Where are we?

Hey there.

As many of you have no doubt noticed by now, we, the varied and sundry Agents of the Scribblerati, have not been too active here on our blog of late. Now, I'm sure over the course of the last few days/weeks, many of you out there wanted to write or call and give ease to your desperate rush of concerned questions. I'm sure some of you, in your panic, maybe even considered contacting the authorities. Completely understandable, completely, but ultimately unnecessary. Everything's cool. Everything's fine. I'm here to calm your fears, my friends, to soothe your nerves, to grammatically rub your back in slow circles all while whispering: "Don't worry, my friends, we're here now."

But where have we been?

Good question. The short answer is: We've been busy. But how busy? Well, that's a longer answer. Read on, my peeps, read on and let the Scribblerati make their own excuses...

Mark

I'm doing lots of writing lately--filling notebook after notebook with of all things, Poetry! This is first most on behalf of my "Groundings in Poetry" class--part of my MFA program at Hamline--but I'm really enjoying it. (My instructor Deborah is also awesome--very supportive and encouraging.) My default when writing is to write fiction (and often novel)--but poetry forces me to write differently (shorter, for one) and write about "truths." I think it is also acting as "therapy" for me--about half of what I'm writing is about dealing with recovering from cancer. I won't say it's good writing--but I'm getting it out of my system. A requirement for this class is to also complete a 30-page chapbook. It is taking shape!

My undead novel, SUNLIGHT is about 30 pages away from being a complete 2nd draft. My goal is still to knock this out before the end of January.

This summer I also joined a second writing group in Eagan through my local church. It's been fun meeting other writers who live right in my neighborhood. There are all levels and styles of writers in that group--and it's been great having a different audience for me to give/receive feedback from. (A shout out to Bruce, Rich, Jodie, Roxane and Kate!)

I've sent out a couple short stories this year in hopes of publication. So far only rejections on that front--but I'm also not trying very hard. I do have a poem entered in a contest that will be judged in early December. Fingers crossed....

Shawn

Where's Shawn at? On the one hand, procrastinating. On the other, in the weeds. To Kill the Goddess is done, pending a copy edit. When will that happen? Once I get further along with Book 2, which is in said weeds. I have a little over one third of the first draft done, but this book is a bear. Book 2 is – at its heart – an old school order vs chaos fantasy epic (think Michael Moorcock) and the writing of it pretty much embodies the topic. The story wants to cut loose and go every which way. For now I'm letting it, but at some point I'm going to have to impose some order and wrestle the darn thing into shape. Elric would sympathize.

Claudia

Claudia has temporarily set aside her book to pursue her passion for herpetology. It turns out, however, that the snakes won’t enact the little scenes she writes for them, so she’ll be heading back to her 3rd draft of Ursula Evermore and the Case of the Man who Wasn’t soon.

Lately, Claudia’s writing has consisted mostly of press releases. She feels pretty lucky in her day job, where she gets to work with The Moving Company, a national theater company based in Minneapolis. She’s been busy this month helping to launch their production of Love’s Labour’s Lost. A review. It's now showing in Minneapolis, click here.

Lisa

1). She's finished trying to weave her five post-plastic apocalypse stories together into a novella and awaiting Scribblerati's comments on how successful she was

and

2). Has tried her hand at a fairy tale, trying to get at the power of fear of our deepest desires. What she likes most about the hero of the story (Birch) is the tattoo of an octopus arm that she was given by the sea; what she likes most about her anti-hero (the flat-chested woman) is the lengths she will go to quiet her fears. Lisa also likes the trees which were once whales an awful lot too.

and

3). She's contemplating her next story. She thinks it will involve a girl and an acorn. An acorn of a girl? It's still shadowy.

Jon

And me?

I'm currently finishing up a small writing project. I've talked about it on my own blog. Long story short? After my last WIP crashed and burned, I have been spending some time on a quartet of story ideas, writing a rough 1st Chapter for each one. I'm just about done with the fourth and final one now. It was a fun exercise, a creative workout, and I'm hopeful one of the eventual results is a ready and waiting springboard into future projects, plus, that it will stop those nascent, but very insistent book ideas from rattling around in my head, clamoring for my attention, and generally distracting me while I'm busy trying to focus on my next project.

What is that next project?

I intend to return to a former WIP that I finished the 1st draft of about two years ago. I wasn't very happy with that draft at the time, I felt it needed a lot of work. So, after it was done, I set it aside to let it stew a bit. In the time since, I've just been kind of thinking about it in the back of my head, and I've finally hit on some ideas concerning what to do with the book moving forward. I'm ready to dive back in. So that's my plan for the new year. Hopefully by Fall I'll have a brand spanking new 2nd draft all done. Hopefully.

Also, there was this here: My Short Story. I was a bit busy with that too.

Woo.

So, that's it. That's the news. That's where we've all been lately. Time marches on, and the Scribblerati are busy entering a new phase in their careers.

Keep an eye out for us, folks, we're doing stuff.
Jon

What is best in life?

So true, so very, very true. But he forgot a part y'know. It's true. Do you know what's really best in life, or maybe more accurately, do you know what is ALSO best in life?

A day of writing.

That's what I'm doing this weekend. I have to mow tomorrow and I may have to do some grocery shopping at some point too. Plus, I am definitely going to see the Avengers again tonight. (Wait, what? You haven't seen the Avengers yet? What the HELL is wrong with you, man? Go. Go on... Go! Ugh!... some people...) Anyways, that's my plans for this particular weekend, a couple of errands, nothing else, nothing....

Except for writing.

You see, a couple of weeks ago, I took up a new six month position at the Salt Mines. They were having a lot of turn-over lately due to a recent (and quite frankly somewhat excessive--I'm looking at you, Head Overseer Mungo) rate of slave deaths, coupled with the openings of several new mines, so now my days have been starting early and running long once again.

These days, I get up with the sun, pack in with all the mewling, stinking dregs of humanity all jammed in tight into their cattle car, and I spend my days writing down the general process of drudgery and shame that makes up daily life here at the Salt Mines, and all in order to ensure that the other business casual day-slaves are clear on what exactly is expected of them and how exactly they are to go about doing it.

It's really not that bad, to be honest, at least as far as Salt Mine slave positions go. It's a lot of: Mine the salt. Load the Salt. Lug the salt out of the mine for your masters. Be quick about it, or we'll whip the crap out of you. Repeat until you die.

For this I get nearly $0.15 an hour and a hole to piss in, too! Ha! I swear, it is just like Christmas. The downside, of course, is that my writing schedule has been thrown off.

Maybe "thrown off" isn't quite the right term. Derailed. That's a good way to put it. In fact, in the past two weeks, I haven't written at all. It is frustrating, to say the least.

(sad face...)

This weekend though, oh, this weekend! This weekend, I get back on track. This weekend, I remember what is good in life and I make myself a little time to get some writing done. In fact, I'm gonna get started right now!

You should try it. Make some time to work on your writing. I feel better already.

Thank you, Conan!

Jon

The Dog Days of the First Draft

They say the most important part of writing is to finish something.



That's it.

Edits? Critiques? Rewrites? Yes, that is all very important too, most definitely, but without actually finishing something, then what's the point, right? In the early stages, you have to keep that forward momentum going. You have to ignore the glaring faults. You have to ignore the inconsistencies. You have to ignore all those nagging doubts nipping at your heels like a pack of wolves looking to bring you down.

You have to finish. At least, that's what they say...

But it's not always that easy, you know?

No. In fact, it's really hard. Most people won't do it. Most people can't do it, because it's hard. It's hard to keep going when you know there are problems and there's no end in sight and it all feels just... terrible. 

Plot problems. Pacing problems. Inconsistent details. Unecessary characters. Things to add. Things to subtract. Unclear direction. Not enough description. Too much description. Questions of value and worth. Concerns about marketability. You should never write toward the market, but that doesn't mean you should be wasting your time on a dud project, right? And how do you know if it's a dud project or not? Questions, comments and concerns. It pokes at you. It slows you down and it can stop you cold. It threatens to take you out at the knees.

That's where I am right now, the middle of nowhere with a long way to go.

I'm working on my second book, so I've kind of touched on these ideas before. 

I've talked about starting over. I've talked about motivation. I am a little over halfway through the first draft now (at least, that's what my general plotting tells me), which means I am smack dab in the doldrums, slogging through a narrative quagmire as I try to bridge one part to the next, plagued with motivation and world detail questions, blah, blah, blah... right? It's maddening, but you have to ignore it and keep on keeping on, because as soon as you start editing and re-editing, and then editing some more, as soon as you start spinning your wheels, staring at that blank page and worrying about what comes next, as soon as you start fretting over value...

You're sunk.

You have to finish. I mean, really, what other choice do you have? Quit writing? No, you have to remember that it's supposed to be like this. After all, what's the common addendum to the Finish Something Rule:

But that's the sticking point, right?

I may know that I can come back, that I can fix it all later, but sometimes it is hard to keep that in mind. At times I feel like that room in my head filled with all the junk and scrap and bits and pieces that I drag out and hammer into the shape of my stories is pitch black and I am just stumbling around in there hoping to find my way. And sometimes it feels like that's not going to happen, that I'm just stumbling around in the dark. Lost. That's scary. It threatens the whole project.

I know my first book was a struggle. I know that. Thinking back on it now, it seems like it just kind of happened. One day: Poof! Book. Like I just wrote a few chapters, I planned ahead a bit, maybe changed my mind here and there, wrote a bit more when some stuff occurred to me and then it was done. Boom.

First draft finished, easy-breezy, lemon-squeezey!

That's a lie, of course, a recollection colored by fear and doubt and probably the failings of an aging mind, but still... When you're in the middle of it all, and that second draft is so far away, it's hard to remember that the first draft is an important tool. That it's just a frame work, a map to something better. It's hard to remember that the First Draft is just that, a First Draft, one of many and that it's not done.

And honestly, barreling ahead? That can often be the fun part. What happens next? It could be anything. It could be inspiring. It could be new and brilliant and twisty and awesome. It could change everything. What happens next? It could be amazing, yeah, but that fear and doubt reminds you that it could also be terrible.

But that's the rub, right? What happens next? To find out, you have to keep going. You have to finish, even if it might get ugly.

Keep writing,
Jon

A very Scribblerati Christmas

It's that time of year again, boys and girls: It's the Holidays! It's time for gifts and eggnog and booze and I don't know... reindeers, I guess, and fat burglars or something and... other stuff... whatever. Anyway, we here at the Scribblerati are not above celebrating for no reason, so...



Happy Holidays to you and yours, everyone!

It's been a good year around the ol' workshop table. Lisa is about to send out some queries. Shawn and Mark are wrapping up their manuscripts. Claudia is knee-deep in her second draft. And I have started work on a brand new project and even managed to sell my first short story to boot. We're all in pretty good spots, all things considered, and the reason we are where we are is simple: We've been working, working hard and working often.

Why?

Because that's the trick. That's the whole secret. Butts in the seats, brothers and sisters...butts in the seats.

So in these yule loggy days to come, through the rummy haze of friends and family and wise men, while the rest of them are airing their grievances and performing feats of strength, remember to squeeze in a few moments for yourself. Take some time. Jot down some notes. Plot out some points. Sketch out some characters. Churn out a couple of pages.

Keep writing!

Your pal,
Jon

Self Promotion

Is self promotion worth it?

The question comes up now and then with us writers, especially among those of us deep within the vast herds of the unpublished or the about to be published. Should you be taking yourself away from valuable writing time, valuable product-creation time, in order to possibly maybe/maybe not drum up a handful or two of new readers? Is it worth the time and effort?

The conventional wisdom seems to be: No.

There are those out there that swear by self promotion and all the myriad of potential bounties it will lead to and they have specific cases they will cite and cite and cite ad nauseum to prove this. The thing is, most authors (that I've seen/read/talked to/whatever) who've been there seem to say they got very little benefit out of their efforts and that ultimately, the writing is the most important part and if you're out there banging your drum all day screaming "HEY! ASSHOLE! LOOK OVER HERE, JERKS! AAAAHH! AAAAHH! BOOOOOK!" ...or something to that affect... you're wasting valuable time, time you could be writing. And without that writing, you've got nothing, most especially, you've got nothing to promote. So... get back to writing, right?

And there's the question: How many people do you actually expect to reach? 7? 15? 50? 104? 392? Huh? HUH? How many? And have you ever stopped to consider how many are needed to make an actual SALES difference? Take a moment and ask yourself, how many connections of value do you really have? In the sudden harsh light of those hard numbers, how can the internet version of a one-man band at a street fair come off as anything but a waste of time, money-wise? Isn't promotion better left to professionals? Is it anything but constant work for very little provable gain? After all that, how can it not boil down to the fact that, in the end, it was time that would have been better spent writing?

But there's that nagging little voice...

What's wrong with spreading the word a bit yourself? What can it hurt? And what if it helps? What if that one shameless little self-toot was all the blatt you needed to bring yourself to the world's attention and as a result, open a big time door?

And then there are those success stories, those tantalizing, golden and undeniable success stories, ones that deserve the accolades and success, and even more maddening, ones that most definitely do not. And you gotta wonder, what if a little bit of self promotion was the secret, the last little push needed to ascend the peak. What if? What if? What if? After all, no one wants to miss the boat.

So which is it?

Yay? Nay? Maybe the answer to enjoying the benefits of self promotion lies, much like twinkies, in balance and moderation. Maybe, much like twinkies, too much of it is a bad thing. And maybe, much like twinkies, too little is also a bad thing.

Mmmm... Twinkies...

Myself?

I'm going to go for the balance.

(With self promotion, not Twinkies... I am just a man, after all, I am no god...)

In the time since finishing Gunslingers of the Apocalypse and starting my blog about my efforts to get published... and comics I like... and some movies too... and the occasional cute girl... and other stuff I like, but I digress, ever since I started all that, I've been signing up at messageboards and finding blogs and websites, places that look like folks that share my particular interests, and thus may enjoy my book, hang out.

My initial plan was to maintain a presence there, and then, when the day came and my book was imminent, I'd spew links all over those places. All over. I was planning on being a ticking info-bomb ready to explode. BOOM! BOOOOOK! LOOK AT MY BOOK! READ IT! LOVE IT! LOOK AT MY BOOK, DAMN YOU! DO IT! DO IT NOW! ...or something to that affect...

The reality however, is that I am way too lazy to bother with most messageboards anymore and frankly, at this point, I lack patience for the types of people who would happily dub themselves as regulars at those kind of places, you know? Ew, right? Anyway, I'm still gonna splatter-link them, eventually... they'll just have less clue it's coming.... Or who I am... Anyway, that's just about it. A little effort that may yield some interest, maybe, but not take up too much time. Other than that, I'm just going to stay open to any other possibilities and should one fall in my lap...

This is The Culture Buzz. It's run by my long time friend John Busbee. He's someone who has been active in the arts community of Des Moines, the greater Iowa area, and beyond (Mark, he did Locations on the Crazies, FYI) and his site is all about the arts and upcoming events and things of interest concerning theatre and movies and literature, what have you.

It's a great resource about the Arts.

And I am an Artist.

Heh.

Seriously though, John and I have recently done an interview. It's about fifteen minutes or so and it's all about me, my book, trying to get published and all and sundry, basically the trials and tribulations of the process. It'll be available soon on The Culture Buzz as a free download and he and I will be talking periodically as the process continues and I hope you'll take a moment and have a listen. It's not up yet, of course, so keep an eye out, keep checking back. In the meantime, swing on over and peruse all the fun that The Culture Buzz offers. Say hi to John for me

So, toot. I have begun.

Look at me,
Jon

Motivation

Hi-ho, Jon here!

I can't help but notice, on this fine and overcast morning, the near constant tittering blurts of "TGIF!" echoing up and down the long gray rows of cubicles here at the day prison, the gasping voices tinged with equal parts desperation and a sickly relief, and that can only mean one thing... it's Friday! Yay! Which also means... it's New Blog Day! Double yay! Not only that, but the spinning bottle has finally wobbled its way down to a slow stop and it's pointing right at me again, so strap yourself in, you lucky ducks, because you're about to spend seven minutes in heaven with yours truly, no ifs, ands, or buts about it...

(wink)

The bad news is, I wrote something up just the other day on my own personal blog: This is Mine, mostly concerning the status of my current projects, so I'm a bit tapped out. Consternation, folks. Consternation has nearly been on my mind for almost the last day or so... what shall I blog about...

And then... inspiration struck! Suddenly, I recalled the little conversation the Gentleman Scribblerati had at the end of our last meet! We talked and we chatted, mostly concerning the status, level, consistency, and quality of our group in general (In short: Good!) and the effort that we've all put into obtaining that level, (in short: A lot!) and that put me in mind of a blog posted by Sci-fi writer and longtime blogger Jon Scalzi.

He put this up a few months back and it stirred some muck up and down the internet for a bit. It was funny watching the camps square off. One side agreed with him, the other most vehemently did not, offering a litany of excuses as to why, and in the end, somehow missed the irony, while a third side complained about the swearing. I fell in with the formers, as Scalzi's stance is really just a longer version of what I've decided, after taking various classes, meeting multiple authors, and reading countless blogs, is actually the only real, practical, and applicable piece of writing advice out there, the only real way to "become" a writer, which is...

The only way to "become" a writer

as learned by Jonathan Hansen

1. Sit down

2. Shut up

3. Pen to paper

4. Repeat

Everything else seems to be details which may or may not apply to your own personal situation. It seems like every author has started differently, they've learned differently, they've written differently, and they've edited differently. It seems like every one of them advises you to follow the querying guidelines and yet, it also seems like every one of them has specifically NOT followed those guidelines on occasion. Every person you talk to, every account you read, it's all different, except for one thing.

1. Sit down

2. Shut up

3. Pen to paper

4. Repeat

In short: If you don't have a product, no one's going to buy.

Here's Scalzi's blog. It's good and funny and profane and insightful, like most of his stuff. Go check it out, if for no other reason that he is current SFWA president. If you don't regularly read his blog or his books, you should.. I recommend Old Man's War, which has one of the best opening lines ever:

"I did two things on my seventy-fifth birthday. I visited my wife's grave. Then I joined the army."

Nice. Anyway, here's the link.

Whatever: Finding the time or don't.

Until next time, kids,

Jon

Old, New, Different and Broken

BLACKHEART PROGRESS

Today I finished my latest revision of Blackheart Chapter 13 and sent it off to the Scribblerati for feedback. I’m excited because this marks my crossing over into the last half of my book both page and chapter-wise for this revision. Slightly over-half way there. Whew. I’m a happy guy.

SUNLIGHT

I’m taking a six-week “book-in-a-month” workshop from the Loft http://www.loft.org/.

So far it is going well, so well it nearly brought me to tears today (well, almost. I can’t say why, it would be a “spoiler”). It’s a good workshop so far with lots of other interesting, talented fellow writers. I’m mostly happy about the volume of material I’m producing. 6500 words in the last 8 days. My goal for class is 50,000 words, or in the words of Ann Lamott, one shitty first draft.

http://www.orcutt.net/othercontent/sfds.pdf

(I’d even be happier yet if it’s a good first draft). We’ll see how it goes.

Here’s my rough premise of my second novel I’m calling SUNLIGHT (so far):

Job, a police officer, races to deliver a military secret across post-apocalyptic, rural Minnesota, avoiding the nocturnal, undead creatures that stole his family.

Another cool thing about this class is that it has reminded me of three things:

1) If you are going to write you need to allot some time and make it a priority

2) If you set a goal you might actually reach it, and—

3) It’s good to sometimes evaluate where you are wasting time. For the duration of this class I decided to give up online poker. Online poker is something I’m pretty good at. I’ve won a couple tournaments and have won over a million dollars in fake-chips. My official title is “Champion”—But—I’ve also wasted weeks of free time playing it (a few minutes at a time) for nothing other than fun. No more. I’ve gone cold turkey.

SEGWAY… or time to try something completely different

So this week my wife and I decided to go on a Segway tour. You know, Segway, the two-wheeled devices that were supposed to revolutionize all human transportation? Yeah. Right.

http://www.segway.com/

It was kinda fun, mostly, and something different—which I think is also an important part of being a writer—living, trying something new, avoiding ruts, trying to look for new perspectives. If I don’t live and experience new things, even in simple ways, how can I truly bring my characters alive in my writing?

OUCH

The problem with trying something new is that sometimes you get hurt. That is an experience, too, I suppose. Now I will know how to write a character with a broken arm. I’ve also come to appreciate just how useful a second arm is for say, tying a pair of shoes.

For you see, when riding a Segway, that is based on following your body’s motions to decide which way to go, it is bad form to make a sudden movement southward on an eastbound Segway. What I learned, to make a long story short, is that if you do such a thing, gravity and cement, even at low speeds can be unforgiving. My left arm is now splinted and my typing speed has been cut in half for the immediate future.

The funny thing is that the day after I had this accident one of my co-workers told me, “You can’t fall off a Segway.” My arm and this video say otherwise: http://bit.ly/crashez

(My accident is best recreated by the chimp. We had the same color helmet.)

Someone told me even Obama has fallen off a Segway and there have even been some deaths from falls off these harmless looking devices. That being said I’d do it again sometime—but I’d pay more attention and might bring my elbow-pads.

Now to mend…

Wiscon and Philosophy

Two weeks from now, I will be in Madison for Wiscon, the Feminist Science Fiction Conference. Going to readings and getting writing tips from the pros. Selling my freaky woolen creatures (hopefully). Staying with my best friend, which means learning new hooping tricks and playing (losing) endless geeky girl strategy games. Yup: my own version of heaven. And it's within driving distance.

One of the things I'm excited for this year is the free writing workshop Wiscon offers. I'll be getting my first 10,000 words critiqued by a small group of fellow as-of-yet-unpublished writers and an author. I've done this once before, two years ago. Here's where I was in the writing process at that time: I'd taken a Loft Children/Young Adult writing class; had a complete draft, with at least one full revision done; I'd gotten positive responses from my fellow classmates and instructor; my mom loved my story (cue flashing red warning lights.) I was ready to send my baby out to the world of agents. She was so cute, who wouldn't snap her up for a nice cuddle?

I sent out four queries.

All rejected within a couple days.

And then I went to Wiscon, and discovered the novel was not, in fact, ready for mass consumption. My pacing was off and, lo and behold, I wasn't writing for Young Adults like I'd thought. I was writing for Middle Graders. I got lots of great advise from the other writers, and the professional. And I've taken that advice and run with it. Plus, I've also taken another Loft class since then, this one focusing on Science Fiction, and I've improved the novel through two sets of revisions with my fancy schmancy super duper writing group. I know it's better. Much, much better.

So, I've been feeling the urge to start looking up agents again. But, this time, I'm going to wait until after Wiscon to send off any queries. Hopefully, I'll get feedback that assures me that it's just about time. And if not, well, I'll most certainly like the novel even more once I'm done working through whatever suggestions I'm given.

One last tidbit, to tie in with my last post. In the previous Wiscon writing workshop, the pro (again, who gave me tremendously useful advice overall) wondered if I needed the philosophy. Couldn't I tell the story without three teenaged pseudo-reincarnations of Plato, Thomas Hobbes, and Simone de Beauvoir? Maybe I can. But at this point, I still think the story is richer with the philosophical elements. I'm curious about any Wiscon feedback I'll get on this point.

Stay tuned.

The Philosopher's Stone

Take a look. Take a good look. Especially if you're reading this from somewhere in the U.S.

Yup. You see it now, don't you. Someone's been mucking about with the title. Everyone knows the first installment of the Harry Potter heptology is called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. What's this Philosopher's Stone business?

Well, I'll tell you. This cover is a British cover--sporting J.K. Rowling's original title. Yup, you heard it here. The ORIGINAL title. (Okay, who am I kidding? You probably know this already, right?) Rowling's title was changed at the request of the U.S. publisher.

Well, excuse me. (Yeah, really, just give me a sec so I can climb up on my high, high horse...)

Alright then: So, if you've been following my posts, you know that I'm a philosopher. And so I have issues with the switch from a philosopher's stone to a sorcerer's stone. I get that some words don't translate well from British to American English. Pretty sure I would have been confused if I'd read that Harry et. al. ate potato jackets for dinner, followed by a dessert of quivering mountains of lime jelly, one peak of which unfortunately toppled and messed up their scarlet and gold wooly jumpers. So, yes, translate away. But, whereas British 'jelly' means American 'Jell-0', we are not dealing with a mere issue of clarifying meaning here. When the Brit's say 'philosopher', they're not referring to what we North Americans are referring to when we say 'sorcerer'.

In case you aren't aware, the Philosophers' Stone is a reference to the as-of-yet-unfinished philosophical/alchemaic project for discovering how to change base metals into gold. (We're just on the brink of a major breakthrough. I swear.) Also: an Elixir of Life, and producer of Immortality. In other words, something Voldemort *shudder* would love to get his scary, claw-like hands on.

The sorcerer's stone? Never heard of it.

So, why did the U.S. publisher want to change the title? Apparently they thought kids wouldn't be interested in a book with the word "philosopher" in the title. So, what we have here is a snub (remember I'm sitting on a very high horse right now. But I'm getting off it. Right...

...now.) It used to be that after I first started teaching and people asked what I did for work, I'd tell them I was a professor. I'd dread the question I knew was coming next. "Neat," they'd say, all bright-eyed and interested, "and what do you teach?" There'd be a pause, while I clenched and unclenched my jaw. Eventually I'd have to tell them. Invariably, their eyes would lose all their glorious, shiny sparkliness and they would say, "Oh." We'd stare at each other for a minute. They'd realize that their drink needed refilling and they'd wander away. Or they'd say, "I took a philosophy class in college." And then go on to tell me about how it was either their worst class EVER, the worst prof they'd EVER had or the worst grade they'd EVER gotten.

If that were the end of the story, then, yeah, it wouldn't make much sense to put the word philosophy on the cover of a book you wanted to have any parent buy (unless that parent was a philosopher--and you'd be reaching out to pretty small market there.)

But something's changed. Now when I tell people what I do, they smile. They want to know more. They want to know what books I would recommend, who my favorite philosopher is. They tell me they majored in philosophy. Oh my, people seem to really like philosophy.

I'm hoping so anyway. Coz' it works best when you write what you know. And one thing I know something about is philosophy. So philosophy filters through my writing. I've got characters who are inspired by real philosophers. I've got ideas and conflicts that are inspired by philosophers. And I'm hoping that kids and their parents will be open to the word 'philosophy' and come to love my characters, conflicts and ideas as much as I do.

Although, at this stage, I'm mostly just hoping that an agent and then eventually a publisher will be open to the word. But more on that in my next post.

Right now I've got to get back to the philosophy lab. I'm quite confident that next time I'll be posting as the new and improved, *sparkle* Immortal *sparkle* Lisa. No wait, the new and improved, immortal Lisa who has her pockets jam packed with pretty, pretty gold nuggets.

Pretty sure you'll want to be my friend then, huh?

Can’t talk, working…

A bit late, but better late than never, right?

Right…

So, anywho, I finished my book… oh, in March or so, as all of you regular readers probably know by now, and then I took about six months off from it. I queried around a bit, I wrote some other stuff and I collected some rejections. I’ve sent 12 out so far—queries, that is… and I’ve had a couple of partials and a full request, but ultimately, six Nos have returned.

Them’s the breaks…

But somewhere around the turn of the year, I got a wild hair and I lifted my novel from the dust it lay in, creaked open it’s cover, and then I started cutting. Cutting like a mad man, a MAD MAN, I say! And the results? Stupefying. That's when I had the thought. It was a good thought, a dangerous thought, and as I had precious little time, my plan formed quickly. I figured, if I moved fast enough, what with the Holiday lull of office closings and all, I could cut, I could strip down, I could pare, and then I could re-assemble… and all before I received (fingers crossed) more requests for additional pages.

So that’s what I’ve been busy doing and you know… so far, so good.

I’m nearly done now, so very nearly done (last chapter, twenty-ish pages...), and with only one response having shown up in the interim to boot (and who cares since it was a No). I still need to implement the changes I've made, of course, but that’s okay, the heavy lifting is basically done and I still have the original doc saved in a different file and ready to go out at a moment’s notice, just in case.

I’ve got to say though, I am dead excited for these changes. Dead excited. Really. I can’t wait to see my book's new form. I have been hacking, people, broad strokes, and frankly, I am shocked at what I am so easily willing and able to cut loose. Six months later and I can see it clearly now: Those old bits that were always meant to lead somewhere but then didn’t, the moments that might have almost come together into something, but never quite did, and those meandering tangents and flights of fancy… GONE!

It’s hard to describe the feeling, if you haven’t ever worked on a long project like a novel, that feeling where you know something isn’t working, and you eventually just move on, returning again and again to hack at it and hack at it and hack at it, and sometimes, if you're lucky, it suddenly all becomes clear, sometimes your mind just opens up and you realize: “Why don’t I just say what I want to say here?” and then... it totally works. Totally, it's golden and it’s perfect and you just kind of shake your head and wonder why you were having such a problem in the first place.

But sometimes?

Sometimes you go through that exhausting process… and nothing. Nothing! It’s so frustrating. You know it’s not working, but what do you do? It's just sits there, awkward and ugly, an ungainly bastard squatting there and ruining your rhythm... bastard! And then one day, you just cut it loose, excise it like a festering wound, and...

It’s an instant and complete sigh of relief. As soon as you hit that delete button… you just know. You feel better right away, you know it’s the right decision—even if you liked that one little turn of phrase in there… It’s just better this way. It even looks better, you know? Well, that’s how this edit has been. It’s just been right and I think the end product is going to be really good. Like I said: Dead excited. Of course, no one’s really going to notice the differences as much as I do, but still…

I'll come right out and say it: I’m expecting the Dewey Oxberger of WIPs here, people: A lean, mean, fighting machine.

Hand in hand with all that of course, is the tantalizing prospect that I will soon be done. Thank God! The thought that I will soon be done and moving on, man... finally? It's brilliant. And I am ready too, believe me. After three-ish years, I am itching to get writing again. Book Two waits patiently for me, of course, but before I dive back in there, and once Gunslingers is put to bed forever and ever (hopefully), I'm going to work out a bit, limber up, stretch out the old writin' muscles. I’m feeling the urge for something a little different, so I think I'm going to try out a few short stories… and buddy, I got some ideas. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, I got some ideas.

And best of all?

There are still six unanswered queries out there... Dewey Oxberger, man, Dewey Oxberger...

In Praise of Time

"The people in this book might be going to have lived a long, long time from now..."

So starts Ursula K. Le Guin's Always Coming Home, a novel written as though it were a text created within a new discipline: an archaeology of the future. It includes the record of the poetry, stories, lives, mythology, philosophy, religion...of a peoples who are not yet living. The 525 page novel also includes maps, over 100 pages of glossary and index materials, and, in a box set, even a cassette recording of the music and poetry of the Kesh.

A critique session or two ago, Claudia mentioned that she couldn't figure out the correct verb tense to use for a particular spot in her novel, because her main characters are time travelers. (They are also interesting, stubborn, hilarious, and sexy; you will want to get to know them, trust me.) Anyway, when I picked up Always Coming Home from the library shelves and, on reading the first line, put it immediately in my pile to check out.

They might be going to have lived a long, long time from now.

Oh yeah. It sounds a bit off. It stops your brain from continuing on the paths that it wants to go along. It catches you up. And suddenly you are thinking. About time and reality and how you fit in, and then you're just loving Ursula for what she's done to you.

Soon after I started reading the novel, a student in one of the philosophy classes I teach said, and I quote, "If I have to think about time travel right now, I think my head is going to explode."

Which I loved, because that's my job: getting students' heads to explode. Getting my own head to explode. I speak figuratively, of course.

At core, philosophy should be getting our brains to wake up from the ruts they so easily get stuck in and start seeing ourselves, other folk, and world (aka: Life, The Universe, and Everything) in new and startling ways.

And thinking about the mechanics and paradoxes of time travel is a lovely way to make your brain swivel inside your skull.

In my novel, which also includes some time travel, I'm attempting to uncover non-human understandings of time. How would Beryl (a bear disguised in human skin) understand time? How would a tree?

Thinking back on my years in philosophy, I can see the history that has led me to become the writer I am:

In an African philosophy course I took as an undergraduate, I learned that not everyone thinks of time linearly: my instructor, Ifeanye Menkiti, talked about how time in some African understandings includes a distant past, a present, and a near future, but no far future, instead the line of time bends backward from the present/near future toward the past, rather than continuing on indefinitely into the future.

In my dissertation I examined the work of James Hamill, who studied Navajo logic and some of the ways their system of reasoning differs from Western/European systems, precisely because they have a circular sense of time, while ours is linear. Which again, in my very limited understanding, might imply that there is no far future, the present always circling back to the past, the past circling back toward the future/present.

I'm currently teaching Simone de Beauvoir in my ethics class. Beauvoir is very suspicious of too tightly holding onto a project. We act unethically if we hold on so tightly that we are looking only at the far future of the project's realization, concentrating so hard on that end, an end so distant from ourselves, that the present means nothing, that the means we use to get to that end are completely subordinated to that end, that we do whatever it takes, sacrifice whomever it takes to get to the end. Instead she suggests that we concentrate on the near future.

How cool is all that? Pretty cool if you're a sci-fi loving, philosophy geek.

In my novel, I've taken what I've encountered in philosophy about time, and used it to figure out how time might be understood by the more-than-human world. Especially the spiders. They've just got to have a super-freaky understanding of time. My bet is that of all of us they're the ones who see time most clearly of all, what with all the eyes and the spinning.

But like Claudia, I have to think hard about how to communicate other species' understandings of time in a human language. In a critique session that is coming soon to a cafe near you, I'll find out how well The Sclibblerati think I've done with capturing the spiders... But as a preview it goes something like this:

I'll end as I started. I end as I start. I will end as I will start. I will have ended as I did once start. I would have started as I will be going to end.

No seriously, I really mean it. I'll end as I started: with a little Le Guin Wisdom:

"What was and what may be lie, like children whose faces we cannot see, in the arms of silence. All we ever have is here, now."

Back in the saddle again

As many of you will most likely recall from my last post, I am currently in the middle of the Query process for my manuscript Gunslingers of the Apocalypse, and while it is going pretty well for me at the moment (fingers crossed), it is a process that, once started, pretty much runs on its own. So that means that my day to day involvement is: Not-a-whole-lotta. This is an upside, for the most part, as it allows me ample free time... The downside, of course, is that allows me AMPLE free time.

With nothing to do, it’s important to try to keep busy.

In effort to do so, I’ve been working on Book numero dous, dig? Bastard out of Minnesota, it’s called, and it is the second in what will hopefully some day be a wildly successful four book series. Unfortunately, currently, by “working” I actually mean only getting two things done: Jack and Shit.

And apparently Jack has left town.

“So, what’s the problem, my man?” you’re probably asking, you jive-turkey.

Well, the main difficulty I’ve encountered is that after what has to have been at least a year, if not more, of pretty much only doing edits and rewrites, re-igniting the spark of everyday, nose to the grindstone type writing is somewhat difficult. I mean, I can still do it when I sit down, and the pages I’ve ended up hammering out recently (around 70-ish so far with a total count of about 20,000 some odd words) are ones that I’m generally pretty happy with, but that old consistent dedication?

Gone.

Yes, work and life can get in the way occasionally, but whatever, that’s normal, a truism for everyone. I can deal with that. In fact, I still live a lifestyle where I can make time for writing, if I have to, but honestly, it’s not really too big of a problem. Even with the daily demands on my time that the cubicle-prison imposes upon me, regular writing time is still available pretty much on a regular basis, and without much effort on my part either.

But getting started again? After a day or two of inactivity? Getting back into the chair, and even more so, getting back into that frame of mind? Then slogging it out through the roughest, swampiest first drafts of linking scenes set midway through an introductory chapter? That is hard, hard work, peeps. Pounding it out at the keyboard, rain or shine, day in and day out… it is not such an easy thing to fall back into.

I used to have that discipline, you know.

In fact, I had it in spades, I remember it and the late night writing sessions very well. I was a monster then, a page pounding machine hell-bent on decimating my manuscript’s incomplete status… but after wandering a bit far afield for awhile, I have now returned home to begin the process anew and… where has it gone?

Maybe it’s just a case similar to when you return to a work-out schedule after a long time off. Certain muscles won’t be as tight they used to be, or as used to being utilized at all, for that matter, and it takes a little bit of time and dedication to get them pumping at a good pace again, right?

Or maybe, this is just a reflection of the first book and the inherent differences in their creation process…

Gunslingers of the Apocalypse was created in a vacuum, you see. In a time when I was ultra-poor and therefore home-bound, it was just me, a kitchen table, a possibly stolen laptop, and a writing exercise for David Housewright’s Loft class that was tackled the night before it was due, after a particularly depressing late-winter bus ride. The book grew out of that four page blurt of writing. The ending formed once I started to think about the beginning, and the middle just kind of appeared like a natural bridge between the two. But the project itself wasn’t even a real project, not until 3 or 4 chapters in, at the earliest, and it certainly wasn’t seen by any eyes other than mine until the completion of the First Act, some 200 pages into it and several months later, give or take.

But Bastard out of Minnesota? That has been BOOK TWO in one form or another since somewhere around halfway through Book One’s initial draft. Its story pieces had begun to coalesce in the back of my head well before the first draft of Gunslingers was even close to being completed. In fact, Book Three and Book Four have done a similar thing, currently they’re just a couple of paragraphs moldering on dusty Word Documents in the back of my hard-drive, after finally and officially being pulled from my head, tossed together, and then left to fester in the dark sometime around the middle of Gunslinger’s third draft. The point is… They’re all INTENDED, get it?

This story has long been A BOOK, you know? Which is a really weird feeling while I tackle it. The pressure of completion, the awareness of WHERE IS THIS GOING has been there from the very first word. There was no secret maturation process this time. There was no: “Hey, surprise! You made a Novel!” moment. It was all just there, half formed and always, readily on display, the bits and pieces crying out for attention instead of just quietly simmering away on the back burner until fully cooked, or at least, until I was within a few chapters of their plot twists and was forced to start paying attention. My fellow Scribblerati Agents have already seen Bastard’s Prologue and Chapter One on multiple occasions (Slightly different versions, of course, and their responses were extremely helpful, as always) and they will be reading (hopefully) Chapter Two for the first time this weekend. So not only is it a different book, but it’s been a completely different process right from the start.

It’s like starting all over again, with a slightly similar puzzle, but in a different language, and that is an intimidating realization.

But the good news? The good news is that last night, I had to sit down and wrap some stuff up. I had to, because I needed to submit it to the group in time for them to read it for Monday, and work and life and the long white of those waiting spaces… they were stubborn, conspiring to keep me from finishing on time.

But I didn’t have an option, so in the end, I just did it. No whining, no distractions, just tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap, and then… done. And it turned out not half bad too. So that’s good news. I can still do it, now I just need to make myself do it regularly again. My hope is: Now that Gunslingers is completely “done,” meaning: I am no longer making any edits or changes until someone new, i.e. an Agent or Editor (ever hopeful), suggests them, that I will now be freed up to focus on Bastard. I intend to do so regularly, even if it means forcing myself to return to a strict adherence to that old writer's saw:

“A writer writes everyday.”

Sometimes discipline and consistency can only come through intensive, oppressive scheduling.

At least… here’s hoping.

(Fun fact: The scene originally written for Housewright’s Loft class? The one that eventually grew into Gunslingers of the Apocalypse? It doesn’t actually appear in Gunslingers, at all, ultimately, the evolution of the book cut it loose. However, an altered version does appear in Bastard out of Minnesota.)

In Praise of Alter Egos

We've been yukking it up--yuking? yuk-ing? yucking? forget it...

We've been busting a gut in our last couple critique session over alter egos. Actually, my fantabulous writing companions have been turned into quivering puddles of giggly silliness when I *occasionally* give feedback that they find out of character coming from a middle-aged, greying, vegetarian, queer mother of a smallish, wee one. Like, say, when I suggest that, oh, perhaps, readers might want more description concerning the nether regions of an eighty-some year-old pants-less zombie. (Whoa, three hyphenations in a row.) That's the G-rated version, by the way. What I really said approached PG-13.

Ah, Alter Egos. I sing your praises. Don't you think that one of the grooviest things about writing is that you get to inhabit a bunch of them? Mayhaps not, but I sure do: I'm a bear who's been turned into a girl! I'm the teenaged reincarnation of a French existentialist philosopher! I'm a sentient potato! (And yes, these are indeed main characters in my novel.) How fun is that?

I also sing praises to Halloween, that orgy of alter egos. This year I was Robin-the-Recycler. The Smallish, Wee One (aka Smunch) decided to be Superman this year. And it was also decreed that I would be Robin. So Robin I was. In our family, because we like to sing praises to Halloween, we have an annual scary foods dinner. Highlights from past years include such themes as Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, Sarah Palin, Poop & Pee (when Smunch was still very much not potty trained,) and severed thumb (in honor of a dear friend who had a bit of a run-in with a paper cutter.) For LOTR, I created Barad-dur out of stuffed grape leaves with the Dead Marshes for dessert: a sheet cake with channels cut out of it, channels then filled with jello and submerged, marzipan dead people. This year's theme: Global Warming. Hence, Robin the Recycler.

Here's this years menu:

Holy Heat Up, Batman!

It's a Global Warming Feast!

Brought to you by the

Environmental Justice League of America

Super (Energy Saving) Man

Robin (the Recycler)

Appetizers

We're really in a Pickle Plate

Methane Burp Cheese Plate with Cracks in the Greenland Icesheet Crackers

Hole(-in-the-Ozone-Layer) Wheat Rolls

Main Course

The Once Enchanted Broccoli Forest

Melting Sour Cream glaciers and clear-cut Broccoli stands lead to denuded desert hillsides of Polenta, Black Bean mudslides, and Yam erosion.

Desserts

"Buy Fresh! Buy Local!" Tropical Fruit Upside Down Cake

And you thought our weather was topsy-turvy? Featuring Minnesota-grown pineapple, papaya, mango and sugar cane.

Glacial Melt Floats

Shrinking Ice (cream) Sheets in a hot ocean of Cider

Ka-Pow! Whammo! Splorch! Smash!

Holy Extreme Weather, Batman!

Writing and Rooting

Here I am:

Looking out into the blogosphere….

Big toe testing the blogowaters….

Allright, I can do this.

Deep breath…

hold it…

and…

Jump!

Hey there. Sorry about the above. It’s my first time swimming in this mighty ocean and I needed a moment.

And now for a confession: I’m a published writer. Five times over. Oh, and then there are the Cons – to date, I’ve been accepted to read from my work at fourteen of those. I’ve also been invited to talk about my writing at Colleges in Vermont, Michigan, Iowa, and even right here in Minnesota.

Scroll down to Shawn’s first entry. Go ahead, it’s a good one. The first Scribblerati post ever. And notice how he describes our writing group: we be five aspiring writers. Guess I forgot to mention some stuff to Shawn, huh?

Because, the thing is: I don’t think of myself as a published author. All the stuff I blathered on about above? That’s all academic writing. The writing you do when you’re faculty at a college or university. Maybe you’ve heard that saying? You know the one: publish or perish? It’s pretty much true. In most academic jobs, until you have tenure, (if you’re lucky enough to have a tenure-track job—which I don’t, btw,) you have to publish, or you’ll find yourself kicked out of those ivory towers. And so, in an attempt to avoid having your head smashed open after they’ve chucked you out the attic window, you publish. (Or you change your name to Rapunzel, grow your hair freaky long, learn some rodeo tricks and free yourself from the blasted tower.)

Anyway, I’m a philosopher by trade, so I have to write philosophical papers, which get read at philosophy conferences, (which we don’t actually get to call Cons,) which, hopefully, get published in philosophy journals. So I can keep getting paid for being a philosopher.

I’m also a fiction writer. Who is very, very much not published. And, in all honesty, not yet ready to be published. But hopefully, with the help of my Scribble-mates, my current project is nearing the state in which the story that I’m trying to tell is told as well as I can possibly tell it. Whether that story, even at its best, is publishable is, of course, another matter. (More on that in an upcoming post.)

Recently, when my work was up for critique by the group, someone (Shawn again) remarked that the writing I do professionally must be pretty different than the writing they’ve been critiquing. And in many ways that’s true: one doesn’t typically get to say things like “freaky-long hair” in an academic article. And yet, at its most basic, I think all of the writing I do starts from the same place.

I want to figure something out. And I want to figure it out badly.

I want to figure something out so badly, that I’m going to write and write and write until I’ve got it figured out. That’s what got me writing my dissertation, Knowledge, Communication, and Difference: An Integrative Theory. It's also what got me writing my novel, Once We Were Bears. (And, on their titles alone, which one would you rather read, dear reader?)

So that’s what my writing always is: I’m rooting around to get clearer about something that’s bothering me. I was bothered by white folks saying stuff like: “I can’t understand what people of color go through.” Bothered by it even though I know there is truth in the statement; bothered even knowing that one can say it with the best intentions. Because, I thought, shouldn’t we whites be trying to understand what folks of color go through? And since philosophers had done a particularly bad job of addressing the question of whether or not we can communicate what we know to others who differ from us, I thought, “well, this philosopher? she’s gonna try to do better.”

The thing I’m rooting around with in the novel, the thing that’s bothering me, pestering me like tongue worrying a loose tooth is my own participation in the destruction of the wilds. In very large part, our human ways of life, including my own, are making it such that there's a real possibility that the Wildthings won’t be found in our living world anymore. Instead they’ll live on only in books and movies and memories. So, I wonder about the bears.

What would a bear think about me, about humanity? That’s the question I’m trying to answer in my novel.

In the dissertation I argued that we can come to know what another human knows, even if we come from differing knowledge communities. In the novel, I’m trying to see myself and our shared world from the perspective of a bear. And how can I possible come to know that? I’m not sure I can. But maybe, just maybe, by writing and writing and writing, I’ll figure it out.

Getting to know me, getting to know all about me...

Hi, there!

Welcome to the Scribblerati’s new Group Blog. Glad you could make it.

My name is Jon Hansen, I’m a founding member and, believe me, that is as impressive an accomplishment as it sounds, if not more so.

But anyway, this is our place, and we plan on putting up regular posts every Friday, rotating the authorship between members, with random ones snuck in every now and then just to keep you all on your toes. So, with that in mind, and in the interest of getting down to brass tacks here… let’s get this week started.

As Shawn covered in his first post, we, the active agents and members of the Scribblerati, are a Twin Cities Writing Group formed out of Lyda Morehouse’s Sci-fi Loft Class. This happened a little over a year ago, give or take, and we’ve been chugging along ever since then. And as our projects progress, well, now comes the part where we begin to establish our presence on-line. I hope you stay awhile, have a look around and get to know us all.

Now, it’s true, at first glance, our group does tend to skew a bit genre-ish, and sometimes this can put people off. This particular implication doesn’t bother us, of course, however, it should be noted that we’re not exclusive to that type of fiction. Not at all. In fact, we are open, willing, and interested in any and all types, but since we met in a genre class, well.... what do ya’ want? Regardless, even within the boundaries of genre, I think it is safe to say that we’re a pretty eclectic and talented group, with each of us currently hard at work on our own particular projects.

Myself, (Jon Hansen… again. Hi.) I have recently begun the Query Process. My book is entitled: Gunslingers of the Apocalypse and it is basically Mad Max meets Dawn of the Dead. It is a tale of love and war and life after the end of everything. I’m hoping, that due to the current market, the fact that it all takes place six months after the zombie apocalypse turns out to be a good thing for me.

Six months ago, the Dead rose and the world came to a sudden and violent end. A virus, new and deadly, burned its infection across the face of the planet. Everything changed then and a new world was born from the ashes of the old. In the aftermath, the choice was clear: You either learned the rules of survival or you joined the legions of the walking Dead.
“Black Magic” Jack El-Hai learns these rules; this is how he manages to stay alive in the fiery ruins of the Collapse when so many others did not. Amidst the chaos, Jack meets a young woman named Noelle Easter -- tattooed, resourceful, and rowdy -- they are a perfect match and soon, wild in love.
Together, they survive the end of the world.
However, staying alive means hard choices, it means spilling blood, it means killing. So when they finally find refuge in a small Midwestern town -- a place spared due to isolation and a tall fence -- Jack and Noelle also find a new purpose: scavenging. They spend their days among the ruins of the old world hunting for the things people need to survive. It’s a dangerous occupation, a daily battle against both the ravenous Dead and the murderous living alike, but the town’s people depend on them.
And while it’s not a great life, it’s better than most…
Lately, though, things are getting worse. Trouble is coming; Jack knows it. The Dead are gathering at the town’s borders in greater numbers, scavengers are dying beyond the fence, and the shaky truce struck with the rival camps of survivors is beginning to crumble. When the town is invaded and an iron-fisted new rule threatens everything he holds dear, including Noelle, Jack quickly discovers that the true monsters are not the ones locked outside the fence…they’re locked within.

Ooooooh… neat, huh? I think so… So, yeah, anyway, after much time and even more effort, I am finally done with the book and I am busy querying Agents, but what does that really mean?

Well, mostly, it means I get to wait. Wait, wait, wait and then wait some more. After that? More waiting. It’s kind of like being in the Army, you know? Hurry up and wait? It’s like that…except minus the hurry part. Each day, I wait for responses while obsessively checking and rechecking my e-mail. I expect rejection and I hope for acceptance, but mostly, I just wait. You see, my “plan” is to send out five Query letters at a time, when one comes back, why I’ll just send another one right out… and right now, they’re all still out there… somewhere… doing something…

And I get to wait.

So…. in the meantime, I am getting back into the already begun second “Black Magic” Jack El-Hai book. Right now, it is tentatively titled: Bastard out of Minnesota. My short term plan is for this book to serve as a distraction from my empty inbox, not to mention the querying process in general. My long term plan is, if I manage to finish this second book and find that I am still un-agented, I will type up the notes on the intended third and forth books, print them out, trunk the whole mess, and then move on to something else.

Until that day though, I continue to establish the series. After all, they say series are an attractive set up when pitching your work and that said series are made all the more shiny to Agents and Editors by having more than one volume completed, or at least started, at the time of initial query. And while, I’m not sure if that’s necessarily true or not, or if there even is such a thing as a hard and fast truism when it comes to walking the path to getting published, hell, I guess every little bit helps, right?

We’ll see…

So that’s me…. Jon.

Any questions?