Novella Publication Date: January 26, 2022

As of last Wednesday, I am (officially) a “𝓟ປ𝒃ւĭꗟḩеd ĂປꚌḩ☉𝐫,”
to which I say SQUEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! and also, Oh shit.

Saying the former, because I’ve been querying for a while (aka YEARS)–even had a literary agent for a while do my subbing for me–with nada positive results if you consider, ‘Ok, we want to rep/publish your stuff’ as the only possible positive result (of course, some agents/editors really liked my stuff; they just weren’t confident they could find a big enough audience for my stuff and, ergo, SELL my stuff), until now, when Indie Novella (all hail Indie Novella!!!!) read my novella SOMEBODY KNOWS SOMETHING–

*pause for Shameless Plug*

https://www.indienovella.co.uk/product-page/somebody-knows-something…

…and said, HELLZ YEAH we LOVE YOUR STUFF and we want to PUBLISH YOUR STUFF and (with your help we’re going to) PUBLICIZE YOUR STUFF and FIND THAT AUDIENCE…

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Saying the latter because, now that my little novella is officially “out there,” as they say, I must do my due diligence to get said novella reviewed, bought, read, reviewed, bought, read, etc., etc…

…So I tweeted about my little novella…

*pause for Shameless Plug*

Tweets by kinderkaren

…what was I saying?? Oh, right: I tweeted to promote my little novella, and I joined goodreads (hold on)…

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22129483.K_K_Edwards

…and Book Riot (https://bookriot.com/), and I begged (aka “asked nicely in a very professional way”) for folks to provide honest reviews of my little novella, in exchange for (aka “I will bribe you now”) a pdf or e-pub copy of my novella, free of charge, folks if you will just, please, I implore you, read my little novella and review it on your blog or website or wherever the hell you are, I don’t care, I just need you to please and kindly do this tiny little favor for this very nice and humble debut author; just read the thing (only 15K words! So SHORT! You’ll be DONE BEFORE YOU KNOW IT!) and review it so maybe, MAYBE, somebody out there will read your very thoughtful and honest review of my novella and say to him/her/their self, “Hey, Self, will you look at that review? K.K.’s novella sounds pretty darn good! And what a VALUE!!! Let me plunk down the really inexpensive 4 bucks U.S. or what, 3 pounds U.K.?? Whatever it is, it’s not a lot and look what I’ll get for my hard-earned dough!!!!

…okay, maybe not quite that, but still, something AMAZING…

Attribution: wardyboy400, Wikimedia Commons

…and also, not that but surely the IDEA of that, the CONCEPT of STORY which is that, the utter creativity of that and it will be right here in my hot little hands just as soon as I CLICK THIS LINK…

*pause for Shameless Plug, redundant now but what the hell*

https://www.indienovella.co.uk/product-page/somebody-knows-something…

K.K. here again. May I just revisit that ‘oh shit‘ phrase one more time? Because I just realized something (okay, not ‘just;’ but I digress): in asking (begging, pleading) for a thoughtful and honest review of my little novella from the powers that be,

I may just get what I’m asking for, aka. . .

The Most Scathing Book Reviews of 2021

Time Out

Hi there, peeps.

Assuming, I know.

Since the illustrious 45’s unexpected coup in November of last year, I’ve been lax writing in this little blog. Actually, I’ve been lax since whatever month/year it was that Agent B and I parted company and I feel bad about that, like I’m letting myself and my (dwindling) audience down.

I know I’ve stated in the past that I created this blog primarily to give voice to the process–process, and product–of writing. And yet, time and again, I’ve scrapped a writing-based topic to accommodate billowing angst relative to Trump et al. Every time I write a post about that man, my guilt-bag gets a little heavier. It’s getting harder and harder to drag that thing around.

See, that’s what happens when a writer abandons her goal, especially a goal so publically stated.

One would assume the author of a writing blog would actually be, you know, writing. But my writing muse has been visiting me with alarming irregularity, and my WIP’s wordcount has suffered mightily in her absence, lurching forward in fits and starts when it moves at all. Same goes for queries sent out relative to ALBERT and CHERRY.

I can blame this unpleasant impasse on the unfortunate fact that I don’t have an agent anymore. Or, that my country may or may not be going down the tubes. Or, that my family has dealt with challenges of late and often finds itself floundering in an emotional maelstrom. Then again, aren’t we all?

But the truth is, Inertia has been an enticement I can’t resist, and Guilt–that freeloader–has been more than happy to come along for the ride.

Yesterday’s emails coughed up another rejection for CHERRY. On the scale of one to FUCK YOU, this rejection was up in the OUCH, DAMMIT category. I’d found an indie publisher I thought would be a really good fit, sent the editor my query, synopsis, and the first 10,000 words. She liked what she saw and requested the full and then, yesterday . . . suffice to say that particular love-fest didn’t last. She provided feedback; I shall spare you the gory details. I responded with a short but sweet thank-you because I’m a professional writer and that’s what professional writers do, never mind the fact that I have yet to make a dime from my writing.

See, that’s the point. Unless I keep writing and querying, I will be be stuck in the same boat I’ve been in. Nothing changes when nothing changes. Yesterday, I was disappointed, sure. But then I thought, Write something, goddammit. I pulled up my WIP, got down to business and by seven p.m. yesterday, I’d passed that elusive 60,000-word mark, which is a significant milestone for me. My goal for SOULLESS is 72K-words, which means I have fewer than 12K to go.

I won’t get there by sitting on my ass.

This little blog has served me well, in large part to those of you who’ve read this blog, shared your own stories, offered suggestions and support. Truly, I can’t thank you enough for that. I hope in some small way I’ve returned the favor; hope, too, that down the road, this journey can continue.

For now, I’m taking a little detour. I hope you guys will be there when I get back, but I won’t blame you if you won’t; after all, you have your own lives to live, your own novels to write, your own daily crappola to slog through and try to figure out. You don’t need me to be bending your ears and anyway, I haven’t lately, not to any great extent. Heck, you may not even realize I’ve gone.

Which means I might be back before you know it.

xoxo kk

 

Tell Me

Of course, Mr. Wilder, I know you’re being facetious right now . . . or rather, your Wonkalicious suave and scary self is being facetious. But if you really want to know how original and creative I am, I’ll do my best to tell it to you straight.

(See, when Gene Wilder talks, I listen. As amazing as his Wonka persona was, it didn’t hold a candle to the man. Talk about original and creative…)

I used to think originality and creativity were my two strong suits, especially where writing is concerned. Of late, though, no so much. Case in point? This blog, which–barring a few sporadic posts–has been ‘on hold’ for more than a few months now. I could chalk that up to a lot of things, not the least of which is Donald J., who may be dragging us into a war with North Korea even as we speak. There have also been some issues closer to home which aren’t going away; then again, that’s life in the big city, and I’m certainly not the only one “dealing with stuff.”

There is also the tiny, lasting niggle relative to parting company with my agent, which transpired over a year ago and which–one would think–I’d have “gotten over” long before now. Apparently, not so much. Apparently, that Little Blip on the Radar Screen of Life affected me a tad more than I care to admit.

Regardless of the reason, I’m in what you might call a “funk”. And no matter how many times I’ve dragged myself out of whatever this funk is, I find myself slipping right back into it.  And every time I do, I lose a little bit more of myself.  As a writer, I mean. Which is more than a tad troublesome, considering the fact that I think of myself as a writer, and if I’m not, you know, writing. . .

Which brings me, round-aboutly, back to originality and creativity or rather, my apparent lack thereof. Sliding into a funk is hardly an original past-time, and lamenting a loss of creativity whilst doing squat to change things is not only counterproductive to the cause, but offensive . . . to any writer dealing with anything more challenging than what I’m dealing with. Believe me, there are a lot worse things a writer can be facing than the piddly-ass stuff I’m facing right now.

Speaking of offensive behavior, Miss Manners had something to say about that:

Offensive behavior is an ineffective way to make one’s own case.

Of course, some people make their cases by doing just that. 45 unfortunately comes to mind. On the lighter side, Zero Mostel. Groucho Marx. Gene Wilder? He was playing the part, “like an accident waiting to happen,” which is exactly the way he planned to play it, and which he executed brilliantly and to our utter delight, time and time again. Mr. Wilder’s creativity and originality made him who he was, and neither time, nor the unfortunate circumstances of his last years, diminished his magnificence, nor our admiration for it.

And yet, how much of that originality and creativity did he cultivate, and how much was inherent to him? I have to believe he was born that way, as we all are to some extent. Each of us has our share of the universe’s creative juices flowing through our veins. Each of us harbors at least one or two original thoughts. We all have our dreams, as well as trials and tribulations. Sometimes we find ourselves so caught up in the latter that we forget the former, stray off course, lose our way . . . which is where I am now, I think. And I’ve been here too long.

Gene Wilder once said, Time is a precious thing. Never waste it. Truth time, Mr. Wilder: that’s what I’ve been doing.

 

 

 

 

 

Words Matter

Words are powerful things. They hold sway, they have consequences and hence, it would behoove us, the American people, to choose our words wisely.

Alas, the American people don’t appear to be too keen on thoughtful rumination of late. Present company included. Whatever this writer was doing for the last two months, it sure as hell wasn’t that. After Trump took office, this writer found herself mired in political muck, and soon actual writing gave way to hastily composed, emotionally-wrought tweets, which–in theory, anyway–should have reduced her burgeoning angst by giving voice to it.

[Sidebar: Maybe that’s what Trump–]  

Nah.

Long story short, that didn’t happen. At best, the bovine-esque chewing and rechewing of unsavory cud was a mindless endeavor yeilding little nutritional value. At worse, the glowing ball of angst in the pit of my stomach resulted in belched vitriol that left a particularly nasty taste in my mouth.

Fast forward two months. I am happy to report that I’ve managed to remove myself (somewhat) from that perpetual unpleasantness. I couldn’t have done it without help from some very honest and forthright writing buddies, who basically told me it was high time I pulled my thumb out of my ass and get back to the business of querying/writing.

Querying first. Two weeks ago, I reworked my EFFIN’ ALBERT query, finally coming up with a version I actually liked; a version significantly different from my last (which had garnered me exactly one full request, summarily rejected). I’ve sent my new version to maybe ten agents thus far, garnering five quick rejections. Five more to go, and it only takes one page request to make this camper happy.

As an added bonus, while researching agents for ALBERT, I stumbled upon a smattering of agents/indie publishers who seemed like a good fit for CHERRY. We’ll see what happens there.

As for writing, my WIP remains in a holding pattern of 53,000 words, but the time will come . . . and when it does, SOULLESS will be waiting.

Before I close, a final word about tweets. A few months ago, I came across a Twitter feed called  #1linewed, a once-a-week sounding board for writers. #1linewed is a chance for writers to put snippets of their stuff ‘out there’ for others to read and enjoy.  For me, #1linewed is both inspirational and validating, especially when I find myself struggling to find the words. . .

. . .which brings this post full circle. Words matter, folks. Now, more than ever, we need to remember that.

W.T.F.

First of all, that’s bloody hilarious.

Second of all, Wise Kitty is directing that question to this writer. Said writer is 100% certain of it, being as she’s been asking herself the same question for months now. And yet, the answer continues to elude her, for reasons as yet unknown.

Meanwhile, said writer is painfully cognizant of the implications of Wise Kitty’s question, which include a proverbial ticking clock…

Oh fuck. Fucking A. What is wrong with me? said writer asks Wise Kitty. I mean, aside from the following:

a) I don’t have an agent anymore.

b) My agent pool for CHERRY is nearly dry.

c) If I self-pubbed CHERRY I’d need permissions, as I’ve quoted from TRY, STONE CITY, Elmore Leonard’s TEN RULES of WRITING, and the biggie: THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, kinda sorta. Actually, whether I self-pub or have an agent/publisher, I’d need permissions anyway, but…

d) My query for ALBERT (still) kinda sucks.

e) If I forego agents altogether and just try publishers, would I be making a huge mistake? I can’t stop waffling. (<– Maybe that should be f).

f) See a). My confidence was shaken when I parted company with my agent back in February. I haven’t yet recovered. I thought I had. Apparently, I was wrong.

g) I’m in the middle of writing a thriller–with two POVs, set in both the present and the past–which is not a genre I’ve written before. Hence, my uncertainty/waffling.

h) What agent would take on an author whose novels a) don’t fit the status quo, b) are dissimilar, and c) are adult literary fiction narrated by children/pricks/psychos…?

i) I’m deluding myself. I will never be published. (See all of the above).

j) Relative to g ), my WIP (SOULLESS), has possibilities, but only if I take my poor young main characters to a very dark place, which can only happen if I allow myself to go to that dark place…

Who the hell am I kidding? I’m there. I’ve been there. I don’t know how the fuck to get OUT of there, which is slowly and quietly killing me and yet I feel compelled to carry on, which is why Wise Kitty is asking me once more, with feeling:

Apologies, Wise Kitty. I have no fucking idea.

 

The Importance of Being Earnest

Words are merciless. ~ Oscar Wilde

Hats off to Mr. Wilde, who took his writing seriously.

I’ve started querying again, which means I’m putting in the time again, doing the work again, preparing myself to run the gauntlet once again. It’s what we writers do if we want to find the perfect agent to represent us and our work; if we’re serious about our writing and we are, of course we are. So, how should we do it?

Research.

For me, the first step in my research is the website QueryTracker
( https://querytracker.net/ ) Side note: I personally prefer QT to AgentQuery
( http://www.agentquery.com/ ), as I’ve found the former to be more informative and up to date. YMMV, of course.

At QT, I filter my personal agent search: literary, LGBT, thriller/suspense, offbeat/quirky, commercial. Some agents rep one of those genres; some, more than one. Thinking of the novels I’ve written and tend to write, the more of those genres an agent reps, the better it bodes for me.

I have yet to bite bullet and pay for a year of premium QT access, so my inquiry is limited to the comments section, query response times, and clients. If, after checking those stats, the agent seems like a good fit, I check my own query list to make sure they’re not already on it, that I haven’t already baked that potato.

🙂

If things still look good, I move on to that agent’s agency website. I read the agent’s bio, read about the agency itself, check out the other agents and the clients they rep, genres, all that jazz. I carefully jot down submission requirements and contact information.

Next, I check Preditors and Editors ( http://pred-ed.com/ ) for both the agent and their agency. If both pass muster (at worst, no raised red flags; at best,  P&E’s seal of approval), I check online to learn more about the agent, reading interviews (current is better), blogs, twitter, MSWL ( http://mswishlist.com/ ) , Absolute Write
( http://absolutewrite.com/ ) (the Bewares and Recommendations forum ), etc. Again, I note any relevant information, along with anything else specific to this agent that I think I might need. The more a writer knows about an agent, the more confident she can be about her choice and the more personal she can make her query letter . . . assuming that’s what the agent wants. Be sure to check that. Some do, some don’t.

When I’m satisfied, I draft my email. I type my salutation, paste in the body of my query letter (drafted with a ton of help from the amazing squirrels in Query Letter Hell, over at AW), and personalize the rest.

Then, I check–and double-check–everything. I check the email contact address for the agent, the subject line requirements, my pages and/or the synopsis (if that’s what the agent is asking for). I check the spelling throughout, check the agent’s name again, check every damn thing and then I check it again, because once you hit ‘send’, that’s it.

One more look-see, a deep breath, and . . . yep. After that, it’s back to square one: lather. Rinse. Repeat. . .

*  *  *

On a writer’s best day, finding the perfect agent can be a tough, tough business. When you carefully research your agent pool, you give yourself the best possible shot. And while it’s true that you’re one of hundreds of writers floating in that proverbial sea of slush, agents are right there with you wading through that stuff, eagerly searching the waters for that one amazing query to pluck; that one amazing manuscript to read and fall in love with. You’ve worked your ass off to create something of value and while chances may be slim, it’s possible that what you’ve written is exactly what your dream agent wants.

So do yourself a favor: do the work. Do everything you can to make it worth their while to read your query. The ball is in your court now.

Seriously.

Where is it?

Ha. Writing should be so easy.

Alas, I’ve been agentless for the better part of two months now and I still can’t seem to get my shit together. Which is not to say I haven’t tried, because I have.

Actually. . .

Actually, two months now and I think I’ve lost my way. I’m arift in a sea of indecision. Stuck in a quagmire of doubt. Trapped in a damn–

Oh hell, who am I kidding? Wasting time is what I’m doing. Like right now, writing crappy metaphors when I should be querying CHERRY or working on my ALBERT query. I gave myself permission to take a break until March 1st and here it is, March 4th now, and I’m still in a funk; still uninspired, still

Still I-don’t-know-what, and that’s a problem. What I do know is this: ALBERT’s query isn’t good enough yet, and CHERRY’s agent pool is. . .

Attribution: Bernard Bradley

Okay, maybe not quite as dire as that, but you get the idea.

But wait. I’ve done some writing-related stuff since March 1st. I went online, found and jotted down some new agent possibilities for CHERRY, enough to send out a decent batch of new queries. As for EFFIN’ ALBERT, I pulled up the query numerous times, messed with the thing . . . oh, and I updated my CHERRY agent list.

All good, right? And shining more light on the bright side, my CHERRY query is pretty damn solid, as is the novel. ALBERT’s solid, too. And SOULLESS is primed for digging in; that solid start just waiting for me to start working on it again.

But a writer can write the best query ever, the best novel under that shining sun, and never find an agent or publisher. No guarantees in this business, folks. And no guarantee one’s published novel will find a buying audience and yeah, I’m putting the proverbial cart before the horse now.

You know what? At this point, I really don’t give a crap. Seriously, I really don’t.

Or maybe I do. In fact, maybe I care too damn much. Or maybe the thought that all the work I’ve done has been for squat is too damn much. Or maybe I’m depleted. Hell, maybe I should just quit writing altogether, just hang it up I mean, it was a good run, right? Fun while it lasted and hey, I had my shot, I found an agent, dammit, which is good sight more than most writers can say.

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

Or maybe I’m indulging in this protracted, post-agent melancholic bullshit, lamenting this setback and doing little to change it, which would be not only sickening, but down-right depressing. That’s not what I need right now. What I need is a swift kick in the butt to get myself moving again. What I need is to soldier through these doldrums and get myself back on track, on the stick, up on the saddle, into the swing. . .

Actually, what I need to do is quit writing metaphorical crap and start doing the work necessary to find me another great agent, who will find me a wonderful publisher for my stuff. To do that, I need to disengage from this sorry-ass state; fling off the sad-sack albatross hanging on my neck and weighing me down; shed this fatalistic hangdog attitude because, right now, not only can I not stand myself, but I don’t like what I’m doing–scratch that, not doing. My inability to move forward is getting me absolutely nowhere at all and serves no purpose, save wasting my precious time.

And yours.

Persistence

Today’s horoscope:

You may temporarily lose track of the joy, the passion, the reason … but don’t lose track of your persistence.

Confession time: That’s not Gemini’s horoscope for today. I’m a Gemini on the cusp with Cancer, but in matters of proximity–as well as content–I deem it close enough.

There are always reasons not to do something. Writing is no different. I could offer a myriad of reasons why I’ve floundered with my writing these last few weeks, but the truth is, they’d all be excuses. And while the beginning of this month has been tumultuous, to say the least (my agent and I parted company on February 1), and this last week has been fraught with anxiety (my better half went under the knife two days ago), the truth is, I am uninspired.

This is not to say  I’ve abandoned my dream of being published, because I haven’t. In fact, earlier this month I made a (tentative) decision to set CHERRY aside for a little while, let it percolate and instead, work on my EFFIN’ ALBERT query. Bottom line: I want an agent. If ALBERT is the way to find one, so be it.

So, I’ve been working on my ALBERT query; albeit, in fits and starts. The problem is. . .

Actually, I don’t know what the problem is. EFFIN’ ALBERT is solid and ready to go. The query, not so much. A little backstory on that: after working the death out of the query over at Absolute Write, I’d settled on one version, which I’d then sent out to 30 or so agents. The result was exactly one bite: a exclusive full request, which resulted in a disappointingly brief rejection. Since then, I’ve spent countless hours trying to revamp the query, to no avail.

This month, after making my decision to focus on ALBERT,  I doubled my efforts, but  I can’t seem to shake the suspicion that the query, as is, is intrinsically wrong; that a complete overhaul is not only prudent, but necessary. And yet, try as I might,  my efforts aren’t producing anything substantively different. I’m stuck. What I need is inspiration, some spark of creativity to change things up, but I can’t seem to come up with anything even remotely amazing, reason being. . .

Reason being, I don’t know. All I know is that here I stand–mid-February 2016 now–and I am mired in the muck of . . . not self-doubt, although self-doubt is undoubtedly part of it. Honestly, what I’m experiencing feels suspiciously like a lack of passion for writing, for finding an agent, for trying to get my work published, all of which is disconcerting, to say the least.

Which brings me back to today’s horoscope. Whether or not it officially belongs to me, today I’m declaring it mine because I need to do that: I need to hear it and believe it and heed its message, which is that our way might not be clear right now, but this is a temporary situation only. That little flower is a testament to the power of persistence.

Miracles happen all the time.

connections

A ship is safe in the harbor,  but that’s not what ships are built for.
~ Gael Attal

The Writer says, I am Here, and my dream of being a published writer is Over There, and tethering Me to It is a path…

…but should that path not to take me to the place I long to go; should I misstep, or find my best efforts thwarted for whatever reason, I need not despair.

All I need do is try a different path…

http://earth.nullschool.net *

…an infinite number of which connect us to our dreams.

 

 

 

*Note: I hope you can access this. If you can, double-click anywhere on the graphic and it will zoom in. So lovely and mesmerizing. Enjoy! ❤

Process and Product

Best case scenario: You take a chance, take a deep breath, open your laptop and go for it.

You start writing.

You start writing, and you keep writing until, one day, you realize you actually did it.

You wrote a novel.

You wrote a novel, which you suspect might be good because the people who read it–smart people, maybe other writers; or bright, savvy people whom you trust implicitly–they read it and tell you, This is good.

And if you’re really lucky, those smart, generous people give you suggestions on how to make your good novel better. And if you’re smart, you consider those suggestions, consider the hell out those suggestions.

If you’re really, really smart, you act on those suggestions, take a deep breath and then, do the work; whatever it takes to mold and hone your novel into something better than good. Maybe really good.

You query.

You query, and you don’t stop querying, not after that 10th rejection, or the 25th, or 50th because people are telling you–really smart, talented people who’ve got your back, who love the way you write, who fell in love with your novel and your characters–those people are telling you not to give up, to keep trying to find that one agent who will fall in love with your little novel, and take a chance, take it on. . .

You find that one agent.

Sometimes, as in this writer’s case, luck and serendipity come into play. Maybe, in your case, serendipity had something to do with it, serendipity and luck and perseverance and all that other good stuff. And if it actually happens–if it really, really happens–you thank your lucky stars that you didn’t give up, that you made it this far, that he is taking a chance on you and your novel and you know, you know, you’re one step closer because you have an agent now.

You have an agent. And your smart and savvy agent reads your novel again, and then again, and then he offers suggestions on how to make your good novel even better and you know you have to seriously look at your beloved little novel without love this time; but rather, with cold objectivity . . . you know you need to do that.

You do that, and send it back.

And then, you wait.

Whilst I wait, I am thinking about process and product. In this writing business, they go hand-in-hand. And the former won’t end unless, or until, the latter is a reality. A thing. Something to hold and cherish. Something maybe others will love as much as you loved it, as much as your betas loved it, and your agent, and your beloved husband and your mom and sisters and your dear, dear friends–

Process and product, dancing. A beautiful, awful dance. When it works, nothing is better. When it doesn’t, nothing is worse. Such is the writer’s mantra. Suffer the former, hope for the latter. Open your laptop, take a deep breath and