Changing Perspectives

So I'm querying again.

Shot that sucker right out there. So for now we'll sit back and see what we see. I hadn't realized it's been since October 2009 that I last sent out a query. Since then the novel has gone through three major revisions.

Last night, just for kicks, I took a look at the original draft from September 2009 and cringed. It's horrendous. Completely infantile. I can't believe I was arrogant enough to actually send that out into agent-land. It's hilarious when you think about it.

When you start your writing career in a vacuum, everything feels right. Your family tells you how great your stuff is. The words flow and before you know it, you think you the next great American novelist. It's funny to look back at those original words. They're awkward, overly-complicated and the writing style was so over-grammatically correct it was stiff as a board.

But what was there was passion. Probably more than I have now. There was a lot of feeling in that story, and it reflected in the plot. The basic concept was great. How do I know? More than a few professionals have told me so.

Haha, but therein lies the rub. I had to learn how to write my great story. And that took time. Make no mistake; I'm still learning to write. There's a reason the average time to publish is around eight years and a hundred queries sent. Make no mistake about it, this shit is hard.

So as I stared at the draft email containing my query, my finger paused over the 'send' button. I was fearless the first time I queried. Back then I treated the endeavor like I do with any request: the worst they can do is say no. In 2009 it took me two seconds to hit that button.

But two and a half years later, the stakes are higher. I've got a boatload more experience and learning, not to mention the scars earned from the monthly exchanges in Kelley Armstrong's Online Writing Group. In 2009 I wasn't afraid of failure because I had truly nothing to lose.

Enter 2011 and a different perspective. I am afraid of failure. Strike that. I'm not afraid of failure; I'm afraid of lack of growth. I'm afraid I'm no better than I was in the final months of my tour in Iraq in '09.

But I am better than 2009. There's no question there. Remember, I looked at that old manuscript and laughed. I have grown. This round of queries is a test to see how much. The goal is still to get picked up and published by 2015. So this time I did hit that 'send' button, it just took twenty seconds longer than the last.

Hey, the worst they can do is tell me no.

And He's Coming Down the Final Stretch!!!

At least that's what it feels like. Isn't it horse-racing season or something? Kentucky bourbon and fancy hats? Show's you what I know of about that culture. My knowledge of thoroughbreds is limited to what I learned watching Secretariat, Seabiscuit, and Racing Stripes. *snicker*

But my post-beta WIP is heading towards the finish line. I've made it through the wild forest of debilitating partner-critiques and a massive rewrite. The second. A little perspective on this one: This marks the third calendar year I'm working on this novel. It's also the last. I should have been smart and let it go after one; should have chalked it up as a tremendous experience and accomplishment. It was my first novel. While spending a year in Iraq, I started with an idea and turned it into my 150,000-word opus.

Then I committed myself to learning the craft, joined a group and spent another year getting beat apart by my fabulous critique partners. I still had faith in the characters and plot from my creation, so rather than move on to something new, I took another stab. A year after that, my 150K opus was a 72,000-word YA novel a little more carefully aimed at my target audience.

But reality and a few friends slapped me back to reality. A couple of harsh critiques exposed some rather serious flaws in the plot. So back to work. For the last three months I've been hacking and slashing. Deleting poor material and replacing it with words more relevant to the core plot.

In the next week it will be done. I'm into the third act of the manuscript which survived the beta-round fairly intact. I'll get it done, do a final edit then move on to the queries.

But for Mason Ramsey (my MC) and his gang of friends, this is probably it. Barring some serious feedback from an agent or publisher that would lead to another round of edits, I'm retiring my beloved WIP. In the last several months I've had too many good ideas, and eventually even the marketplace will leave my novel behind. C'est la vie.

I'm ready for that, ready to move on. As I've been told by writers much wiser than myself, eventually you have to admit you've done your best and put it on the shelf.

Until then I'm going to enjoy this final stretch. Finishing a novel is like finishing a marathon. There's miles and miles of isolation and pain followed by that final high as the end comes in sight. In spite of all the mental fatigue and frustration, you still manage to get up on your toes and drive towards the finish line.

Okay, that's enough. Move on. Nothing to see here. Time to fire up some Daft Punk and get to #amwriting.

Quick Update and Good Advice

I've been unfairly punishing my blog in a poor attempt to punish myself for not finishing my edits. I've pretty pushed off everything creative to focus on finishing the manuscript. Yet somehow, the no-blog-until-complete policy feels a bit misguided.

I had a wonderful phone conversation with a super-agent, the result of winning one of the Query Critiques over at WriteOnCon. So while I was in the middle of rewrite hell, I got to enjoy what was probably the best twenty minutes of my fledgling writing career. Oh, and there was a Query critique in there too. Since this was not an interview per se, I won't name her here, but this particular lesson-learned was too important to sit on:

Don't rush.

She talked about one of her client who waited the better part of year to respond to her manuscript request. She met him in person, listened to the pitch and made the request. A year (or more) later, she received the manuscript and even still remembered him. Her point: she would rather the work be right than fast.

So I've slowed. Not completely, but I took a week to read and reset my inner-YA fanboy. I read Lauren Oliver's Before I Fall. Think Groundhog Day meets John Hughes, except that the story is from the popular kid's perspective; in which case it probably wouldn't be John Hughes. Maybe Lindsey Lohan. Or just forget it.

Highly recommended. Then came the guilty pleasure: Cassandra Clare's latest, The City of Fallen Angels. If you're a fan, I need say no more. No spoilers. It's solid, and stands well against its predecessors.

Okay, that's it. Someone leave a comment saying, 'Bad blogger, bad!', for neglecting my blog.

Twenty Three Hours...

...until registration for the DFW Writers Conference.

So what am I doing? First, I'm reviewing my objectives:

1. Interact with a bona fide publishing industry professional.
2. Interact with other aspiring authors.
3. Cram as many presentations as I can into a single conference.

The first one is guaranteed. I have a name and a slot. I've got my 25-word pitch and 10 talking points to keep the conversation going. I've been trying to familiarize myself with the agent's client list. It's a good mix, I'd venture to say 50/50 male and female. Query Tracker shows this individual has a good number of upcoming titles, almost all of them YA and MG. Dystopian seems to play a prominent theme. They seem to be mostly newer deals, a good things because maybe their looking to add more. I plan to download one of their clients works to my Kindle.

If that fails then maybe we spend the remaining nine minutes talking about liquor and sports.

I love the Internet and I love my writing group folks, but I'm really looking forward to meeting living, breathing writers without the safety-net of Internet anonymity. I've looked for local writing groups, but Google draws a blank. They do exist. I happened upon one doing a reading in the back aisles of a local bookstore. But they're like antelope, just the slightest whiff of outsider and they're gone. Should be fun to see bunches of them move around in packs.

I'll be watching like a lion in high grass.

There's a dizzying amount of seminars scheduled at the Con. I'm pretty sure that I'm a good storyteller; what I don't know is if I'm a good writer. So my focus is going to be on the writing: plot, dialogue, characters, etc. There's several seminars focused on querying and marketing, but I get enough of that from stalk-- err... following agents and other writers on Twitter and Facebook.

Other than that? I've printed my schedules and maps, drawn out my movements through the conventions center, and even programmed in some reflection time to make sure I've captured the important stuff.

I think I have this covered. As soon as work is over, I'll fill up the tank, throw the wife and kids into the car, then head north to Dallas. Tomorrow morning I'll be in the parking lot and walking towards registration.

Social Network Agent Stalking

What is agent stalking? When does one cross the between just-a-guy-on-a-social network to full-blown Internet stalker? When one of my followers sent me a note addressing that very question, I took a knee. (Psst--that's military-talk for taking a moment to think things over). I think first I need to define what I consider Agent Stalking. This isn't calling the dude/ette in there office day after checking on the status of your query letter. This type of annoyance is more subtle, and offspring of modern technology and popular social networking tools.

I'm a huge fan of Thomas Friedman's The World is Flat. A good buddy of mine at the Command & General Staff College turned me on to Friedman's wisdom a couple years ago and I've been a true believer ever since. Maybe too much so.

Friedman says that a convergence of technology and events allowed India, China, and so many other countries to become part of the global supply chain for services and manufacturing, creating an explosion of middle classes wealth across the globe. To take it another step, this "flattening" continued with social networking to make it possible for people to connect with each other like never before, breaking down social and economic barriers faster than common sense could keep up.

There used to be barriers in the publishing world. Agents used to use snail-mail to receive manuscripts and queries (some still do, tree killers). The only time you saw them is when they either chose to see you or you were lucky enough to catch one at a convention. Publishers were more scarce, making use of agents to keep the legions of aspiring authors at bay.

Enter Email. Enter Facebook. Enter Twitter. Enter my pipe dream to become a repped and published writer. Enter way too easy access to virtually anyone on the net. You have just increased your ability to make a jackass of yourself a thousand fold.

A lot of literary agents are on Twitter and I follow more than a few of them. They offer amazing advice on how or how not to break into the publishing industry. They also present quite a bit of personal information.

Like the rest of us, they want a good cup of coffee. They're looking forward to seeing their team in the big game. They make snarky comments about current events and pop culture. They rave about a cool movie, or lament spending money on a bad one. This is where they become human. And this is where, if you're not careful, I think you can get in trouble for crossing a line.

A couple of the agents I follow are very entertaining. Occasionally, I find myself shooting them a funny comment (at least I think it's funny, maybe debatable), well, because that's who I am. I apply the Golden Rule when interacting with others. I don't send anyone a note I wouldn't want sent to me, and for the most part, I think it works.

But make no mistake about it, these individuals are still the keepers of the kingdom, and they should be respected accordingly. In the Army, we have rules against fraternization, preventing lower ranks from over-socializing with those higher. We're military, we have our reasons. I joke and poke fun at my boss all the time, but I do it respectfully. I apply this logic to when I trade comments with agents and editors.

One of the comments I was sent was something along the lines of, 'You're brave sending a comment to agent so-and-so.' I think it's okay to interact with these folks. They're human, like us, and God forbid you go out there and make a friend or two. I would caution against becoming too friendly with anyone you plan to query. There's some potential for disappointment and frustration when expectations aren't met. I have no plans to query either of the agents as I don't think their client list is compatible with my current work.

Now, back to the original question. When does interaction become stalking? I'd define that as a whole lot of unsolicited content that is either disrespectful, creepy or undesired (take your pick). Tough call there. I think if you shoot them one comment a month or less you're okay. But if you fire off about twenty in a week. And they're not your Follower?

Aw-kward.

You should probably take a knee.

Conversations 'Tween My Creations

Is it technically talking to yourself if you're imagining your novel's characters having a conversation, about you? I don't know. The other day I'm mowing my lawn and fighting my Toro Personal Pace mower up the steep grade of my 1/2 acre corner lot, my characters start talking about me.

Oh, before I move any further, for you far east and west coast urbanites whose yard is typically comprised of a concrete pad and hot tub, an acre is a unit of area used in the US to denote 43,560 square feet of land. So my property is about half that. It's a lot of damned grass and takes up a good chunk of my weekend writing time. Thought I'd throw that in.

So, while I'm pushing around the mower, listening to Weird Al's White n' Nerdy (it's an anthem people), my character's start having this conversation. It goes something like this:

Protag: "Dude, I get my ass kicked in the third chapter of the rewrite. That wasn't in my YA Hero contract. What up with that?"

Antag: "At least you keep your teeth, between this version and the last, I lose both up front, and I didn't sign on for dentures."

Romantic Interest: "Before I was hot, smart, and driven, now I'm stuck up and bitchy, and I may even be an antogonist in disquise."

Aspiring Author: "That's because it builds suspense. Simply hooking up the two of you from the start was too easy. Now you're competing with for his affections with two others. You need to work for it."

Romantic Interest: "What--"

Gay BFF (interrupts): "What about me? I got written out? WTF!"

Aspiring Author: "That's because you were never in it to begin with. Too many of you popping up in all sorts of stories. Congratulations, you're officially cliche. Now, if it means getting published, we'll talk."

Gay BFF: "H8er!" (exits)

Aspiring Author: "WTF?"

Protag: "Seriously boss, we need to talk about the budding teen relationship thing. You made me a complete innocent and ignorant kid for over half the book. I suck with girls. Did you suck with girls?"

Aspiring Author: "Absolutely. When I was a senior I was below the Mendoza line. Way below."

Protag: "What's the Mendoza line?"

Aspiring Author: "Obscure baseball reference from the early nineties."

Antag: "I hate baseball."

Aspiring Author: "That's because you're British."

Romantic Interest: "What did you mean I'm competing with two others?"

Protag: "Threesome? Sweet. How do I do that?"

Aspiring Author: Points to Protag. "First, you're too young for the particulars. Second, I'm working that out. It's complicated." Points to Romantic Interest. "Don't worry, you're predestined, and you're HAWT. It's just less obviouos this time around. All three girls get an at-bat."

Antag: "Another baseball reference."

Aspiring Author: "Hey! British! Wanna lose another tooth?"

Antag: "You're only going to bump me off me anyway."

Protag: "He's right." To aspiring author. "How do I get to kill him? Is this another 'bad-guy-trips-on-a-root-and-impales-himself-on-tent-stake'? Cuz that's kind of ghey."

Aspiring Author: "It is, so you get to beat him down old-school. It kind of taints you."

Protag: "Sweet! Wait, tainted?"

Aspiring Author: "Chicks dig tainted. Read every YA out there."

Romantic Interest: "It's true, we do."

Protag: "Sweet!"

And so it goes. As you can tell, I enjoy writing dialogue, and I prefer it funny and sharp. One thing I learned on my first round of queries (almost a year ago), was that I was trying to be too grammatically correct and my dialogue and narrative ended up stiff. So I changed. We'll see how it goes this time around. At the pace I'm going I should have a completed rewrite around February. WTF?

Rewrite Hell

A month ago I resolved to rewrite my YA novel, EMANARE. At the time, the momentum was there. It was coming of a half-decent ABNA showing. I had a couple very solid betas. I had likable characters and villains, a timely plot, and some great dialogue (albeit a little stiff). Technically, I knew what the structure lacked and I figured a rewrite would be a snap. Uh-huh.

So why can't I get going? Well, the first obstacle is work. The second, third, and fourth, is well, life. Family stuff, father stuff, stuff around the house. Stuff, stuff, stuff...

Yeah, right.

Truth is, I've been procrastinating the hell out of a rewrite because, frankly, I don't know how to do one. The more I peel back the layers of the first manuscript, the more I find that not even a massive re-edit will do. In order to sync up the plot, sub-plot, and emotional arcs and craft them into into a symphony, I have to throw out a lot of the first book. About half.

I'll have to chuck maybe about the middle third to completely restructure the story the way I envision it. Before that, the first act will stand mostly intact, albeit with some sequence, dialogue, and character revisions. So a few good characters will become bad, while some of the original bad-guys will become a bit more sympathetic.

Momentum. I'm a Newtonian-style writer. (Objects in motion tend to stay...blah, blah) That is to say, once I get going, I can chew up massive amounts of ground. The kicker is, I have to get going. There's some vacation coming up, so the plan is to use the time to focus on the actual writing, putting the nuts on the bolts.

Until them, I'm planning and plotting, improving on the original story and characters' mythology and back-story. I'll get it done, I promise.

Hello, my name is Ken, and I'm a writer.

Go appreciate a literary agent

The title's an imperative. I think agent appreciation day was back in December, so I missed the boat, but recently I've come to the conclusion that this group of professionals is forced to deal with more than an unfair share of BS. If you know or have a literary agent, do a favor for me, and shake their hand, tell them thank-you for providing us with avenues and opportunity, and for putting up with loads of crap.

There's a fairly simple vertical hierarchy to the publishing industry: Writers, Agents, and Publishers. Authors create the material, Agents represent it, and Publishers buy it and sell it to the masses. For now we'll toss aside the marketing, distribution, and sales. Make no mistake about it, that hierarchy is still very much alive and kicking. If you want to get a book to market, you still have to pay the toll.

Now, while the industry structure remains rigid and tall, the communication landscape is anything but. My Command & General Staff College buddies know what a huge fan I am of Thomas L. Friedman and his metaphors in The World is Flat. It's his fourth 'flattener', Open Source, which brings me to the title of today's entry.

Friedman's Open Source tenet is all about access. Blogs, websites, social-networking, all of which make it possible for aspiring authors to communicate with experts, learn, and improve. However, communication isn't one way.

I sent my first round of queries out late last year. At first, I viewed agents as adversaries, gatekeepers to a secret world. Since then, thanks to social-networks, blogs, and websites, I've learned there are no secrets. I've also learned that these are decent people. They put their shoes on the same way we do, are always on the lookout for a decent restaurant, and even get excited when they find a marked-down purse or BluRay player.

As a Major, I'm number three in an organization of about five hundred. On a regular basis, part of the job is telling people their work needs correction, isn't good enough, or just needs to be flat-out redone. Sometimes, rarely, I even need to tell people they're just not suited for my line of work. I've seen the disappointment in their eye when someone tells them their stuff isn't good enough. What protects me from reprisal is a system that does not allow my subordinates to send me nasty emails or post about me on Twitter, Facebook, or blogs.

But literary agents don't get that protection. Anybody with a computer and connection can fire off retaliatory hate mail at will. In spite of that, agents stick their necks out there further, promoting themselves, their clients, and the business.

For agents, it's about relevancy. They can't afford to hide. They must represent their writers and at the same time attract the best talent. My point: they're vulnerable. No thin skins, easy targets for frustrated writers who view themselves the victim of unfair rejection.

Via social networking, I've learned tons about the industry and the profession. My personal experiences with agents were brief, but positive. The one who rejected my full-manuscript only provided a singular comment, but it was a remark that changed the direction of my writing in a very positive way.

Certainly, the bad-apples among the aspiring-author crowd are few. I cannot imagine any of my peers in the writing group replying to a rejection letter with strings of angry F-bombs. Nor, to my knowledge, have any of them built websites lambasting the evils of the literary agent profession.

But those people remain out there. So, I wanted to say thanks, I appreciate what agents do. Without them, I wouldn't be where I am, or know where I wanted to go. Without them, there would be no target to shoot for, or a mountain to climb. Writers, don't give me any crap, I'm not trying to kiss anyone's ass. This will be an only-time deal. One of these days, I'll get my agent. Maybe, we'll even share a beer.