Last week sometime on Facebook I posted a status message that said something alone the lines of how reading Nick Hornby made me want to hide under a rock since I know I'll never be able to write at the level he does.
I received some nice complimentary bits of encouragement which I didn't reply to because in retrospect it was too easy to interpret what I had said as fishing for compliments, which is something that generally I feel very uneasy about. For the record - I know I'm a good writer, and even if I wasn't I wouldn't stop writing anyway. Writing is more about the personal satisfaction than whether or not anyone else is impressed. I know when I write a book, there are two or three times when I'll have a perfectly constructed line in there, some sentence or idea that is just so flawless that it can take the reader out of the story for a moment just to reread it and admire it. My favorite part of reading is discovering lines like that, and if I do come up with a couple of those on my own, I'm very proud of it. My point of comparison was that Nick Hornby comes up with a perfect line like that several times in every chapter instead of a few times in every book. I'm not going to get all Duncan about it (Hornby reference, if you're lucky enough to be in the know), but he is pretty genius. And after all, he asked us to read, so I don't mind expressing my opinion about him. Even if it isn't on an obsessive message board.
Anyway. For the benefit of anyone who tried to offer me encouragement after my Hornby post, I'd like to share something with you. I submitted my first query letters to a handful of literary agents for the book we call Infinity these days. The query is you introducing yourself and the work to the agent, and hoping that they will notice that (a) you have an interesting story told, and (b) you can write well enough to be taken seriously, so they will (c) ask to see more or all of your manuscript and offer representation.
Well, like our pal Meat Loaf once said, two out of three ain't bad. Here's the meat of a rejection letter I received yesterday:
Thank you for your query. I regret to say, it's not a perfect fit for me-- although I do think your query is well-written and intriguing, so I would encourage you to keep trying! (and no, that's not part of the form response).
Now, here's the thing. Most agents will send form rejections, simply because they receive such an enormous number of queries on any given day. In fact, some state in their submission guidelines that they likely won't reply at all after x number of weeks if they aren't interested. So to get rejected like this actually got me a little excited. I'd sweated blood over that particular stinkin' query letter, so for this agent to recognize that I could write and to find the story intriguing was huge for me. Arguably not a big deal to an outsider, but any kind of encouragement like this coming from someone in the industry when it isn't expected was pretty cool. It makes me feel I'm on the right track. And maybe, just maybe someday......
And incidentally, anyone reading this off the Facebook link who wants to read this particular book I'm referencing here - tell me you want to! It's really, really hard for me to ask people to read because it feels like I'm fishing for compliments, but if you don't mind my saying, it's a hell of a book. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll think, you'll put it down with great emotional satisfaction. You let me know you want to see it, and I'll send you a pdf version so fast it will give your inbox hiccups.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Random Saturday
Random Thoughts for the Day:
*There is nothing in the world like a good sweatshirt. The perfect sweatshirt will keep you warm, but not overheat you. It fits well but hangs just loose enough. It becomes a favorite piece of clothing, something you look forward to wearing again after laundry day, and something you will wear until it breaks down into stray threads and lint. It makes you look forward to the onset of fall, because you know that means you can start working it back into the weekly wardrobe rotation. Unfortunately the perfect sweatshirt is so rare that you only get about five or ten of them in a lifetime.
*Okay, let me be the one to say it: "Lost" is far from being the greatest thing on television right now, much less ever. I could easily list shows with far better writing or shows with much tighter science fiction plotting than this mediocre, criminally overrated time filler. Oh, I watch it. But I've forgotten to record some episodes on the DVR, and didn't feel like I missed a thing. I will not require grief counseling after the show ends in May.
*A sign you've been editing a query letter for too long: When you read the Letters to the Editor section in the newspaper and begin dissecting what's wrong with those letters and what could be changed to make them more concise and communicate their message more clearly.
*Overlooked Hard Rock Band of the Day: Tesla. Just sayin'.
*The new salmon club at Panera? Eh....
*There is nothing in the world like a good sweatshirt. The perfect sweatshirt will keep you warm, but not overheat you. It fits well but hangs just loose enough. It becomes a favorite piece of clothing, something you look forward to wearing again after laundry day, and something you will wear until it breaks down into stray threads and lint. It makes you look forward to the onset of fall, because you know that means you can start working it back into the weekly wardrobe rotation. Unfortunately the perfect sweatshirt is so rare that you only get about five or ten of them in a lifetime.
*Okay, let me be the one to say it: "Lost" is far from being the greatest thing on television right now, much less ever. I could easily list shows with far better writing or shows with much tighter science fiction plotting than this mediocre, criminally overrated time filler. Oh, I watch it. But I've forgotten to record some episodes on the DVR, and didn't feel like I missed a thing. I will not require grief counseling after the show ends in May.
*A sign you've been editing a query letter for too long: When you read the Letters to the Editor section in the newspaper and begin dissecting what's wrong with those letters and what could be changed to make them more concise and communicate their message more clearly.
*Overlooked Hard Rock Band of the Day: Tesla. Just sayin'.
*The new salmon club at Panera? Eh....
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Open Letter to My Sister - No, the Other One
Dear Dop -
How've you been? I know I don't write that often, but your mailing address is hard to come by. I'll just assume that this will find its way to you somehow.
Today is kind of a big day. Sometime later this evening our godson will turn sixteen, for crying out loud. I know! Since time and space matter little wherever you are now you probably can't relate to the idea anymore, you'll have to trust me -- time does fly. It doesn't seem that long ago that he had a OCD-like knowledge of Pokemon. Or would fall asleep with a small lamp on in Grandma and Grandpa's basement because of the unfamiliar surroundings. Or was given the nickname 'Webster' by the dudes at his 5th grade lunch table because of his penchant for interjecting polysyllabic words into everyday conversation. And yes, I know, I'm largely to blame for that. I'll own it.
In case you forgot or don't relate to it anymore, sixteen is a big deal birthday here in 21st century America. This is the year he'll be able to test for his driver's license. And the boy isn't putting that off much, since he takes the test tomorrow. First of all, YEAH, you better worry and pray for him and watch over and put in a good word with anyone you can put in a good word with, because he's going to be out there driving on his own now. I'm not worried about him behind the wheel, but I do have this fair concern about the amount of stupidity the other chuckleheads he'll be sharing the road with are able to carry out on a daily basis. Drunk drivers, sleepy drivers, texting drivers, Mr.-Putting-On-His-Pants-Behind-the-Wheel, just to name a few. It does make me nervous.
But I suppose he's already been on the road with all of those people his whole life, only just in a passenger seat. So I know I should shake it off and get over it, but it's such a change. I still remember how different it felt when he had finally grown big enough to sit in the front seat with me, and suddenly he became less of a little kid I had to ferry around to Tae Kwon Do and Elk River and the movie theaters, and more of a guy; someone I could hang out and have a good time with. Someone interesting.
So now he's taking that one last car seat promotion into the one behind the wheel. I have no doubts he'll pass his test. The first time I rode while he was driving was when he drove me and Jen and the fellas down to Cottage Grove for the summer bash. And he drove right through a good twenty minutes worth of apocalyptic downpour, rain so hard it was pooling on the freeway and spattering the windshield with white water so hard it may as well have been paint. I would have been praying rosaries in my head just to make it to an exit so I could pull over and wait and wimper, but he just kept on going, straight and steady and appropriately slow, with his mom beside him in the front seat knitting away like it wasn't a big deal at all. Which I'm sure helped keep him from freaking out as much as I wanted to.
So I wanted you to know he's ready for this. He'll do fine. He'll still have the finer points of it all to learn, but he's been driving awhile now and has plenty of time to figure the rest of it out. It helps greatly that he is well on his way to becoming the person we always knew he had the potential to be and we hoped he'd be in our loftiest wishes. When you're peeking in to check up on our daily lives sometime, just watch him for a bit. You'll be so happy with who he's becoming.
I hope all is well with you, though I imagine it is. Thanks for the cardinal this morning; I needed the moment of calming it brought. Told you I wasn't going to forget about that.
I miss you. Hard.
How've you been? I know I don't write that often, but your mailing address is hard to come by. I'll just assume that this will find its way to you somehow.
Today is kind of a big day. Sometime later this evening our godson will turn sixteen, for crying out loud. I know! Since time and space matter little wherever you are now you probably can't relate to the idea anymore, you'll have to trust me -- time does fly. It doesn't seem that long ago that he had a OCD-like knowledge of Pokemon. Or would fall asleep with a small lamp on in Grandma and Grandpa's basement because of the unfamiliar surroundings. Or was given the nickname 'Webster' by the dudes at his 5th grade lunch table because of his penchant for interjecting polysyllabic words into everyday conversation. And yes, I know, I'm largely to blame for that. I'll own it.
In case you forgot or don't relate to it anymore, sixteen is a big deal birthday here in 21st century America. This is the year he'll be able to test for his driver's license. And the boy isn't putting that off much, since he takes the test tomorrow. First of all, YEAH, you better worry and pray for him and watch over and put in a good word with anyone you can put in a good word with, because he's going to be out there driving on his own now. I'm not worried about him behind the wheel, but I do have this fair concern about the amount of stupidity the other chuckleheads he'll be sharing the road with are able to carry out on a daily basis. Drunk drivers, sleepy drivers, texting drivers, Mr.-Putting-On-His-Pants-Behind-the-Wheel, just to name a few. It does make me nervous.
But I suppose he's already been on the road with all of those people his whole life, only just in a passenger seat. So I know I should shake it off and get over it, but it's such a change. I still remember how different it felt when he had finally grown big enough to sit in the front seat with me, and suddenly he became less of a little kid I had to ferry around to Tae Kwon Do and Elk River and the movie theaters, and more of a guy; someone I could hang out and have a good time with. Someone interesting.
So now he's taking that one last car seat promotion into the one behind the wheel. I have no doubts he'll pass his test. The first time I rode while he was driving was when he drove me and Jen and the fellas down to Cottage Grove for the summer bash. And he drove right through a good twenty minutes worth of apocalyptic downpour, rain so hard it was pooling on the freeway and spattering the windshield with white water so hard it may as well have been paint. I would have been praying rosaries in my head just to make it to an exit so I could pull over and wait and wimper, but he just kept on going, straight and steady and appropriately slow, with his mom beside him in the front seat knitting away like it wasn't a big deal at all. Which I'm sure helped keep him from freaking out as much as I wanted to.
So I wanted you to know he's ready for this. He'll do fine. He'll still have the finer points of it all to learn, but he's been driving awhile now and has plenty of time to figure the rest of it out. It helps greatly that he is well on his way to becoming the person we always knew he had the potential to be and we hoped he'd be in our loftiest wishes. When you're peeking in to check up on our daily lives sometime, just watch him for a bit. You'll be so happy with who he's becoming.
I hope all is well with you, though I imagine it is. Thanks for the cardinal this morning; I needed the moment of calming it brought. Told you I wasn't going to forget about that.
I miss you. Hard.
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