On Me and the Speed of Molasses

 2 Responses »
Nov 172010
 

Good gawd, I’m picky.

I was when I was dating and I am probably worse with querying agents for Baby F(Ph)at. Case in point: I got my first boyfriend when I was 16, had three serious boyfriends before The Husband decided he was the Prince this Mexican Princess was looking for and answered my ad, and walked down the aisle at the ripe old age of Are you fucking crazy? You have your whole life ahead of you!!! 24.  Maybe I missed out on some singles fun by declining that Spring Break trip to Mardi Gras with the sorority sisters I wouldn’t have paid to be friends with because I was too busy staring at the shiny new engagement ring on my finger prior to becoming Mrs. The Husband, but hell, I was happy where I was ( i had always said I would marry a guy who was half Mexican, taller than me, and spoke more English than Spanish. Guess what I got? Yep…exactly what I ordered). No need to go looking for what I wasn’t.

Querying is very much the same for me. I have compared the process of searching for an agent to finding love a few times on the blog, and the comparison is still true for me. And? It explains why I have only queried 10 agents since July.

Namely? I am not a query slut.

(Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I am not calling you a query slut. I am merely saying that I am not one. Big difference. Huge difference. Huge!)

Sure, I could have had my letter in the hands of 40 or 50 or more agents by now. Some may argue that I should have. But I respectfully disagree (in my case, anyway). Because when it comes to searching for an agent, I am being just as picky as I was when I was looking for my prince. If I don’t get all super excited and start dreaming about how my first name would match his last how insanely awesome it would be to have THIS agent take me on as a client, then I’m not going to bust my ass to perfect the personalization on the query and send the damned thing out. It’s hard enough when I want it to work out. I am not going to go that kind of crazy when I only have a name, an email address, and no idea who this person is or if anyone else has ever heard of them. (And yes, I did turn down one agent who refused to give details on her track record. Call me crazy.)

Which takes me to the search itself. I’ve gone through the requisite books at Barnes & Noble. I’ve highlighted names in my agent listing books. And? I have twitter-stalked enough agents long enough to know if I am going to continue following and query or unfollow because I’m not getting all googly-eyed at the thought of them calling me if I make myself pretty and send them a note with a box to check yes if they like me. Like my Husband requirements, my agent list is pretty specific. I’m betting she will be a mom, appreciate a properly placed F-bomb, and have an active twitter account or at least know what a tweet actually is when not referring to the sound the birds make in Snow White. Did I mention I was picky?

So maybe my search is moving slow. Okay, slow is an understatement. But that’s okay with me.I’m still looking. And I’m not sweating the small stuff. The Husband answered my yahoo ad the day I was clearing out the inbox because I had decided I was going to take a break from the dating scene. The rest is obviously history.

Now…let’s see how this agent match search of mine plays out. ‘Cuz I could query her…or her…or maybe? Maybe I’ll just wait for the next agent that has me doodling their name in hearts on the cover of my notebooks.

The Typo Queen

 8 Responses »
Oct 132010
 

Confession: I once submitted a cover letter for a public relations job. I didn’t get the job.

My qualifications were great. I would have rocked the job, too. But I am pretty sure that the individual who happened to open the email containing my letter is probably still laughing even though this story took place about 9 years ago. After all, they were looking for someone with experience in public relations. I, however, had stated in the cover letter that I had experience in pubic relations.

Yuck it up, people. Yuck. It. Up.

I remembered this little incident when my dear friend Jeanne was helping my fix a few typos in my current manuscript and realized I wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing. I had “they’s” where “the’s” should have been, dropped hyphens, missing “I’s”, and a crap-load of other insanely obvious mistakes that got by not only myself, but multiple reads by various trusted writer friends. Every time Jeanne pointed a new one out, I responded with a, “Seriously?” And then I would say something witty like, “This is why I was a reporter and not a copy editor.” Because really? I probably would have been a better pubic relations specialist.

I am a self-admitted Typo Queen. My brain works faster than my fingers can type and because I know what I meant to write, I usually miss what actually made it to the page. I can catch Other People’s typos easily. But my own? Say it with me, people: Pubic Relations.

The point to this little trip down my typo-ridden memory lane is this: Don’t trust your own eyes. Beg, borrow, and bribe multiple people to read your work. (I promised Jeanne a bedazzled pony. She obviously liked the idea.) Then ask more people. Pay for a professional copy edit, if you feel the need and have the funds to spare. But by all means, remember that fresh eyes are a must.

This is something I seem to have forgotten from my days as a city editor at a little paper where we fancy-titled individuals wrote our stories, took our own photos, and laid out the paper every week. The rule was that we couldn’t edit our own work and two different pairs of eyes had to sign off on each page before it was cleared to go. The other rule was that all pages had to be edited off screen because it’s easier to miss mistakes when they aren’t on the printed page.

Tonight’s word-fixing session reminded me of all that. Which was nice, because I’d hate for a typo to get in the way of me and my dreams which involve finding an agent and getting a book deal and are in no way related to any career choices that involve anything pubic.

It’s show and tell time. What’s your favorite typo story?

The 300

 13 Responses »
Oct 102010
 

Because I enjoy talking to myself, I’ve decided to commemorate my 300th blog post by having one ego interview the other. It’s been months since I have done something like this, and frankly, I’ve kinda missed me and my witty banter. Let’s not focus on the fact that I started the blog in August of 2009 which means I a) have no life b) think sleep is over-rated or c) have no life and instead focus on the fact that I obviously have no life.

If this is your first time, let me explain the rules. I am a writer. Which gives me Creative License. Which also allows me to do things like talk to and argue with myself for the sake of my Art and by no means indicates any need for therapy or medication. This Creative License thing also allows me to totally make shit up, but that would be too easy, which is why I write non-fiction. (Side note: my reality is too crazy to make up, anyway.)

Today’s scenario: I am a hopeful writer with a completed manuscript in search of an agent and dreaming of book deals, book tours, and being able to afford more shoes after the first royalty check comes in. Wait a minute…

The cast:

*Aspiring Mama: The snarky, cheeky mama writer who happens to eerily match the description of today’s scenario.

*Pauline: The cheeky, snarky mama writer who also happens to eerily match the description in today’s scenario.

Action!

Aspiring Mama: So, um, what’s the point of this again?

Pauline: You are supposed to ask me deep, thought-provoking questions that allow me to showcase my brilliance.

Aspiring Mama: So I’m supposed to answer them for you, too?

Pauline: Let’s not confuse the issue here. Or the readers. I think they are already a bit scared.

Aspiring Mama: I know I am. I’m talking to myself. (taking a deep breath) So let’s go with something easy. You are celebrating your 300th blog post today. Anything exciting planned?

Pauline: Are you serious? It’s a Sunday, The Husband sleeps during the day because he works at night, and I don’t have a sitter. So by exciting, if you are referring to this blog post being counted as my only adult interaction during my waking hours and watching Yo, Gabba, Gabba with Buttercup before getting her into bed, waking him up and making his lunch before he leaves for work, then hell yeah. It’s a party.

Aspiring Mama: (Clearing throat) Sounds like a great time. (Mutters under breath) Remind me not to ask you how you’re doing.So, a lot of blogger peeples like to point out a few favorite blog posts during these occasions. Got any you’d like to highlight for your imaginary fans?

Pauline: Of course! Read up and marvel at my brilliance. (Or snicker quietly and pat me on the head.)

Momma’s got a brand new blog

Diva Wants

The Straight. The Proud. The Observant.

What I know

Once Upon a Time

There are more, obviously, but I’m running on empty so let’s just move on to the next question, shall we?

Aspiring Mama: Good deal. What else do you have going on? Aside from narrowing down the number of shoes you will purchase when you do make it big and get that book deal.

Pauline: Aside from this enthralling self-conversation, you mean?

Aspiring Mama: Hey, I’m amused.

Pauline: Good, you can comment when no one else does. So what do I have going on? A book I finished. An agent I am searching for. A waist I am busting my ass to find beneath my muffin top. Basically, lots of hurry up and wait with some big dreams and a shit load of effort thrown in for good measure.Oh, and Oprah’s couch is out. So I’m hoping Ellen and The View ladies think I am hilarious.

Aspiring Mama: That would be where the Aspiring part of the Mama comes in, I’m guessing.

Pauline: You know me so well. And it only took 300 blog posts.

No Exceptions

 No Responses »
Oct 012010
 

Part of this whole writing business is making it up as you go. There is so much to learn, and like parenting, everyone can tell you what to expect and how to prepare and what reference books to read, but you still have to make your own mistakes and learn what works for you.

That’s where I am sitting now; On the realization that whereas I once believed I had it figured out, I am now aware of the fact that I, in fact, had no fucking clue.

Every writer, I believe, has to have an ego and boatloads of confidence to survive the road from dream to reality. Every writer needs to believe in themselves because there are going to be oh so many times that it seems no one else does. But every writer including this one needs to also realize that the confidence, ego, and belief in their ability has to be balanced with equal amounts of humility, because (and here’s the kicker) if that mindset isn’t already in place, you’re in for one hell of a wake up call when the rejections start pouring in.

I freely admit that I was cocky. That I thought I was going to be The Exception to the rule. That my first draft was so spectacular and my query so eloquent that there was no way in hell I was going to be spending months looking for an agent. Somehow, that insecure self I was in high school had magically morphed into a self-congratulatory jackass that had convinced the rational me of easy roads ahead.

Don’t get me wrong…I still believe in my writing. But, and I think this is a process all of us go through at some point (even if only in our heads) in order for us to really grow as writers. Think of it as maturing from a cocky teenager who thinks he knows it all to the parent who is trying to explain to their own cocky teenager that they really and truly don’t. It’s at that point that you how far you have come as a person.

I’m still cocky. Or cocky enough to be able to brush off the sting of each rejection. But I’m wiser, too and aware that the reality of the publishing process applies to everyone, including me. Agents aren’t going to come flocking to me just because I am me. Book deals are not going to fall down from the heavens and land in my lap just because I am willing them to do so. Platforms do matter. And rewrites are the name of the game.

I am a good writer. I believe that. And I have to keep believing that or I may as well shred my manuscript right now and not even bother to start working on the next project.  One day, I will have my reality. But it won’t be because I was an exception. It won’t be because my horoscope was a lucky one that day. Fortune cookies will not be involved.

It will be because I worked for it. And because I finally figured out that I still have plenty to learn.

The Rejection Celebration

 19 Responses »
Sep 172010
 

“Embrace rejection! Wink at it, laugh, maybe bake a rejection pie. You’ll get there. Why not have fun along the way?” –Agent Michelle Humphrey of the Martha Kaplan Agency as quoted in the October edition of Writer’s Digest.

I couldn’t have read this little piece of genius on a more perfect day. There I was, minding my own business on twitter, checking email, and working on edits when two (that’s right, T-W-O) rejections came in, not five minutes apart.

To tell you the truth, the second one didn’t even faze me. My eyes were still adjusting to the fact that I had struck out again from the first email.

I blinked, sighed, cursed my writer’s ego for having the audacity to think that a perfect stranger would love my words, and then sighed again, straightened my back, puffed out my chest, and said, “Screw it. On to the next.”

Because really, there’s no where else to go but up if I plan on getting anywhere. But that’s easy to say now, of course. When the next response comes floating in, I’ll be a bundle of nerves as a gather up the courage to actually open the email, and then holding my breath while I wait for the next batch of courage to be gathered up before I can actually open my eyes. And then…

Well…

It’s either a happy dance or a rejection pie. Or maybe rejection shoes? Or perhaps a pair of rejection earrings?

I asked The Husband today what he thought I could treat myself with every rejection I face and overcome; something that would make me smile, laugh, and a little bit giddy. He automatically suggested going out for a drink with a friend and getting whatever girly drink comes in those big ol’ take-me-home glasses so I could start my own collection. Then he stopped, looked at me, and said maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. After all, I really don’t have time to join AA.

“But I can’t bake a rejection pie!” I wailed. “I wrote a book about my ass being too big. Baking a pie is really kind of counter-productive, considering I’m only on number 8 of what could be an incredibly long line of doors slammed in my face. Think of the calories!”

“A glass of wine then? One for every rejection?”

I just looked at him. “Really? I’m trying to find something I don’t usually do on a regular basis.”

“I thought we had ruled out AA meetings,” he countered.

“Right…what about shoes? I could buy a pair for every…”

“No.” He didn’t even let me finish the sentence. And honestly, that hurt.

“I could get a new book for the nook, maybe?”

He laughed. “Like you’ll have time to read that many.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Um, I didn’t mean…”

This time I cut him off.  ” Whatever. How about a new silver charm for my pandora bracelet? I kinda like that idea.”

“That could be a lot of charms…”

“Did you forget to turn your filter on this morning?”

His eyes twinkled and the corners of his lips twitched for just a moment before he regained control and he was able to speak. “I just meant, maybe you can think of something a bit more affordable? You’re the one who said this wasn’t going to be easy.”

And he’s right. I am the one that said that. Which means me thinking I can buy a $25 charm for every rejection means I need a job to support that Rejection Celebration habit I’m trying to start.

So I need ideas, peeples. Something fun that won’t break the bank. And I’m fully expecting my comments to explode on this post because I know I am not the only person in the world looking for a pick-me-up when I get another no from another agent. Ideas, peeples…Do you celebrate your rejections? What’s your guilty pleasure?

*Update: The Husband said ponies are out of the question.

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