Dumbassification

New word for me today: dumbassification. If you don't know what this means, then you are a) reading too many supermarket tabloids, and b) watching too much TV.

This word came to mind when I was cruising the chat group that Amazon formed for the novel contest. Someone wrote to ask if a "rough draft" was O.K.? In a novel contest? That is a decidedly dumbass question. The wags who answered said, "sure, go ahead, submit a rough draft," obviously thinking a dumbass entry that will be disqualified helps their own chances. Well, sure.

Writers do like to bitch and moan. One can immediately see that some of the novelists have never submitted before, and of course, Amazon has 9 single spaced pages of rules, along with some additional ones on the web. But the $25,000 advance from Penguin is sooooo tempting and even thrilling, and also the fact that a real person will read your book if you get into the top 1000 out of 5000 which almost (I better prepare to eat crow) seems like a slam dunk, with memoir, children's books, first drafts and godknowswhat being submitted. Well, bad writing, as well. Making the cut should not be that hard if one isn't tripped up by some little rule, like not having your name on the manuscript. Eeeek! Mine was on the header, and also the title page. Whoops! And of course any book with a word count greater than 175,000 is disqualified. I know of people who have written more words.

My own humble entry, World of Mirrors, was pared down from 116,000 to 97,000 words with lots of hard work and getting rid of a back story, changing the main characters in fact. You are God when you write. You do what you will.

I sent out a bunch of queries and am waiting for an answer from a publisher, but since I have been flogging this book for hmmmm, how many years, now, it seemed a little optimistic to think that any of these feelers would actually evolve into a sale. Started the book in 1996 or a little earlier. How long ago is that? Over ten years. Blood, sweat and tears. (Submissions began the summer of 2004. More than 3 years ago. Why does it seem like longer?)

We're having an anniversary feast at Fava in Needham, which should be ultra-delicous. I don't want to try the T or a long walk in the city for a while with my bum ankle. Insalata Caprese on the deck with the leaves in the slough turning red and woodpeckers and chicadees attacking the suet and goldfinches on the thistle seed. A glass of white wine to wash things down. A leisurely lunch on the deck always means life is good. Dumbass, maybe, but good.

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