Not recovered yet from The New England Crimebake, but at least I'm not waking up feeling like I've been tasered.
On the writing front: Last week I took the first pages of the novel my writer's group liked (loved is much too strong a word) best, a novel that one agent really liked, but he didn't represent that sort of book, and passed it on to his colleague and "it didn't really work" for her. Another agent liked, but was only selling cozies, and this ain't your Aunt Agatha's knitting mystery. Nope.
One publisher said the beginning was rushed (I was following the current "wisdom" to drop a body in Chapter one and had slashed the first 40 pages to get there), and also that the character wasn't believable, yet they asked for any future novels. Go figure.
So, after heard from an agent that the East German book (because of old technology, not the writing) is pretty well unpublishable, and not being able to figure out a way to bring new technology into the picture, that book will either be retired to the backup drive or brought into the world via POD. Haven't decided. Too bad the wait was so long the technology is historical. Yup, that's right. Remember CD-ROM's? No? Thought not.
So, I dusted off the "Wisconsin Book," Promiscuous Mode and took the first 6 pages to the writing group and with the years gone by, they thought it pretty much sucked,. Not of course, what I wanted to hear, and some of the writing did seem a little kludgey because in the meantime I've knocked off another 200,000 words writing this and that. More experience and all.
So . . . wondering what to do. Don't really want to sh__can 3 novels, nosirreee. Nobody wants to do that. So there I was last Thursday, driving to Toastmasters, only 6 minutes from the house, and barely time to think of anything, but a new beginning popped into my bed, practically fully-formed.
So I wrote it. Anyone reading these 6 pages gets the whole setup, and should fully understand what the book is "about." And the body drops later, but we get a chance to "meet" the body. How this is going to work out is anybody's guess.
Made a fab Vietnamese shrimp recipe last night. Lots of good veggies and seasonings. Tonight is goulash soup again. All holiday shopping done, and now the pears have to ripen and we're good to go. Grocery crowded. Everybody's cooking up a storm.
I enjoyed Jane Kramer's article on cooking Thanksgiving in foreign countries, having done that once myself.
Grapeshot
Showing posts with label the state of publishing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the state of publishing. Show all posts
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Wired Magazine Rocks!
Holy freaking crap! It worked! Received beaucoup hits yesterday. Wired Magazine rocks! Buzzwords rock! Lego! Linux! Apple! Holy freaking crap! Geek power!
Now we got that out of the way, I can get to the more pedestrian things, like dinner last night.
In the continued effort to conserve gasoline, I try not to run to the grocery all the time, even though it's only 2.5 miles away--that's still 65 cents and one-half hour, and usually some aggro due to experiencing Check-Out-Line-Rage in the so-called quick check out. Is there ever a queue that causes more pain and aggravation?
Did I ever tell you about the woman with the expired $2 coupon for a ham who swore she had the manufacturer's dispensation to go ahead and use the coupon? That sort of thing. People buying ciggies at the last minute and the clerk has to leave the checkout and go and unlock the stupid ass case where the supermarket stashes cigarettes. I mean, it might as well be oxycontin they way they keep them locked up.
O.K. dinner. We had frozen chicken breasts with skin and bones, the real McCoy. I sprinkled same with Penzey's Ozark seasoning, and sauteed in a bit of butter and oil. Meanwhile, I used some oil and olive oil to saute onion, garlic and tomatoes. Tossed in the last of the dried bell pepper flakes and salt and pepper. After that came the Basmati rice, chicken broth, and some yummy gelatinous meat glop from the bottom of the roast chicken container from the store. Added the browned breasts, popped on a lid and cooked until the rice was done. Yowsa! Side dishes were broccoli and a salad made of romaine, white asaparagus, green onion and fresh chopped herbs with some of Annie's Organic Buttermilk dressing. Canned white asparagus makes a decidedly good salad.
The tomatoes (and the rest of the garden) got rain last night, a nice big rain. Ah, nature.
The MAN (Burning Man) Burns in not that many days, and again, I won't be there. Quite frankly, I'm absolutely crushed that Festival Madness has received such a lukewarm reception among the agents (lots of California literary agents) I've queried. Again, no one likes the freaking story, but "the writing has promise." Yeah yeah. For those who don't regularly read this blog, the entire middle of Festival Madness is set at Burning Man. By the way, the photo is the Temple Burning at the Man. 2004, most likely.
Words cannot convey how disheartening it is to have written yet a 5th book, five, count 'em, that gets this lukewarm reception and yada yada, the state of the market, that's right blame everything on the publishers and the readers.
What is totally aggravating, and some days everything is aggravating, (this must be one of them) is that there are countless readers who would gobble this up, the readers of The Shadow Warriors who are waiting for the next book. But since Warriors bears the awful, hideous taint of the self-published and eeeek, POD, since I took it back from the now-disappeared e-publisher and put it in print rather than have an unread e-book sitting there, well, it's kind of like a Muslim girl who ain't a virgin, if you get the drift. Damaged goods. Ah yes.
Hey! I'm sure I'll feel better if I go upstairs and scarf down some breakfast. Raisin Bran. Do you want to know my raisin bran secret? It tastes especially fine with a dollop of heavy cream. Well, there goes the healthy benefits of bran and fiber. Suck It Up.
Eat well, and stay away from novel-writing. These unpublished novels are doing a number on my mental health and sucking it up year after year is no way to live. You shouldn't do that. I'll bear the pain for both of us.
Grapeshot
Now we got that out of the way, I can get to the more pedestrian things, like dinner last night.
In the continued effort to conserve gasoline, I try not to run to the grocery all the time, even though it's only 2.5 miles away--that's still 65 cents and one-half hour, and usually some aggro due to experiencing Check-Out-Line-Rage in the so-called quick check out. Is there ever a queue that causes more pain and aggravation?
Did I ever tell you about the woman with the expired $2 coupon for a ham who swore she had the manufacturer's dispensation to go ahead and use the coupon? That sort of thing. People buying ciggies at the last minute and the clerk has to leave the checkout and go and unlock the stupid ass case where the supermarket stashes cigarettes. I mean, it might as well be oxycontin they way they keep them locked up.
O.K. dinner. We had frozen chicken breasts with skin and bones, the real McCoy. I sprinkled same with Penzey's Ozark seasoning, and sauteed in a bit of butter and oil. Meanwhile, I used some oil and olive oil to saute onion, garlic and tomatoes. Tossed in the last of the dried bell pepper flakes and salt and pepper. After that came the Basmati rice, chicken broth, and some yummy gelatinous meat glop from the bottom of the roast chicken container from the store. Added the browned breasts, popped on a lid and cooked until the rice was done. Yowsa! Side dishes were broccoli and a salad made of romaine, white asaparagus, green onion and fresh chopped herbs with some of Annie's Organic Buttermilk dressing. Canned white asparagus makes a decidedly good salad.
The tomatoes (and the rest of the garden) got rain last night, a nice big rain. Ah, nature.
The MAN (Burning Man) Burns in not that many days, and again, I won't be there. Quite frankly, I'm absolutely crushed that Festival Madness has received such a lukewarm reception among the agents (lots of California literary agents) I've queried. Again, no one likes the freaking story, but "the writing has promise." Yeah yeah. For those who don't regularly read this blog, the entire middle of Festival Madness is set at Burning Man. By the way, the photo is the Temple Burning at the Man. 2004, most likely.
Words cannot convey how disheartening it is to have written yet a 5th book, five, count 'em, that gets this lukewarm reception and yada yada, the state of the market, that's right blame everything on the publishers and the readers.
What is totally aggravating, and some days everything is aggravating, (this must be one of them) is that there are countless readers who would gobble this up, the readers of The Shadow Warriors who are waiting for the next book. But since Warriors bears the awful, hideous taint of the self-published and eeeek, POD, since I took it back from the now-disappeared e-publisher and put it in print rather than have an unread e-book sitting there, well, it's kind of like a Muslim girl who ain't a virgin, if you get the drift. Damaged goods. Ah yes.
Hey! I'm sure I'll feel better if I go upstairs and scarf down some breakfast. Raisin Bran. Do you want to know my raisin bran secret? It tastes especially fine with a dollop of heavy cream. Well, there goes the healthy benefits of bran and fiber. Suck It Up.
Eat well, and stay away from novel-writing. These unpublished novels are doing a number on my mental health and sucking it up year after year is no way to live. You shouldn't do that. I'll bear the pain for both of us.
Grapeshot
Monday, June 02, 2008
The State of the Mystery
The Sisters in Crime Blog has a multi-part report on the state of mystery writing in the U.S. seen from the standpoint of publishers, agents, editors and others in the business. I have to say it's rather disheartening if you are trying to publish a traditional mystery (Promiscuous Mode) or even a genre-bending not-quite-traditional (Festival Madness). The advice is to call it a thriller, whatever it is. It's awfully hard to call an amateur sleuth who solves a crime where there's a soupcon of romance, craziness, technology, and what have you a thriller. I wonder if I put in my query that the book is mainstream enough to require a big umbrella. . .
The other totally disheartening thing is that publishers now say one book a year is not enough. I can barely see myself writing one book a year, much less two or 2.5. It seems like a book requires two years to get it right. Maybe I'm a pokey writer. Maybe I want to make the Indian relish and the orange yogurt bread and see the art exhibits and do OTHER STUFF like till my garden and sit on the deck with a glass of wine and enjoy NATURE. Read other books (Hello again, Proust). Do stuff.
The odd thing is, that while I've been going through the 8th, yes, the 8th draft of Festival Madness, and thinking and researching the California book, and thinking the World War II YA, and thinking (hard) about my cat short story, that yet another book has come into my head. Unbidden.
I didn't need this. It's crime fiction, which I thought I had given up on. It takes place in Northern Nevada and the plot is kind of coming together. I suppose in light of the current market it should be a thriller, but it seems a little more like, I don't know, not a mystery but just a novel. With crime. And scary people.
When people ask, where do you get your ideas, well, the idea for this book came one night when I was (in Northern Nevada) and in the middle of the night awakened by the train rumbling thru town, making the mobile home vibrate, awakened again to someone going down the street playing a slide whistle, and yet again by a coyote howling at the edge of town.
I wrote a poem about it, and hoped that was it. Nope, here comes a book, saying write me, write me. Merde.
I've also got the Chaucer book (don't ask), the Elizabeth von Arnin short bio, and the Grace Hopper short bio in my head. Six books? Well, not in a year. At the rate I'm scribbling it will take 18 years. I'm going to be sort of old by then. Can't see myself doing tours and all that stuff.
Three books a year? Ha ha.
Que faire? Mon Dieu.
Grapeshot
The other totally disheartening thing is that publishers now say one book a year is not enough. I can barely see myself writing one book a year, much less two or 2.5. It seems like a book requires two years to get it right. Maybe I'm a pokey writer. Maybe I want to make the Indian relish and the orange yogurt bread and see the art exhibits and do OTHER STUFF like till my garden and sit on the deck with a glass of wine and enjoy NATURE. Read other books (Hello again, Proust). Do stuff.
The odd thing is, that while I've been going through the 8th, yes, the 8th draft of Festival Madness, and thinking and researching the California book, and thinking the World War II YA, and thinking (hard) about my cat short story, that yet another book has come into my head. Unbidden.
I didn't need this. It's crime fiction, which I thought I had given up on. It takes place in Northern Nevada and the plot is kind of coming together. I suppose in light of the current market it should be a thriller, but it seems a little more like, I don't know, not a mystery but just a novel. With crime. And scary people.
When people ask, where do you get your ideas, well, the idea for this book came one night when I was (in Northern Nevada) and in the middle of the night awakened by the train rumbling thru town, making the mobile home vibrate, awakened again to someone going down the street playing a slide whistle, and yet again by a coyote howling at the edge of town.
I wrote a poem about it, and hoped that was it. Nope, here comes a book, saying write me, write me. Merde.
I've also got the Chaucer book (don't ask), the Elizabeth von Arnin short bio, and the Grace Hopper short bio in my head. Six books? Well, not in a year. At the rate I'm scribbling it will take 18 years. I'm going to be sort of old by then. Can't see myself doing tours and all that stuff.
Three books a year? Ha ha.
Que faire? Mon Dieu.
Grapeshot
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