Nonet

Just subscribed to Writer's Digest so I got a free link to the online version of the November/December issue.  One article talked about a poetic form, the nonet.  I'd never heard of it, which makes sense, I guess, since the article said it was a relatively new form with no known origin.  But it consists of nine lines with a descending number of syllable in each line.  The first has nine, the second eight, and so on until the last line, which has one syllable.  I thought I would give it a try, but didn't know what to write about until I looked outside at the bleak wintry landscape.  It prompted this:

March is coming in like a lion.

Wish it were more like a warm lamb.

The soft white snow flutters still

and coats the hardened ground.

Seems it will not end.

But hope abides

deep down in

my heart.

Spring

Hope you find your spring.  

Crowdfunding

My copy of Poets & Writers came a few days ago and I took advantage of a phantom snow day (no snow anywhere and, at least at my house, no ice--just liquid rain)  in my school system and pretty much read it cover to cover, something I don't usually have the time to do at all, let alone in one sitting.  I found it inspiring and, at the same time, discouraging.  There were stories of people who wrote because they loved it, not thinking at first that they could ever do that for a living.  That's where I am right now.  I write because I have to.  But I'd like to be where they are now.  Writing for a living sounds so attractive to me that I am not sure I can put it into words that would make sense to anyone who doesn't already understand.  It's like running.  I don't remember who said it, but when asked why they run, somebody smart said that to anyone who does it, no explanation is necessary but to anyone who doesn't do it, no explanation would suffice. But writers understand what I mean.  I need to write as much as I want to write.  And in order to write as much as and in the manner that I want, it would really help if I got paid to do it rather than doing it as a hobby.

The part I found discouraging was that this was the edition that concentrated on writers conferences, workshops, and retreats.  I found myself calculating whether one was close enough to drive or another was during a time when I am off from school.  But then I stopped myself.  I don't have the money to do any of these.  For reasons that I won't share, my wife's and my finances are very tight.  Our reasons are probably similar to the reasons lots of people have tight budgets--health issues, unforeseen car breakdowns, etc.  But, despite our best efforts of late, we are just barely going beyond living paycheck to paycheck.  We have savings, but not much and what is there is certainly nothing I could, in good conscience, spend traipsing off to a writer's retreat.  If I did have money enough to do something like that, it would more likely go to getting the editing on my first manuscript finished.  If I could just do that and sell the darn thing, maybe I could afford to do some of those other things.  I guess the old cliche really is true sometimes: you have to spend money to make money.

Which is where the most intriguing article in the journal comes in.  It was about crowdfunding.  Oddly, I had never heard of the concept until two days ago, and suddenly I heard it in three different contexts in a 24-hour period, the last being this article.  It's a deceptively simple concept in which you hit up everybody you know or ever knew and everybody they know for small donations rather than (or in addition to) applying for grants to help cover the costs of your project, whatever it may be.  In my case, it is the costs associated with publishing a novel.  Frankly, I'm not sure how comfortable I am with going, hat in hand (or, in the case of how I would likely do it, cyber-hat in hand) asking my friends, family, and colleagues to fund my dreams.  But I'm definitely not sure I won't do it.  I won't do it without offering something in exchange, though I'm not sure what that something could be at the moment.  Would a free autographed copy suffice?  A promise to support their dream when they come asking?  I'll figure it out.

So I may be out there on the interwebs soon, asking for help.  If you want to skip the pitch and just send me a check, I'll be glad to give you my address. ;)

Down Time Over

I placed my manuscript in the hands of a trusted editor late this fall, expecting to get it back in a few weeks.  She was only working with the first fifty pages (that's all I could afford), so I figured it wouldn't be too long and that I would just take a little time off from writing while I waited.

Then a sad thing happened.  My editor's father-in-law died suddenly and quite unexpectedly.  I know her and her children well enough to know they are the very definition of a tight-knit family.  So, with my knowledge and permission (though she hardly needed it), she has been concentrating on dealing with this family crisis instead of editing my book.  She could pass the task off to one of her underlings, but I would rather wait on her than work with someone with whom I have no relationship.  So I wait.

I hope to hear from her any day now, but I decided this week that my down time needed to be over.  I just couldn't not write anymore.  (I know that's a double-negative, but sometimes you just have to live on the wild side.)  By down time, I don't mean time without any writing at all.  I make my living as a teacher and am working toward renewing my National Board certification, which requires a decent amount of writing, though I'm sure the NBPTS would prefer it be nonfiction.  So I have been writing--but writing in response to an assignment, not writing what I choose to write.  What I want to write. What, I find more and more, I need to write.

So I have started working again on my new book.  It has the same duo of main characters, but with a different supporting cast and a whole new adventure.  I had started it before I began working with my editor and was sending out what I now see were pointless queries for my first book.  I found I missed Harry and Dee.  He is, in many ways, the best part of me, or the best part of what I wish I were.  He's not perfect but he's a sight closer than I am.  It's terrible to say, but he makes me laugh.  I hope someday that people who buy my book will report the same thing.

An Encouraging Agent Rejection

It's that slack period between Christmas and New Year's when I have some actual down time.  That's one of the many perks of being a teacher.  One of the many things it affords me is the time to update this blog, something I've obviously not done in quite a while.

I've received several agent rejections since the last time I updated, but one in particular was actually encouraging.  It was the only one to date that seemed to have been from a human being who had actually read my query.  She even said complimentary things about my main character and encouraged me to seek out a professional editor and then re-submit.  My manuscript is now in the capable hands of Sandy Tritt, a local editor of quite some repute.  I'm excited about what she's already shared with me and look forward to finishing the process of polishing up my baby.

I'll update as soon as something new happens.  I hope that is quite soon.

Rejected!

I sent out about half a dozen queries two weeks ago.  As I said, just putting my toe in the water.  I plan to start querying in volume over Thanksgiving break.  I wrote earlier about my fear of how I will react to the first rejection.  Well, the first rejection came and went, followed by the second.  I heard from another agent saying that they had received my query and would reply later.  Haven't heard from the rest yet.

The interesting part is that I was disappointed by the rejections, but it had virtually no emotional impact on me.  Maybe I had prepared myself for it.  Maybe it was more the fact that I have some pretty heavy things going on in my life right now that kind of put an agent rejection in perspective.  I don't know.  But I'm not discouraged.  I'll keep plugging away because I believe this is a good book and that people will read it.  And if all else fails, I'll put it out there for free as an e-book in the hopes of building an audience for the next one, about which I'm already excited.

Finally Sent Some Queries

It was only a couple.  Not nearly as many as I plan to send, but I put aside my fear and stuck my toe in the water.  I think I'll wait to hear back from these folks (or until a month goes by and I decide I'm not going to hear) before sending any others.  I prefer my rejection a little at a time rather than in bulk.

They were just two emails, but each felt like a lot more than that.  It was like I was electronically sending them images of my heart and soul and asking they approve them.  Nothing's ever been so truly me as this book.  I put so much time and energy and so much of myself into it.  It's my baby--my first baby at that. To have someone say no thanks to that is a daunting concept. I'm as scared as I was while waiting to find out if I'd gotten my National Board Certification as a teacher.  I didn't get that the first time and literally spent the next 12 hours in bed.

But I did get it the second time and remember hugging everyone I could--even strangers--and being beside myself with excitement for days.  To even get a request for a full manuscript, I suspect, will feel just as momentous to me.  To have someone say I'm interested seems like such a personal affirmation that I'm not sure how I'll react if it ever happens.  When.  When it DOES happen. Maybe if I pretend to be confident long enough, I'll actually start feeling it.  

For a Writer I Don't Write Much

It's been literally months since I wrote anything longer than a comment or two on my students'  essays.  I had a bit of spare time while my students wrote practice AP essays, so I looked at my blog.  It's been since July. I pulled up my latest work-in-progress the other day.  It's been about the same length of time since I wrote a word on it. So I wonder to myself if I'm actually a writer if I seem never to write anymore.  Odd that, after all this time, I'm back to the same question with which I started this blog.  I guess I can't convince myself that I'm a writer.  I just have to try to write and not let definitions define me, if that makes any sense whatsoever.  Since I have a sneaking suspicion I'm the only person who ever reads this, I guess it only matters if it makes sense to me.  And it does.

I'm seriously considering rewriting the last chapter of my first book before sending out any queries.  I feel like I missed an opportunity.  There are two dream sequences earlier in the story and I don't know why it never occurred to me that the time the hero is in a coma from gunshot wounds would be an appropriate time to add a third.  Three is a better number than two in almost all circumstances, and it seems like a good round number here.  I could tie the other two into it and expose another layer of Harry's fragility.  So it's decided.  Another dream it is.

As I mentioned, I pulled up my new book.  I'm about 10,000 words in and, despite the fact that it has lain fallow for two months, I'm excited to pick the story back up.  Is it grievously egotistical to laugh at one's own jokes and feel that one's writing is good?  I hope not.  I hadn't believed I was a good writer (or even a half-decent one) until recently, so I hope that enjoying it is the better alternative to self-doubt.

I hope someone is reading this.  I'm not sure why.  I guess it would just be nice to know I'm not a lone unheard voice in the vast universe that is the interweb.