In July, I sold The Color of Sunshine to silverthought. There are actually three versions, each of which I liked too much to choose. The paranormal version is the one that was published. Updating my sales page was something I had planned to do. As it turns out I planned to do it so much, that I thougth I had done it. Now it sounds like I find posting sales to be a chore. No, no. I'm a member of the Two Headed Turtle Society. Never heard of us? You will once we stop procrastinating long enough to get organized. When I was in second grade the book fairy took the tooth I had placed under my pillow and left me a book. "Mom, what is this!" "It's a book." I burst into inconsolable tears. The book fairy had stolen my tooth. Now the tooth fairy would never come and leave me a quarter. I was forced to eat last year's Halloween candy. This never happened. I don't know why I love books. There is not a single member of my family that loves books -- or literacy in general-- besides me. Look, I'm not being hard on them. They are who they are. But nothing makes a child wonder if they were adopted like trying to read Chris Crutcher while their Uncle is teaching their sisters and cousins how to set a fart on fire without burning their butt cheeks. This really did happen. My inspiration for this meandering blog post was my trip to the used bookstore. A month ago I had left a big old bag of books because the owner was not in and purchased three books at full price. I waited for a call about the store credit. It never came.Today I saw many of my books on the shelves. There was zero credit in the computer. I started to overact. (By overreact, I mean heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and steam came out of my ears.) They advertise that they give 1/2 of the cover price for titles. Shipping aside, I should get about $3.50 for a book that costs $7.99. I get closer to $1.00 per book. Because I need to limit the amount of books I have-- my apartment is small -- I've decided to see it more like a swap that's good for me. I give them four books I have read, and they give me one book I haven't. There is a limit to how much I'm willing to overlook. So, I took a deep breath and calmly shifted the stack of books I had picked out to the side, making clear that I wouldn't be spending any money. This got the girl's attention better than if I'd shouted. She called the owner. When she returned she said, "you have twenty dollars credit." I happily spent all of my credit plus another twenty dollars cash. Here are titles: The Invaders Plan by L. Ron Hubbard Your Heart Belongs to Me by Dean Koontz Lisey's Story by Stephen King The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella The Face by Dean Koontz Rant by Chuck Palahniuk Slumdog Millionaire by Vikas Swarup And to improve my Korean for which there are no links: Grim's Fair Tales in English and Korean A collection of Poe's short stories in English and Korean. Now, Book Fairy, please trade in some Laura Lipman! Not the TV show, sheesh. You'd think I wrote a lot about TV or something. No, I'm talking about the gawky, knock-kneed post fledgling stage in a writer's life. You've written just enough and been through critique groups just enough to feel like your stories are ready for submission. So you submit and get so many form rejections you could paper your office with them. At the same time, things that you were previously given praise for (perhaps just last week) has suddenly been the thing your critique group is now suggesting needs revision. If you're like me, you howl at your computer screen. Your indignation is then replaced with the your self deprecating head voice. "You'll never be a writer," it whispers. Well, here's little insight (and perhaps you can take heart in knowing) about what's going on. First, let's state the obvious. The critique experience is imperfect. It's imperfect because people know you can't take the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Writer's know better than anyone else how a writer feels when people give feedback on their story. So, what writers do is not compare your story to say Ray Bradbury, but to itself. For the story, as it is, what needs the most work. Then writers pick on that thing. And because the story is being judged against itself, when a writer compliments you on this thing you did, it's often true only when the story is judged against itself. Later, as you grow the things you once got compliments will eventually become the things people critique. Growth is painful and frustrating. But this is also a kind of milestone. It means you're writing has progressed to such an extent in other areas, that writers don't need to comment on them any more. The better you get, the more nit picky your critique group should be. So set your ego aside, make like a Chia Pet and grow. As regular blog readers will know, I replaced a buy ridden LG Ultrabook with the Samsung Serious 9. As you can see from the photo it's sleek and thin. You can read the technical specs from any number of sites but what I want to talk about is what it's like to write on. For years, I've felt that manufacturers neglect writers when they design laptops. So first, the Samsung gets really high marks for being comfortable to type on... for hours. The the keyboard is spacious and very responsive. It's also back lit for those who like that kind of thing. But the best feature about the keyboard is that it sits slightly lower than the palm rest. You'll find that your hands rest in a way that prevents most unintentional bumping of the track pad. Samsung took it a step futher. The track pad itself is slightly recessed, too. Combined it's nearly impossible to bump the pad by accident. But if you do bump it, the track pad isn't slippery. I've hated all the track pads on every laptop I've owned over the years. I hated how they'd highlight text while I was typing but I especially loathed the LG because it would highlight, delete the entire passage, open several programs and on a few occasions close out the word processor. But even though I'd take a sticky track pad over a slippery one, the Samsung has balance. Gone or the frantic searches in my bag for the portable mouse. With my fingers on the keys, I flick my thumb and scroll around my manuscripts with now fear of anthing being deleted. The final feature that every writer will love is the anti-glare screen. It's not just a fancy word for matte finish. Writing is pretty seditary, but it's not an issue with this laptop. I tuck my Samsung 9 in my backpack along with a few snacks, and hit the trail instead of the local coffee shop. The screen looks great inside our out, just adjust the brightness levels to suit. This is the first notebook that has trully let me be a writer on the go. The Samsung 9 is also supper light at 1.16 kilos and I was told it has about 6 hours battery life. But just using it to type, I find I get between 7 and 8 hours. And whether you're writing or downloading music and movies, or all of the above with 4 gigs of RAM and 128 gigs of SSD there's pleanty of power under the hood. This computer won't come cheap. Stateside I think it sells for 1499.99 but you can make up some fo the price by going to the park instead of the coffee shop. Plus there's no compisees with this machine, making it well worth every penny. You don't have to watch a lot of reality TV before you see competitors trying desperately become what they think the judges want. From a psychological standpoint the need to fit in is hardwired into our DNA. Back in the day, I mean really back in the day, if you didn't fit in you were tossed out of the village and probably got mauled by a bear. Of course its 2012 so fitting in still maters. I bet you thought I was going to say the opposite. Nope. We are social creatures and fitting in matters. From American Idol to the Glee Project to Project Runway contestants are striving to find where they fit, not only in the competition, but in a larger world. Writers are different only in that the bulk of our time spent hone our skills is spent alone. It's good for nurturing creative abandon. Sooner or later, the need to have our efforts reinforced by others sets us to sharing our week, either with a writing group or with friends and family. We like it when our friends say "your hair looks good" and we like it when people say, "I liked that story." There is nothing wrong with wanting approval. There is nothing wrong with being part of the crowd. Just watch a little reality TV and you'll see that talent isn't only a piece of the equation. The IT factor is somehow being you-- all the things that make you different from the talented person next to you -- and somehow fitting in. How do you do that? Own who you are. Don't try to be somebody else. Don't try to be the person other people think you should be. We met for the first time on a weekend in early December 2011. LG Ultrabook was showcased on a laptop pedestal under glimmering lights that accentuated it's stamped titanium chassis. I moved closer. It spoke me in low, husky whisper. "i5 core, 4 gigs of ram, DDR2, 13.3 inches, ultra-portable." The geek in me swooned. The writer in me moaned. The accountant in me clutched tightly at my purse strings. The LG Ultrabook continued. "You can afford it. Treat yourself. You've been a good little writer, tap-tapping on that tiny Idea Pad keyboard. You deserve me." I went home but LG Ultrabook's voice was in my head. It whispered sweet nothings. "9 second start up time. That's 0nly 9 seconds between start-up and your idea on my screen. It's 13.3 inches. I have a spacious key board." I began stalking LG Ultrabook where ever it was sold. "I want you, " I whispered stroking it's stamped titanium one afternoon in Home Plus. "You're drooling all over the keyboard." A salesman grabbed me by the arm. " Please stop fondling that computer. You're making the other customers uncomfortable." "I'll buy you." I called over my shoulder as I was escorted of the store. "As soon as your on sale!" This is a rather funny explanation how I broke my cardinal rule for purchasing electronics. (Always buy the cheapest thing that offers your must have features. Compromise on the rest. Upgrade guilt free in two or three years. ) And it also explains why I was so sad yesterday. Despite a 1000 good reasons to insist on a refund or replacement computer, I was, still am reticent about saying goodbye. I even made a mind map to clarify my thoughts. In the end it came down to stability. It was too prone to shock. It was like a pocket CD player that skipped songs at the slightest jolt. Goodbye LG Ultrabook. I'm sorry that it ended this way. Amy knew she was late. (Bad) Never use know unless it can't be avoided. In most cases you can just delete it. Amy was late. (Better) Most often after it's deleted the only verb in the sentence is "was." When your characters know you are telling not showing. Telling can be useful. His hair was black. But for the most part, the transition achieved with was, can also be achieved with an active sentence. Amy raced up the stairs and burst into the office twenty minutes late. (Best) Know in every form is a weak verb. It doesn't have the same action that "raced" and "burst" have. Bobby Johnson knew the bully was about to hit him so he ducked. Even when used in conjunction with a stronger verb such as "ducked" knew is the primary action. It saps the excitement out of a scene. While it should almost never be used, it NEVER belongs in an action sequence. The only way to deal with it in an action sequence is to reorder the ideas. Start with who did the action first. The bully's fist flew at Bobby Johnson. He ducked.... Mike Roberson knew he was going to win the lottery... Knew is the past tense form of know. But even though it is past tense it makes a prediction which may or may not be true. Thus there is really only one situation in which it really does belong. When your character can predict the future. Mike Roberson knew he was going to win the lottery a year before he bought the ticket. But I'm still telling you about Mike, not showing. This is a good example of when you can tell and not show. This diatribe on "know" was sponsored by Book X. Book X started off fantastic hoowever by chapter ten hardly a paragraph when by without a character knowing something. Sometimes they knew things two and three times a sentence. I love books. I rarely complain about anything I read and I almost never put a book down. I'm not saying I'm immune to imperfections. Every writer does things I'd rather they didn't but as long as I'm entertained it doesn't matter to me. However, the characters knew so much that I ceased to be entertained. Reading the story became painful as early as chapter four. I gave up at chapter ten. I just couldn't take one more "know." So please, your character should know anything, but if they must know something, then make sure they don't know much. Dear Thinkpad, How many times did I drop you? How many times did I filling my purse, with you not so neatly tucked inside, onto my bed or couch, or table, only for my purse to thunk to the floor? How many times did I carelessly run you into corners and bus seats. How may Koreans have crashed into me and thus you. In repayment, I decided to replace you. In January I abandoned you for a faster, bigger, and consequently more expensive computer. At 1.5 million won ( Approximately 1500 US dollars) the LG Ultrabook wooed me with it's sleek design and 9 second start up time. It's not even available in the United States yet. I was cool, the writer with the newest, greatest technology. How vain I was. It was buggy out of the box, tons of glitches and sometimes it's "smart" programs would restart the computer without warning. I'd be typing along and suddenly I had black screen having been offered no choice to delay this update. But I was infatuated. I stuck you in a box and put that box in the closet. There you sat with your charger and extra battery. New out of the box you got four hours per, though now you only get about three and a half. LG claims to offer a six hour battery life it's closer to four. As I toted my LG Ultrabook around, I found myself wishing I had an extra battery to shove in my bag like I used to do with you. At the same time, I toyed with ways of getting rid of you. I thought about taking you apart to see what you looked like on the inside. I thought about selling you. I thought about giving you to some to some sticky fingered children to abuse until you finally conked out. But I wasn't ready to part with you even though I had replaced you. So, when my LG Ultrabook needed to go for repairs, you were still there. The plastic over your hing is busted from so much mistreatment for which you gave to me years of reliable service. I have done nothing but coddle the LG Ultrabook and in repayment, today it erased all my data from its hard drive. All my data is GONE.Well, I backed it up not so long ago, so not everything was lost. But any loss, is too much. In the three or four years that I abused you, never once did you loose my data. Never once did I have to wipe your hard drive and reinstall everything. (Though if I had, you'd probably be a lot faster =) You are old and you are slow, but you are reliable in a way my LG Ultrabook will never be. I love you. M.R. Jane Doe was a writer. She sat in her office chair, the one with the extra cushion so her butt won't get so sore. The left arm of that chair is extra because she likes to lean lazy on it while she clicks the mouse when play solitaire or doing any of the multitudes the internet has to offer. Liken an writer Jane Doe is great at wasting time. But she's not today. Today she is plugged in to her story. The keyboard makes a gentle and furious tap, tap, tap as her fingers flash across the keys and words, glorious words, seemed to jump on screen. She was so plugged she didn't notice that sometimes her sentences came ou t un fromed. Outside, the weather was warm. A great day to spend at the beach. Jane's skin was the white pasty color of an author determined to breakthrough and of late her social life was suffering. When her friends called, she said to them , "I'm sorry, I can't. I have to write." At first her friends had been understanding but of late, they didn't always invite her to do things. By noon Jain had 1500 new words. She took a lunch break and stat down again, reveling in this moment, cherishing. She felt that life often got in the way of her writing. She was also a little high at the moment. Not on pot. No, no. Writers do not need pot. They can get high off the act of putting words on the screen. In this state of euphoria, Jane was certain that the thoughts she poured to her fingers and consequently into the file labeled "My Freekin' Awesome Novel"were best-seller material. People would flock to the stores to read them. During her break, Jane went online and read some tips about writing and landed on the blog of M.R. Jordan. Written there was her story.Written there was also this: Print out your story. Print out ten pages, print out twenty pages, print that section that's nagging you. Hell print the whole dame thing out. Put some pages in your bag, purse, pack pack, tote, whatever. Now go to the beach. Go to the mountains. Go somewhere with someone. Get distracted. After you've been properly distracted and then come upon a quiet moment-- you might be in a taxi unexpectedly drunk thanks to lunch that somehow turned into coffee and tea, then dinner and finally bar hopping. Whatever happened, you are now alone and you pull out those ten pages or so and take a red pen to it. Even drunk you notice things you didn't before. But when you're not drunk, looking at the pages this way, you have sudden insights, the kind that used to take hours staring at the blank wall of your apartment. Despite being exhausted, you rush home to put those insights into your file. Then you fell into bed knowing it was a good day, a day that included friends and writing. After reading this words, Jane went back wasting time on the internet. She was planning to write some more but time kind of got away from her. When her friend called to see if Jane wanted to have dinner together, Jane thought about all the writing she had planned to do but had yet to finish. She almost said "No, I'm writing." Instead she printed out ten pages of a section she was having trouble with and joined her friend for dinner. After she and her friend parted and she was on her way home, she remembered the pages. That was pointless, she thought as she came to the bus stop. I didn't have any time to look at them. She sat down to wait for the bus, thinking of those papers. Shrugging, she pulled them out and began reading. She saw things, dozens of typos that just jumped out at her. She got up, forgoing the bus for the park around the corner and sat under a tree with her pages. All around her was the murmur of people enjoying a warm evening in the park. Kids laughed and shouted. Bugs buzzed. Leaves rustled. Lovers walked hand in hand, talking close and intimately. Removed from herself, Jane saw her words as others might seem them. She had perspective and because of that, she solved a major plot plot and discovered a logical "inconvenience" large enough to drive a Fifth-wheeler through. Thanks for submitting "The Slave" for our consideration, and for your interest in LORE. While I enjoyed aspects of this tale, we are going to pass on this particular effort -- narrowly. This was good, to be sure. I hope we shall see something more from you in the future. Good luck in your ongoing endeavors.
First, I want to point out I've never posted a rejection online before. I can't say it won't every happen again, but I don't do it for a thousand reason, the biggest one being that this was a private conversation. I have the utmost respect for Rod Heather over at Lore and not just because he sent me this very nice rejection. Lore Magazine is chock full of fantastic fiction that I'd be proud to be part of. There's a reason why I put this here and posted my reviews from Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award. (Vine 1, Vine 2, Reader's Weekly.) Nor is it easy for me to put up my reviews for you to see my warts -- you'll notice I allowed my pride (footnotes in Meathead) to shoot myself in the foot. I'd been told before to delete them. But I ignored that advice and annoyed the reviewer. I'm also embarrsed by the comments about editing as well. Moving on. I've been wanting to write about the nature of selling fiction for a while. I had hopped to have made another sale by now for one thing. I was feeling pretty high on the hog after my sale to One Buck Horror. A pro sale meant... means a lot less than you'd expect. When you haven't sold anything, when you're querying and getting nothing but rejections, your first personalized rejection is a milestone and a Pro sale the holy grail. This could be my 5oth personal rejection. I stopped counting. That doesn't mean it isn't meaningful. I really appreciate it when an editor takes the time to give me a few kind words. When I feel low, I pull them up and read through them. I let them wash over me and remind myself that it takes years and years for an overnight success-- not every writer is an overnight success. But I think you know what I mean. So I have two pieces of advice: Enjoy your milestones. I mean really, really enjoy them. Exalt yourself, your skill, your creativity, the genius that makes up all of you. Daydream about the big sale. Let your ego off it's leash. (Don't worry, there's a rejection around the corner that will put it back in check.) But most of all, celebrate your perseverance. Without it there would be no milestones, which all too soon they become part of the landscape. Don't fret. Just write. I haven't sold anything in a long time and I'd be lying to say that isn't eating at me, but fretting over it isn't productive. I have to keep circulation the stories I've finished and keep writing new things. And maybe you haven't sold anything. Maybe you don't get personalized rejections yet. Don't fret. Keep writing new things and you will. |
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