dark, my dear.”

Clarice imagined the old woman’s voice was deeper. “Do you like the knife?”

“I do,” came the answer. “But is already has a bit of blood on it.”

“My ankle. I’m sorry. I’ll clean it off.” She reached for the blade but the woman—or rather the old woman who looked more and more like a young man—moved the knife beyond her grasp.

“What’s a moon without a night sky to shine in? What’s a sharp edge without something to cut?”

Clarice watched as the old woman stood up, straighter and taller and more assured than ought to have been possible. “I think I need to get home,” she said.

“I think,” the old woman said and leaned over the girl, “that parents can’t protect their children from everything. Danger always has a way of getting in.”

***

Read more stories Marta's shiny, new website! Like her Facebook Page for updates.

I’ve been on fire lately. Very motivated and confident and self-sufficient. It’s a weird feeling, and I realize that in the past when I felt this way it was so uncomfortable for that that I’d squash it in some way. I’m trying not to do that this time, and maybe it’s working. I feel capable of moving on from things that have stagnated.

So I finally got the book edited and sent off. A few weeks ago I had compiled a list of a few small publishers, but after the edit was done and I began to write my query letter, I realized there was only one I felt comfortable submitting to. First I eliminated any that had a book too similar to mine, and then my main criteria was professional-looking covers and website. I know you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but people do. I do. If I see an amateurish cover, I might assume the book inside has been amateurishly written and edited. It’s about quality standards. And no, it’s not foolproof, but if the only publisher I can snag is one who can’t make my book look professional, well then I can do that myself.

Anyway, the single publisher I chose to submit BVA to is Carina Press, the digital-first arm of Harlequin. They accept non-romance genres, and since they publish digitally, they’re not so sticky about word count—at 72k words, BVA is a little shorter than expected in the fantasy genre. It’ll take a couple of months to hear back from them, and once they reject it (*snort* pessimism, anyone?) I’ll publish on Smashwords, I guess.

I must say that if I do self-pub it, it will be only for my peace of mind. With “Mon Petit Ami,” I got the most wonderful feeling of closure on a piece that I’d anguished over for years. It was done a long time ago, but I seemed to get stuck on it, unable to put it down for good. I’ve got over a hundred downloads on it, which is pretty cool, even though I sold only one copy to a friend. But the point is, it feels done now that it has an ISBN. And hopefully this will also work for Ea’s Gift and Black Veil Angel, if it comes down to that.

Or possibly just dipping a toe. I took one of my old, beloved stories and published it on Smashwords. For those who've never heard of it, Smashwords is a website that automates the self-epublishing process. You upload your story, and their machine converts your file into all the popular e-reading formats. Very easy.

I have lots of friends who’ve published with Smashwords, but I haven’t been interested in doing it. My writing career was up in the air, so far that I didn’t know where it would come down, or even if it would. I needed things to settle--in particular, my feelings about writing. I’ve been hiding from the world while I sort things out.

Then a lot of things happened all at once. I had a birthday (41). We ran out of money and had to eat beans and hamburger stew for a week, which put me in action mode real quick as I started looking for a job. Putting myself out there flipped the switch, and suddenly I’m ready to start blogging again, Facebooking with purpose, discussing writing and publishing.

Now as this switch was being flipped, my friend Allie had a pretty awesome experience. She’s been self-epublishing on Smashwords and Kindle, and I don’t know where else, and she’s much more prolific than I, so she has lots of titles available. One day, Amazon started offering one of her titles for free and downloads went through the roof--like, 10,000 in a couple of days. She didn’t get a penny for these downloads, but thousands of people were reading her work.

It was eye-opening for me, watching this unfold. I had thought of epublishing as another career direction, with all that entailed: marketing and money and business and blah, blah, blah. I knew I didn’t want to do all that stuff myself. Allie’s exhilarating experience reminded me that writing is also fun, with an element of chance. The wheel of fortune can’t turn if you’ve stuck a stick in the spokes. The past couple of weeks has unstuck the wheel.

So. The story’s not perfect, but I’ve been waiting for perfection to grace me and I can’t wait any longer. The story’s good; some have told me it’s funny and/or creepy. It’s also free, so you don’t have to have a Smashwords account to read it. If you do read it, I’d appreciate a short and honest review. I promise I’ll still love ya.

Cheers!

Several years ago I made a couple of half-hearted attempts to get my short stories published, but I never was able to successfully scale the veritable mountain of available markets. The process got to me, so I quit. This morning I decided to give it another go. Don’t know what made me think I’d be able to handle it any better today, but here I am.

I use Duotrope to narrow down the search for magazine markets, and while it’s an indispensable tool, it doesn’t make it an automatic process by any means. I’ve been researching for almost an hour and haven’t come up with one viable market. I’m starting at the high end of the payscale and working my way down, so I’m sure I’ll come across something eventually, but meanwhile, it’s drudgery.

The first challenge is defining the work, in terms of genre (fantasy), subgenre (light fantasy? magic realism? We’ll go with “Any subgenre.”), style (I’d call it quirky, but that returns no results so again: “Any subgenre.”). I choose my story specs, length and such, and hit Enter. I get 70 results. Wowzers. That’s a lot of stuff to go through, and of course I’m not familiar with most of these markets so not only do I have to research their submission requirements, but also their style to see if my story will match. I’m afraid my story won’t match any style.

I’d like to get paid, of course, but I’m mostly hungry for a cred, so I choose any payscale and sort from high to low. I don’t want to wait for six months before I can submit again, so I discard those who won’t take simultaneous submissions. I’m working my way through the list, but I’ll have to take a break before I make any real progress, it seems.

What method do you use for sorting through all these markets? Have you been successful? I’d love to hear how you climbed to the summit of Market Mountain. Don’t be shy.

Over at Pimp My Novel, Eric recently did a multi-part analysis of book sales, broken down by genre.

He says science fiction is likely to be sold under another label, like fantasy or thriller. I think this is a good thing, because it shows that people still like it. The numbers on hard-core science fiction books are down, but I think that’s because it’s acceptable to have a little sci-fi in your mainstream now, or a science element in fantasy. We might stop classifying our sub-genres by subject matter, and start classifying them by writing style. This is probably already happening informally (like when they put in a blurb, “In the tradition of Stephen King” or whatever) but what if you walked into a bookstore and the signs over the shelves said, “Thoughtful,” or “Flowery” or “Hip” or “Wry”?

Or what if they started naming the sections after the big-name authors? I could read a book about knitting if I enjoyed the author’s voice, so I would go directly to the Stephen King section without worrying about a traditional genre. Realistically I know that wouldn’t work, because there are too many influential, distinct voices to have a section for every one, but you see where I’m going. The way we’ve classified our genres isn’t as cut and dried anymore. Look at Young Adult. It’s supposedly a genre unto itself, but YA can encompass anything at all, from vampires to drugs to cancer. Crossover is becoming the new norm.

Speaking of crossover, I have a book idea that melds fantasy and hard core science fiction, with a romantic element thrown in. Where would that go?

You know what? I just love this theme. I've missed it. And why, you may ask, am I changing it again? Because I'm schizoid. And because that other one was just too hard to tweak, and I never did get it just right. And because this one fits my personality and mood better. And because I'm thinking of going on hiatus, so I want something less dynamic.

The hiatus thing... Well, you may have heard Moonrat is, sadly, closing her publishing blog. A lot of the reasons she gave for the closing sort of matched up with why I want to change direction here. I've run into the thing most bloggers do, and that's the repeating-myself thing. The blog as it is doesn't fit my needs or goals now. It got me thinking it would be a good thing to close this one down and start from scratch, but I'm too much of a coward. Then Sarah suggested a very long hiatus to give me some distance, and that sounded like just the right thing.

I'm not ready to do it today, because when I go I think I'll be dismantling the whole website. Not even sure why I decided I needed to post about it. I guess I'm just thinking out loud, the same reason I always post, really.

Well, so I've been thinking about where to take the blog. It's no secret I've been less than excited about it lately, especially the personal stories which seemed so important in the first few years, but now...notsomuch. I've talked about everything personal already. I think I want to focus on publishing, but there's so much babble about it already.

But I have this feeling my perspective can fit into the babble somewhere. I just have to figure out what that perspective is. I've learned a lot about what it means to have an agent, to be on submission, to get critiques both good and bad, to give critiques good and bad. I've done a lot--and I mean a lot--of work on my internal process as a writer, and some of my insights on that could help someone. Briefly, I was on the other side, the editing side (and btw, the start-up e-pub isn't happening after all), and surely I could write something about that.

Do you know, the only thing that's dampened my enthusiasm for the blog is the worry about hurting the business side of my writing career. I worry endlessly about that, and it's hard to let the Muse of the Weblog off her leash to find a post for me when I'm afraid of sounding like a whiney-butt, or hurting someone's feelings, or giving away too much information about my professional relationships. I can't keep stifling myself like this. It seeps over into my real work.

I don't know, I'm just restless; thinking out loud. Is there anything about my writing experience so far that you'd like to know more about? The response here might help me decide where I need to go with the blog. The chirp of crickets would indicate I need to dump it entirely, but I can't seem to do that. Sorry to disappoint. :)

Well. So here I am again. These long absences of mine stem from having nothing good to say, nor any pressing news to share. If I have one or the other it seems worth it to post, but otherwise I won't bother.

Today I have something good to say, and the news, while not pressing, is at least news. I had a rare phone conversation with Sara, my agent, in which she said she loved my newest book, BVA. That's the news, that somebody loved my work. Lame, I know. But she's never said how she feels about my work one way or the other, so although the assumption is that of course she likes it or she wouldn't have represented me, it's nice to hear, out loud, that she kept sneaking away to read it, even though she was on vacation.

I wasn't sure she'd like it because it's so different from EG, the one that caught her eye in the first place. I was absolutely sure she'd tell me she couldn't represent it, but of course that was just my writer's neurosis kicking in. Or as Marta puts it, Melodramatic Mind.

So as soon as I correct all the typos she found, it'll be going to the editors who've requested it. *sighs in relief*

Speaking of EG, I've thought about publishing it through a small e-publisher to gain some traction, if only in my mind. It's basically done, because even if a publisher buys BVA, EG is so different it's unlikely the same person would pick it up. Sara's advice was to go for it, but not to sign any rights away. This eliminates any publishing company, small or not, because they will want to have a contract for 2-3 years or forever. If EG caught a big publisher's interest while the electronic rights were tied up, they probably wouldn't touch it no matter how much they loved it.

So that leaves self-epublishing, as Dane just did with his short story collection. I just don't know if I want to work that hard.

Today's Friday, right? During the summer the days just melt together. I feel guilty for being so happy school's starting soon, and I can be alone for a portion of the day. I also feel guilty that I won't be getting a job, but I always feel guilty for not having a job, so that's nothing new. And before you cry, "Writing is a job!" just remember that I am not getting paid for it, and also it's a lot of fun and therefore suspect. The real reason I don't have a conventional job while the kids are in school is the fragrance thing. Periodic exposure I can handle. Daily exposure would surely put me back in migraine territory, and nobody in the house wants that. I do have a few very large home repairs I can't afford to hire out, so maybe I'll call myself a carpenter and that'll be my job.

I will probably start looking for some sort of job to do from home, but I don't know if I'm enough of a self-starter to follow that through. One interesting development to report is that I'll be the senior editor of a little startup e-pub called Cove. The details haven't been hammered out yet, but I'll let you know what happens. It will at the very least be a huge learning experience, and at the most a financially successful venture. Can't lose.

My brother is also starting school this month. It's a huge change for him, as it would be for anyone going back to college after 20 or so years (25?) And I'm super-proud of him for even attempting it. I've never had the guts. And like my venture, this is also a can't-lose. I also win, because he'll be living right down the street from me.

Hope you all have a great weekend.

Another week of musical themes as I try to decide what I want my website to say about me. I think this one is quite zen, only for some reason it's not giving me the theme options in my dashboard, so it might change before you've even read this.

But the real news for the week is that I finished my book. Really.

No, stop laughing. I'm serious.

I spent all day Sunday in a marathon of editing, and at 9:30 pm a box popped up to let me know I had no more comments or tracked changes. The manuscript was clean. My eyes opened wide and then squeezed shut, and I put my face in my hands and squealed. I'm sure it didn't look weird at all.

At the end I still had some formatting tweaks to do, but the story was done, damn it, so I saved the formatting for Monday morning. Once that was finished I began assembling the package to email Sara, my agent, and soon found that I'd not done an important step: rewriting the short synopsis to fit the new ending. Rackin-frackin mumble mumble... At this point I was so close I could smell it, and it smelled good. Gah!

So Monday was spent rewriting the rackin-frackin synopsis, and then late Monday night I composed possibly the most momentous email of my life up to this point. I attached the novel, the regular synopsis, and a longer, 17-page synopsis specifically requested by an interested publication...and hit send. My agent confirmed receipt just a few minutes ago. It's out of my hands.

I really had no idea I'd be so relaxed once it was gone. I've gotten used to the low hum of anxiety that always, from the very beginning, accompanied this book. All day my thoughts would drift toward that waterfall: "Why am I doing this? I should be writing!" Now usually, the next thought is smashed on the rocks below: "I can't write, okay? I have to clean the toilets sometime!" But today, I realized the waterfall was behind me, and whatever whitewater tossed my thoughts about, a sparkling pool lay beyond.

So basically, that was a beautiful metaphor for why I cleaned toilets without guilt today.

I have so many thoughts and feelings about finishing, some will have to wait for another day.

Maybe you all remember the book cover I featured in a post a couple of weeks ago. I'm reading the book now, and so far it's been very entertaining. The author has been advertising free pdf copies of Armageddon Bound through the 18th. Email him (tim at tmarquitz dot com) by tomorrow, and he says he'll send you one.

And that leads me to an interesting coincidence involving my chance meeting with Tim and my editing  job at Eternal Press. Here's the chain of events:

• I featured Armageddon Bound here because the book's cover caught my eye on a review blog.


• The author was kind enough to leave a comment on my blog, and subsequently we connected on a couple of social networking sites


• Armageddon Bound is published by Damnation Books.


• The news broke yesterday that Damnation Books is acquiring Eternal Press, my former employer.

So there's a twist ending to my time at Eternal Press. Dun-dun-dunnnnn. Isn't that weird? Apparently the owner of Damnation Books is a former editor at Eternal Press. I had no idea there was a connection between the two companies before today. The coincidence is irrelevant because I finished my final assignment a few days ago, but it's still weird. Actually, the timing makes it weirder. Of course now I'm thinking it's a sign I shouldn't have quit, or a sign I did the right thing, or a sign that... You know me. Though I don't really believe coincidences like these are necessarily a sign to do something, I do think they are God's way of saying, Pay attention! So I will.

So I read this book over the weekend. I won't name it, not because I'm going to crap on it here but because I'm increasingly aware of how far these words reach. The book is not the point, my reaction is, but if you're dying to know the title, email me or something.

I'll set the stage. It's a debut novel, pretty standard Urban Fantasy, as in chick lit with vampires, featuring a kickass, hot & sexy lady protag with a lot of sass and a lot of evil to overcome. Overall I enjoyed the read, though it did take a little while for the author to settle into her voice. The writing definitely improved over the course of the book. There's a lot of promise in that voice, and I'd like to see where she takes the story in the second installment.

Actually, the way the author's voice strengthened reminded me of the first novel I wrote, now that I'm far enough in the future to look at it objectively. (btw, I have no idea whether the book which inspired this post is the author's first book ever, only that it was her debut.) In a first novel, you start at the beginning (of course) when you have no idea how to write a novel. The phrasing is clunky, the pacing uncertain, and a lot of the choices you make are based on books you've read in your genre. Then, as you go along, you start to figure it out. It gets easier, but you find yourself stuck with some bad choices you made before you knew what you were doing, so you end up with awkward character motivation, retroactively added to get the character from one plot point to the next. Plus, no matter how many times you edit the first few chapters, that clunkiness stays. You end up with that kind of book, where the ending is telegraphed by page 30 and the characters are way too familiar.

If you're lucky (or unlucky, if publishing a not-quite-there book is a bad thing) your genre is hothothot when you start querying. Maybe your mythology is a bit different from other books in your genre, or maybe the central idea is unique, even if the people and places are not, or vice-versa. Whatever, it's your lucky (or unlucky) day because publishers are actively looking for the kind of book you chose to write. I have to say, it seems like good luck rather than bad anytime somebody wants to publish your work, even if it's a little early in your craft. A writer with real talent will blossom, I imagine, and others will fizzle.

But I always wonder how those authors feel about their situation. Do they see the weaknesses in their own work? And does it really matter, if the readers are happy?

Have you guys heard of this "vook" thing? I could see it being really useful for non-fiction books, but for fiction? Wouldn't that take you completely out of the world the author built, to stop and flip over to a video? I don't mind seeing pictures of real people and places, but to have them enact scenes from the book? I just don't know about this. The idea and technology are cool, but I'm just not sure I'd want to read my fiction that way.

I want to try it out before I buy one, but they don't have any for free on the Simon and Schuster website. Here's a trailer for the Jude Devereaux novella Vook, Promises. What do you think?

So cleaning up the old posts on the blog got me to thinking about privacy on the Internet. Basically, there is none. Right? Google knows your every search and much turn that data over to authorities if presented with a court order. The ghost of the blog you deleted 3 years ago still lurks on its servers, and possibly other places like another individual's computer--Google Reader is web-based, but FeedReader stores the files on the reader's computer. Pedophiles troll the Internet looking for pictures of your children. You're a celebrity, you just don't know it.

And there is why I'm streamlining and culling this blog. When I started it I was a budding writer, rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed, finishing up my first book. I absolutely knew nobody in the world would read my blog. I imagined a cloak of invisibility based on my self-perceived importance in the blogisphere, which was no importance whatsoever. It was fine and dandy for me to shout out my writer's angst, the struggles of finishing a manuscript, and following that, the struggles of form rejections from agents. Then I got an agent, and while I had the feeling things should change, I wasn't sure what, exactly.

And no, I haven't had huge rants about the inanity of any certain industry professional, nor have I given scathing reviews of any books. But I'm starting to get uncomfortable talking about the process at all. I find myself reluctant to mention anything about my writing, yet sometimes I still force myself to, because this is a writer's blog... But I'm going to stop that. I will talk about writing in more general terms, which in the long run will probably snag more readers anyway.

The general idea in the comments yesterday was that a blog represents the road you've walked, and it's nice to have that history for people to peruse. Only thing is, if I look at someone's archives and find in January '07 a rant against stay-at-home moms, that's going to affect how I see that person's present personality, even if they made peace with the SAHM who was giving them problems in January '07 and that rant no longer applies.

I'm not the wide-eyed, over-sharing, timid person I was 3 1/2 years ago. This is my career blog, with my name on it for all the world to see. At this point, I want the blog to reflect what I've learned, not how I learned it.

Something occurred to me this morning upon waking. When I get published--how do you like that positive spin, when--people will start talking about how much they like, or dislike, my book. Not only critics, but regular people, too. If my book gets any exposure at all, it will be discussed somewhere on the internet.

Then I started thinking about how I talk about movies and books. Do I give thoughtful commentary and gentle advice? Not really. Usually I declare something sucks or rocks. And though saying something sucks is not thoughtful commentary, it's a lot gentler language than I've seen lots of interweb denizens use.

I know intellectually not everyone will like my work. But in my mental preparation I've focused on professional reviews, and most professionals have a certain amount of decorum, and normally don't use phrases like "hated it" or "sucked the big one" or "OMG its so stupid do NOT read tihs book" (sic). I'm pretty sure I can process professional criticism. A reader's criticism, I'm not so sure.

So...am I ready for that? Are you?

Having a hard time getting started this morning, due to a bit of a fragrance hangover from my outing yesterday. I went to OKC to see The Time Traveler's Wife with a friend, and while I was there I did a tarot reading for her. The movie was good, the reading I'm not sure about. I'm very rusty doing readings in front of a live querant, because I haven't had a real-life hang-out buddy in a long time. Years, even. It's kind of weird, hanging out with somebody just for the fun of it, with no obligation attached. I guess that may make me seem like a real loser, but I'm sure we've all gone through periods of time where we put ourselves last, and that's just what happened with me. I've never been one to collect friends like knick-knacks, and when you add in family obligations, moving around a lot and fatigue from health problems, it's easy to lose touch with people. I'm happy I have the energy now to direct toward new friendships.

I finished my long synopsis for reals on Friday and sent it off to my agent. Thanks to all my beta readers, I'm extremely happy with how it turned out, which in case you didn't know is pretty rare for me. I think the synopsis is tight and readable and, most importantly, informative--I just can't imagine how it might have turned out better.

So now I'll switch over to another project on the merry-go-round, which is editing these short stories from Eternal Press. One is almost finished, so my mini-goal for the next few days is to finish that one and get a good start on the next one. Then I plan to get the notes for my novel in order and work on that till I get stuck, and after that devote a day or two to a friend's critique, then finish the second Eternal Press story. This merry-go-round method is really working for me. Instead of thinking about how many things I have to get done and becoming overwhelmed (and possibly frozen), I can focus on one thing at a time. Although I have the same amount of work to do, it's more maneagable in smaller chunks. Duh.

Happy Monday, people!

I've had lots of dreams about writing and books lately. In last night's, I was an established author. I met a handsome, dark-haired agent named Nick-something who asked me out and cried when I told him I was married. When I comforted him he started reading my mind, telling me things about my life I kept hidden.

Later in the same dream I had a young man showing me his work. He was clinging to me, looking for approval while showing false confidence, and the other published authors were watching with veiled interest. A quick glance through the manuscript revealed typos, misused words, bad formatting, and just a general mess. I said, "I'm going to be brutally honest with you. You won't thank me now, but you will in a couple of years." I told him that no one would take him seriously with all those mistakes in his book, and he needed to practice grammar and typing, learn the nuts and bolts before submitting anything. The boy put on a brave face, masking pain and tears, and started making excuses for why his manuscript was messy. My peers' veiled interest became veiled approval, and I returned to my seat, knowing I could do no more for the young man.

The other night I dreamed I was living the plot of a book. I got lots of good ideas. Too bad I can't remember any.

My mom had a dream I won an Oscar (presumably for an adaptation of one of my books) and my step-dad dreamed he went to my book signing.

Over the past month fully half of my dreams have had a book/writing/publishing theme. This happened about the same time last year, too. I wonder if it's a seasonal thing. Or maybe the dreams are preparing me for a future of fame. That's what I prefer to believe.

This started out as a "treadmill" post, but I see it has turned into a real one.

I had a very good writing day yesterday, one I hope to duplicate today. By "good" I mean I sat for over an hour thinking/working on only the WIP without being distracted by anything else. No Twitter, no kids, no laundry, no daydreams.

I still didn't finish the chapter I was working on. I'd thought it was almost done, but nope. That's been happening a lot lately. The thing that's bothering me the most about this chapter is that it's only about 4 pages long. Why has it been so hard? I blame the fic blog. All y'all waiting for another chapter over there, I don't see that happening anytime soon. I'll probably get the chapter done in a couple of days, but I think posting these one at a time just causes me more pressure. I might do a section at a time instead, but then it'll be hard to keep the readers' interest. So I don't know.

I did set myself some incentive. Gave myself permission to buy a new laptop once the WIP is completely finished. That lit a fire under my butt. Don't know how I'll get the money, but that's my promise to myself.

Got some good news yesterday. Did I mention that I'd called my agent after all? I think I did. Anyway, I mentioned a publisher here in OK that might be interested in Ea's Gift. She jumped on it. She researched the guidelines and had me write a bio to send with the package. They requested the full manuscript within days. You know, for a while I was depressed about not having any control over my books once they are at the agent's office, but now I realize I was focusing on my old control. I have new control, I just didn't see it for looking backward.

Here's something cool: I didn't realize until later that I'd sent sample chapters to this pub back when it was still Stolen Magic, and before the book was even sort of finished. The editor's reply was so encouraging it gave me the push I needed to finish the book and look for representation. I still have the email, and I might share that after this all shakes out.

I like to think I'm being rewarded for taking charge of my own happiness. Identifying the things which weighed me down and doing something to change them. It's not an offer, but it's more activity than I've had in a long, long time.

On tap for the day: revamp the vision board, housework, and come 12:30 or so, writing. What have you got going on today?

Another insightful post from Moonrat today. Rather than rehash the whole topic, I'll just post the main message I wanted to pass along, and hope that you'll go read the whole post at EdAss. I strongly feel that if you're working toward a career in writing of any sort, Editorial Ass is your place.

So here's a way to help us get over the October publishing financial crisis:

For anyone who cares about the book publishing industry and wants to do their part, there's one simple action step:

Buy a book this weekend.

Just buy one.

Now go read the whole post to find out details.