Janet Reid would be proud. . .

It is fun, dammit. That’s what I’m telling myself as I sit cross-legged on my living room floor, knee-deep in R&R.

I can do this.

Actually, let me amend that: I’ve been doing this. Janet Reid would be proud, I know it. Not that I know Janet Reid, because I don’t. But I respect her expertise very much. Does that count? In my book, she’s right up with the great Chuck Wendig (https://kkelliewriteme.wordpress.com/2013/09/03/eviscerate-me-chuck-wendig/ ), but I digress.

Ever since I heard back from Agent X (she, with the savvy suggestions on how to make CHERRY a better novel and who is not, for the record, Ms. Reid), I’ve been pounding those proverbial keys. Actually, they’re real keys, but that’s beside the point. The point is, I’ve been what you might call a “REVISING MACHINE”, working those revisions for the better part of three weeks now. Has it really been that long? Let me check, which is a stalling tactic I pulled from my little bag o’ tricks labeled “How to Waste Time Efficiently”, which I do whenever I find myself floundering and yeah, when I say floundering, I mean floundering, as in, flopping on the floor spastically whilst foaming at the proverbial mouth. . .

🙂

Where was I? Ahh, yes. I just now checked, and it wasn’t three weeks ago. It was more like six. November 12, to be exact. Lord have mercy. But I shouldn’t berate myself. For one thing, time is relative. . .

🙂

. . .and for another thing, I’ve done a shit ton of research relative to R&Rs, often when I don’t want to actually, you know, WRITE. (Yeah, I know I’ve mentioned that before. Obviously, it bears repeating.) Anyway, researching is much more fun, and my intensive research supports my suspicion that one should never hurry revisions, not where R&Rs are concerned. To quote a certain wicked witch (who bears an uncanny resemblance to my muse ( https://kkelliewriteme.wordpress.com/2013/09/13/you-think-your-muse-is-bad/ ):

These things must be handled delicately. . .

Indeed, they must. Revisions should take as long as they take. To quote the great Janet Reid:

 

Or not. I googled ‘Revise and resubmit Janet Reid’ and found some of her blog posts referencing R&Rs, but none which specifically discusses R&R time frames. I was hoping for a bit of that oft-quoted, well-recognized, expertise. Poo. Perhaps if I’d searched further. . .

But all is not lost. I did find one of the J. Reid 100-word contest thingies I’d entered, way back when (I just now checked: 8/10/13). Submissions were to include the following : fiction, slush, spade, hear, and 262. I thought my submission was pretty good, to wit:

* *  *

This tale is fiction, so I’ve heard (though some declare it fact).

The story goes, he was a quiet man and so, he promised her a single rose for every time he spoke the words I love you.

The first was when he caught her silhouette against a moonlit sky.

The thirteenth time, she’d slipped in icy slush and burst out laughing.

The ninety-fourth, she’d traced her name across his fevered chest.

And every year, he promised to keep counting and she always laughed, and kissed him and proclaimed him daft.

Fifty years.

A thousand tears.

One spade.

262 roses.

*  *  *

Not bad, right? Which brings me back to this R&R business. (No it doesn’t, but I have to get back on topic  sooner or later, soooo. . .) Before I so rudely interrupted myself, I was about to share the extent to which I’ve already revised my beloved novel CHERRY. Let’s see now: I’ve completely rewritten two chapters, wrote an entirely new chapter, moved chapters around, rewritten significant scenes based on all that other good stuff, and cut some. Even so, my net word count has increased by–hang on, let me check–3,500+ –which has kicked my wc over the 76K line. Wow, I’m impressing myself, but I’m not yet done, which propels me toward the conclusion of this shiny little blog post.

I need to get cracking, folks. Bottom line, I can’t afford to rest on my laurels, especially when I’ve been so generously gifted an offer to R&R. I’m quite certain the wise and talented Janet Reid has posted something on her blog relative to the perils of resting on one’s laurels, especially when one has been so generously gifted an offer to R&R.

But maybe I should check first, huh?

In the moment.

attribution: Pete Unseth

Let’s see, today is Valentine’s Day which means. . .

I could do the countdown: next Thursday, six days away.

I could rail against narrow-minded nimrods who find Michael Sam’s honesty abhorrent. I could lament the unrelenting drought in CA and the unrelenting winter storms pounding the East Coast. I could fret over my queries for CHERRY and EFFIN’ ALBERT, curse those who reject me or fail to respond in kk time.

Worry my cowlick. Chew my cheeks raw. Cry.

No. Today I’m living in the moment, where my cat twitches in the midst of a dream and lava rivers flow in free HD. My back aches and my coffee’s cold and a thin veil of dust covers everything. I have a slight headache above my right eye. Friday’s paper rustles in the kitchen and I hear my husband humming. Whistling. On the end table I see the red envelope he left for me, don’t know what’s inside but I can guess. He still makes me smile.

The glass is half full today because I choose to see it that way. Deep breath, in and out and my cat just woke up. He’s looking out the window now and in a moment, so will I.

Living in the moment. Got nothing but time.

Seeing is believing

I was recently featured on a blog. Avery M. Joule (“little_e” on AbsoluteWrite) began a project in which she’s posting interviews with non-published authors whom, she believes, are on the cusp of being published.  (If anyone is curious, the interview is  *here*  ). I don’t know how many folks actually read that little interview in which I talk about EFFIN’ ALBERT. Regardless, it was an honor to be asked.

But even as I wrote out the answers to her questions, I questioned my right to be doing so. Am I really on the cusp? Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’ll be published one day. But I do believe it’s going to happen for three writers: Guinea, Putputt, and mrs fringe.

I’m reading a manuscript right now, a YA fantasy. It’s bloody amazing, so richly constructed; so deliciously,  wonderfully rendered. I wrote about Guinea, the author, before. She’s agented now. It’s not a question of if she’ll be published, but when.

I’ve mentioned Putputt before, too. She’s flying high right now, having procured an agent and just finishing what hopefully are final edits to her wonderful novel. Putputt has been sharing her experiences relative to querying and working with agents on her blog, *here* . No doubt a publisher is going to snap up her novel. I can hardly wait. I’ve read it, I know how good it is.

I’ve been honored to read excerpts from a novel being written by mrs fringe, a friend of mine who lives in NYC. I’ve never met her in person. Doesn’t matter, she and I share the same wavelength, oscillate at the same frequency. She’s a wonderful writer (with an excellent blog, btw, you may find it *here* ). Her stories are richly woven, heart-breakingly honest; her characters, damaged but not totally broken–there’s a thread of hope tethering them to this imperfect world. This author’s work is thoughtful and compelling. She needs to be published: her desire and my observation.

Yeah, she’s that good. They all are. I believe in them, believe they’ll be published authors one day.

Then I look at my stuff. Look at EFFIN’ ALBERT which seems so . . .  sparse compared to the work of these writers. And even as I edit my latest, I wonder if I really have a shot or if I’m deluding myself. I’m (still) waiting for word from the literary agent who requested the full for CHERRY, still waiting to hear from the publisher who requested the same. Meanwhile, I’m revising ALBERT. Once in a while I allow myself to contemplate what if, but then I look at these other writers, the work they’ve done, and I can’t help but think I may not be good enough, my writing may not be solid enough, my stories may not be compelling enough to warrant representation or, dare I say it–

I guess we’ll see.

Here we go again. . .

Querying is kind of like riding a roller coaster: up and down, up and down. Anticipation, exhilaration but first, you have to wait.

And wait. And wait. And wait. Sometimes you have to really effin’ wait. Meanwhile, you try to keep your mind off the fact that it’s out of your hands. Somebody else has your query and first ten pages, or synopsis, or first fifty pages if you’re lucky. Somebody, a literary agent maybe, or a publisher, holds your future in their hands. Or they’ve tucked it in their slush pile.

And you aren’t the only one waiting to hear something. Not by a long shot. Not even close.

So you cross your fingers and wait.

Right now, I’m in line like a thousand other dedicated schmucks who wrote something they think is decent, or more than decent, and now they’re waiting for their shot. I imagine I’m in line at Cedar Point, waiting to ride the Gemini. Trying not to think about what’s coming, what it’s going to feel like but I can’t help but think about it because I look up and SEE those who’ve already made it. They did it or they’re doing it right now. I see them up there, flying high, living the dream and I think, kk, that’s you, girl, not today but someday it will be, maybe. . .

Yep, me and a thousand other schmucks dreaming the dream. But somebody else holds our tickets right now. Whether or not we go on that wild ride is out of our hands now. All we can do is hope and pray they’ll come through for us, deem our novels worthy. Take us under their wings. . .

Oy.

I’m writing this because yesterday I heard from a certain literary agent I’d queried back in June. It started with a tweet. This agent had tweeted a wish list, the types of novels she was hoping to see and somebody from Absolute Write wrote to me: Hey, kk, sounds like she’s talking to you. So I sent my query and first ten pgs. of CHERRY per posted guidelines and by God, I heard back from her, like the very next day: Send me the synopsis and first fifty pages.

Talk about exhilaration. Anticipation. I was so happy and excited! Of course, it was a crap shoot, always is. CHERRY’s not for everybody, it’s something else, to put it mildly. And as the days and weeks and months went by, I kind of resigned myself to the probability that she most likely read it and took a pass. I did keep a tiny, shriveled nugget of hope in my pocket, because we writers tend to do that. When we’re not doubting ourselves and our writing, when we aren’t telling ourselves we suck, we’re feeling that little shriveled nugget of hope, caressing it with sticky fingers, sticky from all the damn chocolate we ate because, you know, we SUCK—

😉

And then yesterday, by God, I get that email. Sorry it took so long, she wrote, it’s been so busy. She appreciated my patience (!!!!). She read the first fifty pages of CHERRY and wanted to read the full, so please–she wrote–if it hasn’t been picked up yet (!!!!), send me the full.

OMG. Maybe this is it. Maybe not, but hey, there’s a chance, right? There’s always a chance. Anticipation. Exhilaration. I don’t know what’s going to happen, maybe nothing. But maybe something great. It’s possible, right?

Lord help me, here we go again.

CHERRY: The Author Speaks! Part One of Two

Whilst driving down the road the other day, I started imagining myself at my very first book-signing. . .

(SIDEBAR: This is something I tend to do whilst driving down the road: imagining wonderful scenarios, like an agent calling me, asking me if I’m sitting down, to which I reply yes, to which he says, I loved your novel, I have to represent it, I won’t take no for an answer!  I admit to being a nut. Certifiable. 🙂 )

This latest soiree found me in a bookstore during my very first book-signing. The book was CHERRY. I was thrilled, nervous, but surprisingly eloquent. I charmed the pants off my adoring audience, answering each question with poise and wit. I was honest–almost to a fault–but that just endeared me further to those who’d driven blocks to hear, from the author’s own lips, how kkellie came to write CHERRY (a NYT best-seller, and critically acclaimed!), how she became a writer, and other fascinating facts!

First, about the in-process painting above~ I’d taken a photograph of a deer and decided to try my hand at painting it in oils, which I’d purchased at a yard sale for three dollars and some change. This is how I paint, and this is how I write: not rendering the whole then adding details, but concentrating on the details–set down and perfected–before moving on.

Just a little tidbit, something to wet your whistle, as they say. And now. . .

Q: Not a question, but thank you for coming here today, kkellie. We are thrilled to have you!

(applause)

kk: And I am thrilled to be here. This is so much fun!

Q: CHERRY is so interesting, fresh and unique. How did you come up with the idea for CHERRY?

kk: The truth is, CHERRY came to me, or was given to me like a gift. I was driving down  Jefferson Avenue in beautiful downtown Trenton, Michigan. I passed a street, CHERRY, and–that fast–I knew what I was going to write next.

Q: Next? You mean you’ve written other things? Oh you have to tell us!!!

kk: I shall, but let’s focus on CHERRY because, you know, this is my fantasy and I want to talk about CHERRY right now.

(laughter, knowing winks)

Funny thing, though. For a few moments there, Steve McGuire was going to be a serial killer. Can you imagine?

Q: Not our sweet Cherry!!

(gasps)

kk: I know. Luckily, that moment passed and cooler heads prevailed.

Q: So you knew the story in a flash? The whole thing, beginning to end?

kk: Yes, I did. It’s so weird. Every novel I’ve written has come to me like that, except for this last one–

Q: You’re writing a new novel??!!

(applause!!!!)

kk: Yes, EFFIN’ ALBERT. I’m up to 60K now, so. . .

Q: We can hardly wait!!!

kk: Me, too. Back to CHERRY–

Q: Who are you most like, David Brandt or Steve McGuire?

kk: I wish I could say Steve McGuire but the truth is, I am a lot like David Brandt in that I can be selfish, self-indulgent, full of angst and doubt. I fancy myself a writer–

(smiles, tittering)

I’m my own worst enemy, but despite my shortcomings, I am a good egg.

Q: Were you worried about portraying Brandt in such a negative light? Weren’t you worried that your readers wouldn’t respond to such an unlikeable character?

kk: Nope. Brandt is who he is. I don’t need my characters to be likeable, I just need them to be interesting.

Q: Not to divulge any spoilers here but. . . were you concerned about putting a [REDACTED] in your novel? Weren’t you worried you’d lose readers?

kk: Initially, yes, I was concerned. That’s why I posed the question in a thread at AbsoluteWrite. The reaction was mixed. Some were vehemently against it. I caught some flack, some suggested I didn’t know crap about [REDACTED], I had no business writing about it, but others understood my reasoning for putting it in there–

Q: What was your reasoning?

kk: It needed to be there, for the story arc, for the character arcs. It ultimately defined the relationship between Brandt and Cherry. Believe me, I gave it a lot of thought and came to the conclusion that it was a risk I was willing to take. It was necessary. I was okay with that.

Q: What about getting an agent or publisher, weren’t you concerned that putting a [REDACTED] in your novel, especially a male-on-male [REDACTED], would turn off prospective agents or whatever?

kk: Again, initially, yes, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not the [REDACTED], per se, that limited my agent/editor pool. Rather, it is the novel in sum: it’s gritty, it’s on the edge, I take liberties with content and format. It doesn’t have a real ending–

Q: Yeah!!!! What’s with that? That’s a heck of a risk to take, kkellie, not giving your novel closure.

kk: But again, it had to be that way. In my mind, there was no other ending. If I ended CHERRY with [REDACTED], or with Brandt [REDACTED]. . .

Q: You are venturing uncomfortably close to spoilerville. Just sayin’.

kk: Pardon me. Let’s just say I left it hopeful, but true to the characters and their story.

Q: Let’s take a break so you folks can shake kkellie’s hand and have her sign your copies of CHERRY. I know you’ve all been waiting. . .

(thunderous applause)

—————————————————–

To my ersatz readers of this blog, I shall conclude this fantasy at a later date, depending on a lot of things. In the interim, should anyone out in cyberspace have a question for kkellie, author of CHERRY, feel free to pose it on this blog.

I am sure you’ll find the author most accommodating.

🙂

Standing on the cusp. . .

She calls herself Putputt.

A fascinating young woman who lives in England, a million miles away and yet. . .

Yesterday, my little Putster posted some wonderful news on AbsoluteWrite: a literary agent loved her novel and wanted to talk to her. . .

Oh joy!!!!!!!!

Her excitement was palpable. I can only imagine how exhilarated she felt, how happy. What did she write?

WHY DOES SHE WANT TO MEET ME!!! Doesn’t she know writers are supposed to be all freaky and totally unsafe to be released unchaperoned in public?? Doesn’t she know I would drown her office in sweat?? AND GIGGLES?? Sweaty giggles??

In all seriousness, AHHHH. I don’t know what to do! I should reply, right? And I shouldn’t say “Holy fucksauce” in my reply, right? Oh, here comes the sweat.

Hold me.

I’m thrilled for her. She’s a wonderful person, so full of life and so sweet, so smart, such a good, good writer. Good things are waiting for her, I know it.

————————————-

She calls herself Guinea.

An amazingly creative woman who writes of elves and double worlds and such. My dear, sweet Guinea breathes South African air, a world away from me and yet. . .

A couple of weeks ago I’d posted some news on my AW query thread: I’d sent a ballsy query to an editor, asked him to read my novel CHERRY, and he’d responded. . .

She wrote:

OMG! OMG! OMG! They’ve offered, haven’t they? OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

So funny!!! And no, no offer, but the editor did ask me to send the full ms, which I  joyously did and then, a few days later, my dear, sweet Guinea told me HER news, to wit:

 I have just had one of the most intimidating and exciting emails and phone calls of my life. . . this morning I got this email: Hello S–, C– has now left the agency, but having heard her speak about your novel it kept popping in to my mind. I know a long time has passed since we were last in touch but I have read the novel and have some thoughts. Perhaps we could speak on the phone? My number is below if you’d like to call the office. Best, H–

So dear Goose. Very, very exciting and terrifying month ahead of me!

————————————-

Two women, standing on the cusp. . .

Put on your big girl panties, swear to CHRIST. . .

Fuckin’ A.

This was gonna be the blog where I write all about the pitch I made on PitchMAS@blogspot.com, pitching CHERRY, knowing my pitch was so far out in left field it wasn’t even funny, knowing I didn’t have a chance and hoping anyway, because I’m an idiot. . .

Scratch that.

Knowing I wrote a really good novel and dammit, somebody out there’s gonna realize that and snap that bad boy up WAIT, what was I just talking about? Oh, yeah, the pitch blog contest thingie.

This blog was gonna be about how I was gone, off the grid, no internet access, trying to have fun camping and meanwhile, every five effin’ minutes my mind’s drifting back that stupid contest, hoping and not hoping, wondering if maybe, maybe. . .

Then I’d write how I got home and put away all my crap, started a load of laundry and fed the cat and put off checking, put it off as long as I could until I couldn’t wait one more second, I turned the ol’ computer on and headed straight to the blog to see if maybe, maybe. . .

And how I started with pitch #56 and started working my way down the list. And how I got to pitch #1 and realized mine wasn’t in-between the two. And how disappointed I was, more than I wanted to admit, more than I was going to admit to anybody. . .

But I was going to buck up, dammit, because I know CHERRY’s good. And tomorrow I’d have another go at it, in that twitchMAS tweet pitch thingie which I told myself I was doing because, dammit. . .

Dammit.

Yeah. I was gonna write that blog. A ‘poor-me-put-on-your-big-girl-panties’ blog. Fuck it, ain’t doing it. And I can say that because damn, I opened my email and saw a note from an agent.

I’d queried her a couple of weeks ago, sent my shiny new synopsis courtesy of AW, and the first ten pages. She liked it. Damn. Damn. She wants to see the first 50 which I sent straightaway and dammit, now I’m all hopeful again. This roller coaster just keeps on rolling. Or is it a crazy train? I don’t know, but this I do know: whatever it is, I ain’t the only one riding that puppy. Right now, I’m watching some crazy twitter #tenqueries thingie with Eric Ruben, Esq., and trying to help my friend Putputt with her query to UK agents–not much help today, I am afraid. Conversing with my friend mrs fringe who is licking her wounds, as I did mine. Thinking about tomorrow’s tweets and that agent and Mr. Eric Ruben, Esq., who is ripping queries like. . . I won’t say it, being as I’m all delicate and everything.

Crazy. But delicate. Insane but I have my reputation to consider. Discombobulated, frustrated, and elated but dammit. . .

What the hell. 

i forgot.

oh ye of little faith. . . 

I’m knee-deep in my WIP and querying my last novel, CHERRY. Both endeavors have been a challenge, nothing new for writers. Trying to write the next great novel whilst trying to sell the last tends to weigh on a writer’s mind. Personally, it’s been tough for me to keep my mind on anything else and with that came a sense of foreboding and panic; wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into, this perpetual mobius strip of writing and querying and waiting and wondering and worrying. Especially, worrying. Is it good? Is it good enough?

I mentioned the agent who took a pass on CHERRY and my subsequent . . . what? Loss of confidence, maybe. Loss of hope. Which, in retrospect, is silly. He’s a great agent but as I’ve said, he’s just one agent. And waiting to hear back from agents or publishers is part of the game. I know that intellectually but emotionally, that agent’s pass threw me for a loop. I found myself wondering if I was fooling myself. I’m not talking about getting published. I’m referring to the caliber of my writing, the caliber of my novels, specifically CHERRY.

People who read CHERRY told me it’s good. This was after I implemented changes suggested by such phenomenal betas at AbsoluteWrite. I agreed with most of what they said and even though it was difficult to cut some of the narrative, move text around, add new chapters, I listened because it made sense. My novel was the better for it and when I finally proclaimed it ‘done’–as done as an unpublished novel can be–I was satisfied with it.

Truth is, I was more than satisfied. I thought it was good. Really good. Should I be humble and say, I thought it was okay, hoping. . .   No, I think the first champion of a writer’s work should be the writer. How do you sell your work if you don’t believe in it, right?

And I did believe in it, swear to god. I sent the query and sample pages to those few indie publishers and my dream agent–that’s what I called him in my heart of hearts–and dared imagine best case scenerios. I actually pictured the agent writing me an email: I’m liking it, kk. A lot. Send me the rest. Then a week went by, and another, and another, and I felt my confidence wane, and then I started doubting myself, doubting my work, wondering, What was I thinking?

My WIP suffered for it. Doubt begats doubt and squelches creativity. And I found myself dreading the prospect of opening my emails and seeing a message from one of those publishers or that agent. And then, there it was. I clicked open the agent’s email with trepidation. Truth is, my heart was hammering. I was expecting the worst and he delivered, giving validation to every crud thought I’d had those last two weeks. He didn’t want to read the rest; ergo, my writing sucks, my story sucks, I suck and I’m fooling myself to think I wrote anything good, anything worthwhile.

Not a good place to be, so what did I do about it?

I mentioned the disappointing news on my query thread at AW. Some really, really nice people wrote to me, offering their support, saying kind things which I truly appreciated. Then I wrote a blog about it, which helped. Then I spent a really nice evening with my husband at a metropark by our house. We saw some deer and a pair of nesting ospreys. We shared a bottle of cheap wine. He listened as I lamented and told me not to be disheartened. Doesn’t matter if the damn thing never gets published, he said.

But it does. I decided I was going to start querying again and I shall do so, next week. Then, yesterday, I grabbed a blanket, beer and my laptop and headed out back. Spread the blanket beneath our apple tree and opened my WIP, and started to write. I’d been at an impasse but the words came easier for some reason. Then I sat back and enjoyed the evening and thought about CHERRY. Was it good?

I used to think so. 

This a.m. there was an email in my inbox from a certain individual who’s read another one of my novels. He’s an award-winning author, an excellent writer, very generous of his time and expertise. He gave me me great advice which I kept in mind when writing CHERRY. I’d sent the ms to him a while back but he got caught up in all of his own stuff, he has a new book coming out and other wonderful things going on. Anyway, he wrote to me early this a.m., telling me he was finally able to get back to reading my manuscript. And I started wondering, oh man, what have I done? Sent this guy my novel, my God, is it a pile of crap? I opened the file this morning and started reading the thing, and I didn’t stop until I was done. 

I finished reading CHERRY a little while ago. It made me cry, just like it did the first time I read it. I love the characters and the story. I think the dialogue’s good. I can’t believe I wrote it, to tell you the truth. I feel like it’s a gift given to me and I shall not squander that, I won’t belittle that, I won’t discount that. I wrote a good book. I know I did. 

I just forgot.