The Platform Conundrum

4 Responses »
Sep 082010

Dear Future Agent,

I have a secret to share. It may shock you.

Then again, probably not.

See…(and this is kind of embarrassing to admit)…but (deep breath) I. Am. Not. Famous.

I’ll give you a minute to digest that little piece of information. Because really, the Holy Crap factor was probably enough to knock the wind out of you. You know, while you laughed at me. So I understand if you need to compose yourself.

Right now, dear Future Agent, you are probably asking yourself why you should give a damn about me and my Regular Peeples status. Or not. After all, we haven’t been formally introduced yet. Or perhaps we have and I just haven’t quite convinced you yet. So in reality, you are probably busy cycling through your inbox while fending off off over-zealous writers with good intentions and big dreams who may have sent you cookies instead of a properly formatted query letter, wishing it was five o’clock so you can get home and pop the cork on a bottle of wine, skip the glass, and stick a bendy straw in there. You know, after you have served the kids dinner. (I’m going out on a limb here and guessing you will be a mom. And if you are doing that bendy straw thing, we are soooo a match made in heaven.)

But back to the me Not Being Famous and why you should care thing. You see, before I find you I have to be told to keep looking by others. “This is a subjective business…” “Other agents opinions may differ…” “What doesn’t work for me may be perfect for another agent…” Oh wait. It’s been three weeks and two days. Which means I can cross two more off my list. I know my query is solid (maybe). I know my writing has promise (right?). I know I will not be a word-diva when it comes to revisions (which I think is major bonus points, yes?) I could focus on the fact that I just got turned down again or I can remind myself that these two passive rejections are playing their karmic roles in getting me closer to the day I find you. But instead, I think I’ll focus on the fact that my (solid) query is missing something. That my (promising) writing isn’t even going to come into play for many of the agents who shall come before you because of that pesky little platform thing. And seeing as I don’t really have one to stand on, why ask for more if I don’t have enough to get me past Go to collect my Monopoly money?

You already know, dear Future Agent, that Non-fiction and Strong Platforms go hand in hand. That there is plenty of rhyme and reason for the current system. I get it, too. But I have to admit that the whole situation kind of has me in a pickle similar to the Gotta Have Credit to Get Credit situation I found myself in when I was young and stupid enough to jump on the first credit card offer that got me a free T-shirt on my college campus; I’m not famous enough to garner the attention of many agents looking for famous enough people to garner the attention of publishers looking for people famous enough to sell books. So they have (and will continue to) take a pass on me. No matter what they may think of my writing or my claims that my old job, this blog, and my twitter addiction could be considered a platform.

And that’s okay. It sucks. But it’s okay.

Because one day, you will take a chance on me. And I’ll do that little happy dance every writer does when their own future finally slows down enough for them to grab hold. And then I can dream bigger and work harder (while trying to remedy that Not Being Famous thing while taking breaks from that working and writing thing, of course.) Until then, I’ll continue to nurse my bruised ego, marvel at the fact that the girl who was so unsure of herself has grown into the woman who is sure enough to continue this soul-crushing exercise as long as it takes, and wait.

I may not be famous (enough) yet, but I’m stubborn as hell. Which means I’m not going to let my cute little platform (or lack thereof) get in my way.

Sincerely,

Me

Bat(ter) Up!

1 Response »
Sep 052010

The book is done. Queries are out. My house is almost, kinda, sorta clean.
So this makes for a perfect time for Buttercup to decide to get sick after a preschool tour and me end up on the couch for three hours last night wondering if I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry because of my own tummy ache, too.
Thankfully (or not) I had Billy the Exterminator to keep me company for those three hours…mainly because I didn’t feel like getting up to find the remote. This left me with plenty of time to ponder the deeper meaning behind hairspray and mullets, fashion versus practicality in the areas regarding the removal of bees while wearing enough black to guarantee getting stung way more times than anyone would consider a good time, and if Billy has his shit together when it comes to making me question my mascara.


I might be a bit behind the 8-ball here (and I usually am so don’t look surprised) to learn that the Mullet Master of Louisiana is running around in his Vexcon truck telling his camera man that bat guano has many beneficial uses in today’s society…like the streaking upon of eyelashes by modern women like myself. And I know I’m behind because when I decided I was concerned enough with the absolute maybeness of this statement to get up, turn on my netbook, and do a Google search to find out if I should kick myself or thank myself for even considering anything to be fact when uttered by someone sporting a mullet, I found out that plenty of other eyelash-owning, mascara-wearing Billy the Exterminator viewers of the female persuasion had been concerned enough to do their own investigating. Which put me in some pretty interesting company. (Go ahead...look it up on youtube. I dare you.)
Turns out, Billy is full of shit.
Kind of.
In case you give a damn, guanine is a synthetic derivative of guano (bat doo-doo) made from fish scales, which apparently is the FDA-approved way to go. So if you are a vegan or vegetarian, I’m guessing you don’t use the stuff. I, however, thoroughly enjoy the fact that I don’t have to hunt my meat to eat it, or scale my fish to make me eyes pretty.
I will, however, make sure to have the remote handy the next time I feel sick enough to watch three hours of television in a row.Then again, I got my mind of the queries.

Disclaimer: I got my research info here and here. No actual experts or mullets were contacted in the name of verification.

Reverse Nesting

3 Responses »
Sep 012010

Something strange happened when I finished writing Baby F(Ph)at.

In short, I looked up and realized I suck as a housewife when I’m knee-deep in a manuscript. After a year of getting by with frantic “just throw the extra shit in the closet!” sessions reserved for guests and making sure we had enough clean laundry so no one was wearing anything nasty, I finally saw the house through the eyes of my alter-ego, (Mexican) June Cleaver. And aye…Ward has reasons to question if he’s man enough to stick around when I get to writing that next book.

While it’s true that I finished the book before I left for BlogHer, it’s also true that I was away from home until last week. And after a few days of doing the blissful nothing I demand after 20 days of non-stop family, I blinked…and then it all came into focus.

The dust covered blinds (I wrote my name one one…kinda cool, actually.)

The junk drawer so full of random crap that it wasn’t even closing anymore.

The closet. Which we couldn’t fit the vacuum into. And that’s a problem.

The dust bunnies under the couch (which are now getting their own mail forwarded to my address.)

The linen closets (not just for linen anymore! Holy shit! That’s where that other thing I don’t need went to…)

Needless to say…I have my work cut out for me.  That’s why I started a to-do list with one or two projects to be tackled daily. Like the dusting and the evicting of the dust bunnies. Or the junk drawer and the closet. Or telling The Husband to bite me and to shove it when he tells me I suck as a housewife when I’m writing a book. Or maybe just telling him to fuck off and then laughing because I can’t keep a straight face because he is so totally right.

It’s been about a week since I started my reverse nesting. That’s what I like to call this phase. Moms-to-be nest when a baby is on the way. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Moms who are writers nest after they (I) finish a book and figure out they (I) better haul ass on Operation Clean House before the next project is officially started. (While they (I) are (am) querying.)  Because that’s such a relaxing combination.

And when I type Chapter 1? Again?

It’s house, hell, and hand basket…all over again.

Bring it.

Until then, I’m gonna whistle while I work and rock this happy homemaker thing.

A Brain Cloud in Progress

8 Responses »
Aug 222010

I’ve got these great ideas for blog posts. I think them up all the time.

When I’m brushing my teeth or giving Buttercup a bath.

When I’m driving.

When I’m knee-deep in a three week hell-cation and am aware that aside from, like, 2 friends, no one I actually know reads my blog (yet).

These moments happen all the time. You know the kind. Where you look up from whatever you are doing like Twist on The Fresh Beat Band and suddenly have a bright idea animate itself right next to your quirky little smile? Those moments are awesome…sometimes a blog post even writes itself. And when I’m in the habit of writing everyday, I can hold on to these mind pictures long enough to get through an entire day (including a story and bed time) before finding myself with enough free time to sit down and peck at the keyboard.

But I’m not in practice right now. Instead, I’m grasping at straws with no idea what I was thinking about five minutes ago because I am:

*simultaneously reading Eat, Pray, Love and Julie and Julia on my nook and calling it Baby F(Ph)at research while I continue to plod my way through the #agentsearch.

*bitching cuz I never found the time to get my sport length acrylics redone (read: filled and filed way the hell down) after BlogHer and am now hating life as I type because I still have a few BlogHer posts to write and at this point I’d really rather just not.

*ignoring and being mutually ignored by BFF Mel as our marathon-online-window shopping Skype session has surpassed the point of conversation, the interest of The Husband and Mr. @Bobherz, and has morphed into a nonversation. I’m writing a blog post and she’s trying to find the perfect accessories for her new nook and every 10 minutes or so one of us will ask the other how it’s going, the other will give a noncommittal “s’ alright” before resuming our BFF-y shared silence. Well shit…I think she just hung up on me. It’s cool. Not like we weren’t talking for three hours.

*recovering from 20 days away from home, even if home isn’t the home I still own 2,500 miles away because The Husband took a job 2,500 miles thissa way, and realizing that after this time on our own—with no real family or friends out here—I much rather prefer my own brand of crazy than the kind forced on me by competing personalities and agendas…even if it means scorpions and tarantulas because it’s legal to drown them in bug spray.

*thankful that the, like, 2 friends I have who read this blog won’t be mentioning this blog or the contents of this post to any of the little faces I may be imagining on said scorpions or tarantulas in the weeks to come.

*hoping that the little faces think I’m talking about other little faces should they ever come across this blog post when I’m at the top of the New York Times Best Seller List on a day that they got bored and decided to troll for a reason to start an argument because the laundry is done and the kids are in school and really, what else do we do right now?

*munching on Buttercup’s Gerber Graduates Mild Cheddar Lil Crunchies because I knowingly and willingly jumped so far off the wagon while away that I’m now resorting to pilfering my daughter’s cheesy snacks because it’s almost midnight and I’m not even looking at a spinach leaf until Monday morning after I wake up, not before I go to0 bed and oh hell yes is this an important distinction.

*wondering if I should break up with my Blackberry gently or just tell it like it is…

*also wondering if I’d get more blog comments if I gave the two friends who are reading it a cute group nickname, like pranksters but not, cuz that one’s already taken.

*wondering also if I’d already be a famous writer with book deals and “Now a Major Motion Picture” stickers on my book covers if I had started out not actually wanting to grow up to be a famous writer.

*thinking that the idea of Catherine the Great peeing on me whenever it rains is one of the sweetest ways to bring a smile to my face when I might be having a particularly shitty day.

*am surprised you are still reading thi…never mind.

Fast, Cheap, and Easy

No Responses »
Aug 152010

While the rest of the world was knocked off their BlogHer high with the immediate onslaught of screaming kids and loads of laundry that refuse to take care of themselves, I am still navigating the perilous role of The Visitor. It’s a strange place to be, especially since, until a little over a year ago, I lived my entire life within a 20 mile radius.

To say I wasn’t prepared for the mind-numbing politics that go hand in hand with the Who We Actually Make Time For in the 12 day period available to us for our hell-cation would be an understatement. There’s his side, my side, his friends, my friends, and the friends who I totally didn’t miss but feel obligated to make time for anyway. There are late nights (combined with too much sugar and the new toothpaste I stupidly purchased which is yet to be used) for Buttercup, early mornings for me and The Husband, and an ongoing game of Tug of War for our presence in a rapidly dwindling window of time.

Don’t get me wrong…we are having fun. It’s hard not to have a good time when distance and time haven’t stopped me from slipping right back into private jokes and secret punch lines with the friends who will be friends no matter the actual distance between us. But I do have to admit that there have been multiple days when I have wished multiple times that Aunt Becky had decided to go with Mommy Wants Vicodin for her twitter handle so I could change my identity to reflect my current state of mind.

I also feel it’s very important to point out that I, in fact, have eaten my willpower. I didn’t just choose a random photo to fill white space. Instead, I avoided the weird looks from store employees while snapping a few photos of clever aprons because they basically summed up which side of the bed I have been waking up on since landing in Michigan for the second time in less than two weeks.

I’m clean-eating. Or rather, I was until this whole little adventure began. And I totally thought I’d be faithful to my new eating habits while hanging in NYC with TBFF Juliette and schmoozing with my new bloggy buddies. That was before total exhaustion hit and I decided that I just didn’t give a damn anymore. Had it just been those 4 days, I would have been fine. It’s a vacation, right? A chance to let go, have fun, and eat a slice of pizza so good that there was a line out the door long after the sun had gone down?

But by the time I return to Tucson, I will have been gone for 17 days. And because PCOS, Insulin Resistance, and all the other fun little things wrong with me that make being fat so easy it should really be a hell of a good time have probably allowed my body to gain a sickening amount of weight in an amusingly short amount of time, I am perfectly aware that the Fettucini Alfredo eaten at Tio’s today or the Kickass Local Pizza we’ll be chowing on tomorrow with friends are really going to fuck screw with my plans for reinstating my MILF card sooner rather than later.

So what exactly am I doing to myself here? Am I allowing myself to enjoy my vacation or making my trip back to reality (and what The Husband likes to refer to as rabbit food) that much more of a pain in the ass? I’m gonn go out on a limb here and say it’s a Laugh and  Point because It’s Me and not You twisted little combination of both possibilities.

Until then, I’m fast, cheap, and easy.

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