Wednesday, May 2, 2012

I am not patient

I'm really not very patient. My first queries have been out for less than a week, and I'm already chomping at the bit. Accept or Reject! Pick one!

As an unpublished author, I realize that my query is one of hundreds that some agencies receive every day, but this only make my impatience more prominent. I feel as if I will be rejected, and I'd rather it be done sooner rather than later. Besides that, if I don't hear back from agencies, then I can't query them the book I'm working on now (should be finished in the next week or so.) A fun little romp through a world inside the crack in the sidewalk.

I really need to learn more about the business I am going into.
I'm bad at business.

 Ugh. I also worked a six hour shift today (which is the longest shift I've worked since... gah.. January?). Not at all admirable, but, my boss is finally giving me some hours. She always addresses me as "Kristin, Baby Doll" which I actually find really endearing.

So tired. I don't know if I'll make it through church tonight. Might fall asleep right in the middle. Also, hungry.

I am considering starting a kick starter fund for my life. Or, my novel. Basically, so I can survive during the writing process. I'm not getting nearly enough hours, but, if I work anymore than I am now, I'll probably hate my life and won't be able to write. I'm so impatient and finicky. Not very long suffering, either.

Come on, agents. I know you have so many things to look through. I know I'm one of hundreds, but please, please. Make a teeny tiny exception for me and just read my query, say your yes or no and let that be that. Pleeeeease.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

A New Approach

So, it's nearly two o'clock in the morning, and the concept for a series I've had for a little less than a year keeps popping back up in my head. I sat down and wrote a log line and a synopsis as well as the first four chapters and an outline. It's a real snazzy piece of work, if I say so myself (which I do).

So, while I'm not putting The Parcel Series or The Faint Glow on hold, I'm diving into this story as it comes, because when the writing fever hits, you don't ignore it. A lot can get lost if you ignore it.

Basically, what I'm saying is, I had a six thousand word day. Four thousand for The Faint Glow and two thousand for Kneether. Work, work, work.

Back to the retail grind tomorrow where I will spend my day folding clothes and thinking "this won't end, this won't end" while I try to hash out some details for Kneether or The Faint Glow.

A writer's work is never finished, and I've got a part time job to support my full time job. Woo.

Parwick Becomes A Creature


            Around 9’o’clock pm in a forest in the East District of Parcel on the 24th of June, a boar that wasn’t named anything was just beginning his evening. He was a very large boar, and he was very good at putting his snout in the dirt and rummaging around and finding small grubs and roots for his supper. He also seemed to be very good at scratching bark off of tree trunks with his tusks, and they were very sharp because he did this every evening. He was very good at running fast, a lot faster than you’d think such a heavy animal with such short legs could move. But, of course, he was only a boar and didn’t really know that he was very good at these things. He just knew that he wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t cold and that perhaps it was time for a walk.
            Just as this boar that wasn’t named anything began heading in the direction of the most clear and trampled down path, a great “woosh” of wind came about him and raised him high into the air. He squealed and squealed until finally, a voice that sounded like a beautiful song on the wind said to him “Hush now, boar. It is time for you to know.”
            And with those words, the boar understood he was very high up in the air, and that he wasn’t sure if he had any business being there. Even more startling for him was the realization that he understood anything at all. But that was not all. He had been told to hush, and knew that the word meant for him to be quiet, and so he was. He stopped squealing and hung there in the air, terrified out of his wits.
            “When I place you on the ground, boar, you must not run away.” The Voice said. “Do you understand?”
            “Ahem. Ahem.” The boar said startled at the sounds he was making. “Yes. Yes I understand.”
            “OH! Oh! I just talked, I think,” the boar thought to himself. “What a wonderful thing, talking and thinking, and even this floating thing isn’t so bad. Perhaps I am dead and I’m being taken away into the sky.”
            As soon as he had that thought, however, he was placed gently on the ground.
            “Now, you are a creature,” The Voice told him.
            “Oh, wasn’t I always a creature?” The boar asked.
            “From what you know, I suppose,” The Voice laughed the most beautiful laugh. “What is your name?” The Voice asked him.
            “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that yet. I guess all things ought to have a name. Even you have a name, you’re The Voice.” The boar gave it some thought and then he said “Well, I suppose I do have a name, though I had forgotten it before. I suppose I am called Parwick.”  

Book Two

The Faint Glow, book two of The Parcel Series is under way. It is easy going because I had the first two chapters pretty much fleshed out before I had even started the first book. It had become pretty apparent to me as I was writing them that I had started on the second book in the series instead of the first, so, to get back to where I had started, I wrote the first book The Fire Boar.

So, here I am, typing away and making flowery sentences to fully encompass Holden Glen's character. All the pretentious qualities and pomp and everything I can fit into him while describing everything around him. I think it is pretty important to showcase his character this way so as to better watch him develop as a character. As he develops, I plan on keeping the descriptions flowery until the third book, to really show the change in character. If you have a brutal change in a character, well, if I have a brutal change in a character, I think it would be best to watch him change while within the confines of his own surroundings--creating a juxtaposition in his surroundings and his characters. They'll match at first, and then, as he develops, he'll seem just as out of place in his own life as Colin began to feel in his during the last book.

Hopefully this won't back fire on me and have critics (if I get any,) asking why the sudden change in voice in tone. I feel like that could kill any chance as a career novelist. Fingers crossed this will work out for me in the end, and people will look back on these subtle changes in tone and think "that was smart, that was really smart."

Hopefully the first draft of this book will be finished by the time I (fingers crossed a million times) become an agent-ed writer.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Colin Gets His Spirit Bit


" A sudden heat filled the top of his right hand. He was sure it was on fire. Then, slowly, a bright red shape began to push on the skin on his hand. It felt to Colin as if a bone that was already there was simply growing very quickly, so quickly in fact, that it grew right through his skin.
.           The jewel cut through his hand with surgical precision, and Colin was surprised, that though his hand was throbbing, there was no blood. Only heat and a pulling. A kind of pulling that traveled all the way up his arm, through his shoulder and down to his heart. It wasn’t an unpleasant pull, but one that seemed as natural as Colin to breathing, though it seemed that during these few seconds, he had forgotten how to do that.
            Suddenly, his head was full of a beautiful song. A song so wild and untamed that Colin was almost afraid, but, he couldn’t be. This was his song. And if you’ve ever heard a song that was truly and uniquely your own, you might understand. If your soul could sing a song to you, you might be surprised at what it’d sound like, but you could never be afraid of it, because it was your very own.
            Finally, Colin released the stale air from his lungs and began gulping air. It tasted, suddenly, not like air at all, but instead like the toffees he enjoyed so much. He couldn’t get enough air. He kept swallowing it and drawing it in, but there wasn’t enough. He was falling backward, the room became a long tunnel, and he couldn’t get out. “I have to get outside!” he thought, and he made a mad dash for the door. 
            “Let me through!” he shouted as the people in the room (he didn’t seem to recognize any of them) gasped and crowded around him. “You cannot keep me here!” He continued.  They were holding onto him, they were pulling him down. “Let go, let go!” They were going to take him away from the song, he didn’t know why, but they couldn’t take him away, because he wouldn’t let them.
            He fought his way past them, out the door, and down the hall. “Where am I?” he thought. “There, there’s the door. I have to get to the back door.” His legs felt weighed down, as he rushed for it. He could hardly lift them, and he could hear the people from the room following close behind him.
            The jewel in his hand freed the last edge of itself from under Colin’s skin, and Colin immediately felt a rush of relief. He could make it. He could make it to the door. “Just a few more steps,” he thought. Then, just as he reached for the handle, his legs gave out, the tunnel he looked through became longer and longer still, the world became dark and he slumped to the floor.  "

Looking for an agent isn't just scary, it is downright overwhelming.

I've been doing that thing where I hunt madly through the internet in search of literary agencies. I've bookmarked 15 hopefuls, sent out two queries and I still feel like I'm going to vomit.

There's just so much riding on this. I want to be a career novelist. A young adult fiction writer. I want to write fantasy stories about magic and talking animals with beautiful sentences and ---gasp--- get paid for them.

This is all so stressful, but I can't talk to the roommate about it because he's already pointed out that I ought to be happy that I at least finished the book. But, I've got to market this stuff, you know?

It isn't all about money, but, it is about being able to survive. At this point, an agent who can help me on my way to survival would be ideal.

I know I shouldn't say all that. I'm not as desperate as this whole thing comes off. In fact, I'm really excited (though incredibly stressed) about the whole process. But, there are only so many great agencies, followed by good agencies, and then just plain old agencies.

I went to Cover to Cover yesterday to check out the competition. A girl could really get lost in all the dreck. I'm nervous that my story isn't going to stand out against what everyone else has going on, even though I personally love the story and the characters.

Maybe this is the kind of separation anxiety a mother feels when they send their child out into the world. Waving goodbye to even three chapters of my book for someone to scrutinize and either accept or reject is a lot to handle. This makes me wonder, of course, if and when I should become a mother whether or not I'll have this kind of separation anxiety or because I've already dealt with sending out one baby if I could go on and do the rest with little incident.

So, here's what I need from an agent, I've realized.

A good back and forth--they tell me what's good, not so good and downright awful and ask me to make necessary (but entirely respectful) changes, and I acknowledge them and their advice and take it when necessary.
Someone who understands promoting a book. I don't want to get lost in a quagmire of things I've never heard of. Just sitting on a shelf next to some other books that look like something someone might read if they got bored or if they had no taste. I'm not tasteless! I'm not a hack!

At least I hope not.

I just have this feeling that when an agent finally reads one of my partials, they'll laugh and laugh and laugh.
Laughed right out of the room... "Kristin Wright, you are ridiculous, get out of here. Be on your way!"

But look, I wrote a book. So, shove it.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

The Fire Boar

I finished it. I wrote a book.

For the first time in four years I can say I completed something.

On April 24, at 10:42, I wrote the last sentence. After an 11,000 word day, I couldn't stop. It was like a fever. As I typed the last word followed by the final period, I took a deep breath. I took note of the year of writing and not writing and writing again, and all of the things that happened and all of the things that didn't. And then, silently, I wept into my coffee cup.

In other news, I sent my first query with a partial manuscript (three chapters) today. I'm hoping because my query letter isn't perfect that if I receive a rejection, it will be due to that and not because the first three chapters are no good.