Writing yourself into a corner

Ye gods!  The ending of my novel was getting more and more complicated trying to get one of the characters from Panama to Reno with suitcases stuffed with two millions dollars.  I had learned how much it cost to charter a jet (lots) and what custom forms you needed to bring in money and what happens if you lie and get caught (really bad stuff) and after surfing the web so long I wore out my metaphorical board shorts, I realized I was adding at least 10,000 more words to this already kind of long novel. 

So I figured out another scenario that involved only a short flight (no jet charters) to Colombia instead of this 3400 mile trip. 

Now one of the characters needs to escape from the bad guys in Panama, lest they throw her out of the  plane en route.  I already had a character escaping by changing his appearance.  I can't hardly do that twice.  I am thinking pepper spray or mace.  What every woman needs in her handbag to get her out of a jam. 


Querying like mad for my Burning Man book since the man will burn in 10 days.  


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#Queryfail day

They had "Query Fail Day" on Twitter yesterday, and some literary agents tweeted about the worst queries they had ever received. I read a blog that had summarized them and I have to admit there were some lulus. Fictional novelists, take note. Your novel is, by definition, fiction. And writers, if you have been abducted by enemy aliens, don't tell the agent. Pretend this is fiction.

I have sent out a lot of fruitless queries in my day, but none that would shame me. At least, I don't think so.

Lately, I've been having trouble with agents responding, which is to say they don't. This is the problem with email queries. You email the agent. She says, "sounds good. Send 50 pages" or whatever, and you do. In "reply." Right away, before she forgets.

Except, then something happens, and you hear nothing. Nada. Niente. So you send a friendly email follow up, and she replies that she must have lost it, send again.

And that's the end of it. Again, nothing. Except by now you're too embarrassed to send a second reminder. And you also ask yourself if you really want an agent, no matter how big the name or the agency, who keeps losing your writing. I mean, is this any way to run an agency. So I'm moving these queries to the "no response" bucket. And crossing the agent off the list. Gee, she seemed nice. Sharp. Good reputation. Why did she lose my stuff?

Maybe there should be "agent fail day" (#agentfailday) and everyone could bitch and moan about queries that went into the ether. No names, of course. You don't want to burn any bridges. Never burn bridges.

Suck it up. That's the ticket. Jeez, why didn't I think of that?

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Queries: the long and the short of it

After my last post, at 10:44 this morning, I tackled the list of agents appearing in the spring at a writing conference. First I had to separate those I had already queried and from which book. I went through their web sites and discovered some didn't take genre writing and others accepted only non-fiction. Some had already rejected one book or another. The list had really shrunk by the time I parsed the whole thing. It also hurts if the agent has no web site. Will they like a so-called high tech novel? I think not.

Went upstairs and made and consumed a turkey sandwich. Ah man! What could be better than thin sliced white meat on thin sliced white bread with slatherings of mayo and sprinkled with salt and pepper with thin sliced tomatoes and a big leaf of lettuce thrown in to salve the conscience? Yum! Add a few slices of Mrs. Fannings pickles and a few potato chips.

When I got on the scale this morning, the first thought was: how can my pajamas have gained four pounds? Then, I thought: no, it has to be water. Lots of water.

Ye gods! I put on my gym clothes with good intentions for a walk or a visit to the gym, but the rains came and the weather was dark and cold and I didn't feel like going to the gym. As evidenced above, I felt like scarfing down some more of the turkey.

Thisbe's diabetes is much improved, and her coat is so much softer. She is eating Atkins for kitties and the fancy high-priced moist food. Yesterday, most unaccountably, she begged for roast turkey while I was slicing it for dinner. Ate some. Ate some more. When I fixed my sandwich she asked for more. And again.

This from a cat who never eats people food. Well, not since yesterday. It's good high-quality protein, I tell myself when Thisbe and I both feel like a bit of a nosh. This is amazing. I wonder if her body knows this is a good thing in her current state of health. My body only knows that it likes to eat.

Back down to the agents: After all was said and done, I found two, one for Festival Madness and one for World of Mirrors. Nobody for Promiscuous mode, which was the whole point of the exercise. So one email and one SnailMail query have gone out. It's 3:45 and the day is gone. Few queries and no exercise.

I will visit my drug lord. Maybe he'll talk to me. And then again . . . .

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African Violets

Dunno what it is, but I am the kiss of death to African violets. Most anything else grows and even thrives in my care. The garden is luxuious, the tomatoes awesome, the basil toothsome, everything lush and abloom. Except the African violets. I swear to you I didn't water them from the top or plop them down in direct light. I used the proper fertilizer, didn't over water. What then? The only blame I can lay out is the diligent waterer who took care of things when we were in Alaska. He may have over-watered, but plant #2 wasn't exactly thriving then. Hadn't bloomed for a while. Looked, shall we say, dispirited. Plant #1 had succumbed months ago. Sigh.

Now I am finally getting back to serious agent querying. Read a blog today from someone newly published who mentioned querying 125 agents. Ambition has to be made of very stern stuff. Yikes. I'm trying to personalize the queries, even if it's just where I found the agent. Finally relented and subscribed to an online service that lets you research the agents in a scientific way, not thru other blogs that may be all right, but who knows how current.

Yesterday we stopped at a Farmer's Market and they had Italian Prune Plums! Yippee! These small plums used to be in every grocery and then a few years ago they became scarcer than hen's teeth, and you know how scare those are. I had a German recipe for an open face plum tart that is to die for, but you really need prune plums. Of course the market wasn't giving them away, and my two pounds cost $5.00. That was significant enough that I decided I better make the crust from scratch, which I did, and it wanted to crumble, so I pressed it into the tart pan, which I providentially found and now the whole beautiful business sit on the kitchen counter waiting to be eaten. Thought about sharing with the neighbors, then thought again.

I am feeling deserving because we had a meatless peasant dish, pasta and cauliflower the past two nights. It's actually very tasty, due to olive oil, red pepper, lots of garlic, parsley and seasonings. Easy to make . We like peasant food a lot and it is usually cheap and filling and not too full of BAD THINGS. Not dietetic, however, as peasants need calories to work hard, not sit on their puts at the keyboard all day. Tomorrow I am making mostly Mexican, due to the nice avocado and cilantro still in the fridge. A jalapeno or two. Yum!

My new reading is The Poisonwood Bible. I've loved everything I read by Kingsolver, and this promises to be a good, if long, book.

The Fifth Draft of Festival Madness is ready for editing. Wonder how many there will be. More Burning Man stuff in the Globe today. Signed on to Southwest and tried to decide if I could go. Lots of stuff on the calendar. Lots of money. No costumes or presents or even good desert duds. Would have to be crazy, but the idea is still in my head. www.burningman.com. The playa calls. Alas.

Onward,

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