Renee Miller's Blog, page 31

Querying...Again: An animated adventure for all.

So, I have begun the wonderful and joyous process that is querying again. I've sent Jack to one agent. I'm taking it slow, okay? Dirty Truths came back with a final rejection, so I have to think about that one too. If I go too crazy, then I risk getting multiple rejections in a single day and we don't want that to happen.



Why not? Well, to amuse you all, I've provided visuals to show you the query process for me.

So, I begin with writing the query. After hours of self-loathing and rewriting, I come up with something I'm sort of happy with. This is me, after the final version of my query.



 



I'm sort of happy, but tired. See the bags under my eyes?

Okay, so after searching carefully, I try to find an agent that seems to fit the book I'm querying. This takes a few days usually because I get distracted far too easily. But then, I find one that's perfect. And I'm happy.







Most agents take about six weeks to give you any reply, and we all know how I am about waiting.

  

I try to distract myself, but every single morning, I open my email hoping that I'll see that reply. See, back to happy.





Most of the time, there's nothing more than rewrite requests for my paid articles and spam.







Then, (cue the angels singing) I see the reply. Oh, do I dare read it? I wait until I've had my coffee and I'm reasonably good natured.

Rejection.

It always ends this way. If I have too many of these in a short span of time, well this girl comes out to play.





So you see, this is why I think it's best to query one, maybe two agents at a time. Keeps me out of prison, and keeps the rest of the world alive and kicking.





Wish me luck!

Ain't Nothing for Free...

When I first heard about Seth Godin's comment that essentially said that amateur writers don't deserve to be paid, I was pissed. Who the hell is he to deem what is worth money and what is not? Seriously. I had a good long rant in my head about what an utter jackass Mr. Godin was. But then I started pondering the dreck I'd been reading lately and I thought, perhaps Mr. Godin has a point. It's a small point, and probably not at all what he meant, but I do agree that a lot of books currently for sale should not cost a dime. Why? They're not worth reading.



Then in the same article, I read film director Francis Ford Coppola's two cents. He said, "As we enter into a new age, maybe art will be free. Maybe the students are right. They should be able to download music and movies. I'm going to be shot for saying this. But who said art has to cost money? And therefore, who says artists have to make money?"



I say we do, Mr. Coppola. So do the thousands of writers who spend hundreds of hours on a single manuscript. We do that because we love it, but we cannot live on love alone. Maybe you're right, and you shouldn't pay those writers to create the scripts that make you money as a director. Maybe they'll do it for free because they love their art. But at some point, paying the bills and creating art will encounter a bit of a stalemate. We can't indefinitely do both. Let's face it; money makes a fine carrot to dangle as a motivator that encourages writers to produce quality work. Would you rather have writers who create only what pleases them, or something that is marketable for those who might profit from what they write? Without the money as our reward, we're going to do write what pleases us, and believe me, that's not always worth reading.



So, perhaps we could look at it a bit differently. If you deserve to get paid for your art, and filmmaking is also an "art," then the writers (and other artists) deserved to get paid for ours. Maybe not at first, when we're all green and suckish, but later, when we've proven we've got something worth reading, worth making into a movie perhaps, damn right we deserve to get paid.



I'd forgotten all about this little internal debate I'd had with my imaginary Godin and Coppola, until this morning, when I read an article about pirating e-books, and how one author asked, and received (sort of ) answers from his book's would-be pirates.



My take on pirating e-books is the same as my take on pirating movies and music: it's not okay. Does it make for great marketing? I'm not sure. But I'll worry about that myself thanks. I don't need you to take it upon yourself to steal my hard work and do it for me. If you want to get a free copy, there's this place called a library. If you want to share it with your friends, buy a paperback. Better yet, why not just ask for a copy to review? Do you realize how many authors and publishers will happily provide you a review copy? What's that? You don't review books? Then what use are you for marketing? Absolutely none, that's what. The bottom line is that most people who pirate e-books simply want free shit. It's the way of the world. If we can get it free, and we all believe we should, then we'll take it. Who cares about the hundreds of hours the author spent writing or the time spent editing and creating a cover and such? If it's online it should be free, because everything on the Internet is free.



Well folks, it won't be for long.

I Was Too Lazy to Write a Real Post

At first I thought that perhaps there was an epidemic among writers. Its name is laziness. Never have I seen such a large group of people so disinclined toward hard work. I'm not saying all writers, but I have to say that a large percentage of those calling themselves writers are about as energetic as a dead rat.

We want what we want, and we want it now. We don't want to work for it. Critique groups? Pfft. I already write better than Stephenie Meyer, and she's a bestseller. Marketing? Pfft. That's what Twitter is for. Word of mouth is what sells books. Not work. Elements of fiction? Writing is an art? Fuck off. A story is a story. A five year old can write a novel.

This pisses me off beyond words. But then I started considering North Americans as a group. I considered parents today, and our kids, and I realized…we're all lazier than shit. All of us. It's okay to be lazy sometimes. In fact, it's something we can't control. Evolution and all that. However, occasional laziness is far different from the tendency of North Americans to allow the desire to do nothing to control everything we do in our life. This is where we have a problem.

Laziness: an aversion toward activity or exertion despite having the ability to do so.

Laziness, in my opinion (and according those who study this stuff too), is the result of focusing on the immediate, positive or pleasurable effects of one's actions, rather than the long-term consequences. So, if I lay around watching movies all week, I will be immensely rested and happy. I won't think about the money I won't have or the disgusting crust developing in my underwear. Think of the glorious luxury of doing absolutely nothing. I won't lie. It sounds heavenly. I messed up my back this week because I was too lazy to bend over and pick up a fucking toy. Instead, I vacuumed over it, got it stuck in the vacuum and hilarity ensued.

The thing that amazes me most is that humans work harder to gain leisure than we do to gain any other reward. It is astonishing how hard we work in order to be able to do nothing at all.

Interesting Lazy Fact: From 1909 to 1915, there was a commission that focused on eradicating hookworm disease from eleven southern states. What has this to do with anything? Well, hookworms were known as "the germ of laziness" because they caused listlessness and weakness. Apparently hookworms infested 40 percent of the southern US states' population at the time. People in the Northern states considered hookworms to be the cause of "southern backwardness."

How many of us will do whatever it takes for an extra hour of sleep? How many of us break resolutions within days of making them, or don't make them at all to avoid breaking them? How many ideas have you had that have faded or been tossed aside because you won't have time to develop them? How much of this time you don't have is spent watching movies, favorite televisions shoes, playing video games, tweeting, farting around on Facebook, or staring at a fucking wall? Be honest.

"I'll get around to it" or "I'll do it later" is code for "I'm too lazy to bother."

We as a society make sure our basic needs are met, focusing on surviving here and now, rather than how to ensure we survive months down the road. Sure, we worry about it, sometimes to the point of sickness, but do we DO anything about it? In general, no we don't. We make sure financially we're taken care of, but emotionally, psychologically and spiritually, we only worry about now.



The question is, why? Aren't these things important?

A Little History:

Consider that no matter how hard any of us works, we've still got it better than any generation before us, and almost every other culture. North Americans are lazy, because we can be.

Throughout humanity's history (from the dawn of time until perhaps 100 years ago), resources were scarce, and no one knew when they'd be available, or if they'd last. So conserving energy was wise whenever possible. Starvation and death by wild animal were constant threats. Because conservation of energy was critical to survival, we've evolved into a species that expends minimal effort any time we can get away with it.

Today we are lazier than our ancestors, but have no reason for being so. For many of us, starvation is not a motivating factor because food is abundant. We are not hunted by animal predators either. Instead, our priorities have shifted to satisfying more egocentric needs; happy hour, shopping, and vegging in front of a screen for hours on end. We are not aware of just how much we could be doing to improve our lot in life. We are content doing what makes us happy in the moment.

What does this rambling have to do with writing?

Writers make long-term goals. We want to publish what we write, for example. How we do so doesn't matter as much as that we want to do so. A more complicated goal is to be respected for our work, applauded even. But here's where lazy comes in. Writer, for the most part, are unwilling to expend the energy to do what is necessary to achieve our most desired long-term goals. We satisfy our needs in the here and now. So, we want to write a book. Done. We want to be read, so we send it to friends. Our ego is stroked. We join a writer's group. First critique sends us into a fetal position. That wasn't fun. That wasn't pleasurable. Fixing what they say is wrong is hard work. They can't be right. So the lazy person goes for the immediate reward. Fix the typos, listen only to positive criticism, leave the writer's group and self-publish or begin to query as-is. Respect? They don't understand me, so why should I care about respect? The award system is biased toward certain names and types of writing. I'll never be accepted because I write "real" fiction.

Once published, whatever way it is we choose to do so, we look at marketing. The lazy writer tweets hourly on Twitter. No, it's not work. You can autotweet. Post it once and forget it. Too bad the rest of us aren't allowed to forget it, because the lazy writer likes to bombard us with news of his book all fucking day long.

That is not marketing. The writer who is willing to work will first polish his book until it is as good as he can possibly make it. He would never dream of selling something that he doesn't consider his best, because to get respect, he understands that one has to earn it. Then he will establish a marketing plan, and he will carry it out. He'll blog, go to bookstores and libraries, review, and tweet. He will do whatever he has to do to meet his long-term goal.

There aren't many writers like the second example. We see it in the increasingly disappointing bestsellers filling the bookstore shelves today, and we see it in thousands of self-published books that fill typo-ridden, dodgily plotted e-shelves each month.

Some sociological fact-based stuff:

Humans feel smothered by long-term goals that do not directly impact survival or social status. These goals take away from our pleasure, so we ignore them or forget them entirely. We make excuses for why we can't reach them before we've even tried. "Agents aren't taking new authors anymore. They want the guaranteed sale," or "There are millions of traditionally published novels with typos in them, so why pay an editor for mine?" We are instinctively attracted to immediate gratification, and repulsed by indefinite future plans.



We are torn between competing desires: We want to achieve our dreams, but only if those dreams are not too hard to realize. We want it to be easy.

Here's the problem with writing and the natural tendency toward laziness: Nothing worth having comes easy. That's a fact.

Instant gratification is the natural or default setting for the human brain. But here's a little secret: Humans feel better and more self-confident when we complete or at least tackle those unpleasant tasks. We feel better when we work. We can train our brain to enjoy NOT being lazy. Successful writers, good writers, respected writers; they all know this. They've done it.

Yes, everyone can write a book. Can everyone write a book worth reading? That's debatable. But if you are willing to work hard at it, you deserve a chance. You deserve to be read.

"You can, you should, and if you're brave enough to start, you will." —Stephen King

Relaxation is different from laziness. We deserve to feel free to relax after working hard. We deserve reward when we've accomplished something or at least put some effort into working toward something. But to expect the world on a silver platter simply because you want it? If you want it to be easy, you'll accomplish very little. If you aren't willing to work for it, shut up.

Something Light and Clumsy

I'm getting ready to begin the query process one last time…or I keep telling myself it's the last time. It may not seem like it, but I am one of those "if you keep on pushing, it will happen" kind of people.

Anyway, The Legend of Jackson Murphy is currently with beta readers for one last spit and polish round of shredding my ego to bits. Then it's one final rewrite and to the query abyss with him. I'm excited, but I'm a bit concerned too. I tried not to get too attached to old Jack, because not once during the process of writing did I believe he'd ever be published. Is that nuts? I don't know. I wrote this one because I wanted to write a story that was totally me, without worrying about whether anyone else would like it. Purely self-indulgence. It was fun, nothing more. As the story took shape, I fell so deeply in love with it, I was certain it had to be a giant pile of shit.

Strangely, this is the story that even in its roughest form, readers absolutely loved. So, are they as wrong as me? I have to believe I did something good with Jack. And I believe there's an agent or a publisher out there who will think so too. The key is getting that dreaded query written properly. This, I am certain, is my kryptonite. It is what has kept me on the rejection side of the process for all of my novels. I am terrible at writing a query and possibly worse at writing a synopsis.

In other news, I've become fascinated by screenplays. I have never attempted to write a screenplay, thinking it would be absolutely no fun and I'd hate it. I've looked at a few articles and how-to's on the process and I am hooked. Not only is it fun, but writing screenplays is anything but easy, and I love a good challenge.

I was going to rewrite False Prophet, which is in extremely rough draft form right now, into a screenplay as sort of a practice run. However, this is proving to be more of a challenge than I anticipated. I'm starting to think perhaps I need to just write something off the cuff for the first go round. Not unplanned, mind you, just something new that I haven't had enough time to agonize over already. So…yeah, I'm jotting ideas down. So far I have many notes and not one solid plan to go with.

And finally, for your entertainment, let me tell you about this afternoon, when I was fixing the vacuum. You see, I'd sucked up something rather large-ish and the vacuum hates it when I do that. Perhaps if I'd just picked it up, we wouldn't be where we are now, but this is what vacuums are for, no? Could be why we've been through four in about as many years…but anyway, I was lifting the vacuum to shake the item out, because neither the screwdriver nor the butter knife would fit far enough into the little hole thingie to force it out and I turned because the dog was peeing on the litter box. Well, as I turned, that rat-bastard stray cat we took in ran between my feet and I tripped, sort of. Then, because I didn't want to fall on the little shit, I threw myself back and, oh it was such a mess. Long story short, I hurt my back, which is not a good thing because the second time I got hit by a car, my spine twisted and two vertebrae ended up fused together when all was said and done. So my back aches a little all the time anyway. Now I think I might have made things a tiny bit worse. And of course, there isn't a single thing in this house I can take for the pain except Children's Advil. Sigh.



You know, you'd think the weekly falls down the basement stairs would've done something like this long before now, but I walk away from those unscathed. Maybe my body is just used to that.

Okay, so that's all for this week's installment of Renee's insanity. I will leave you with my pathetic query for Jack. I'm hoping someone more skilled than I can pick out where I've gone wrong…

Jackson Murphy has it all, but he can't seem to hang onto it. His wife wants out, but she won't leave without taking his money. Jack's business partner wants out too, but plans to take his share when he goes. Add to that a vindictive, but oh-so-sexy mistress, and a greedy con-artist cousin, and Jack's plate is nearly full.



Jack knows he needs to man up and take care of his responsibilities. Success doesn't happen to pussies, after all. So he eliminates his problems--first the wife, then the partner.

Just as things start looking up, Michael Thorne, a new contractor in Pickleton, hops onto Jack's list of trouble and his good luck train derails.

He finds a solution to the problem of Mr. Thorne. And then Jack accidentally sleeps with his mistress's mother, and soon receives the unwanted attention of a massive homicide detective and the mob.

In every man's life there comes a point where he has to decide if freedom is worth any price. Jack believes it is.



Help me, please!

Okay, gotta go drink a bottle of children's Advil in a desperate attempt to rid myself of this back pain.

PayPal Censoring Books: Apocalypse to Follow

Paypal has decided that it will no longer allow companies it is associated with to sell erotica that contains incest, rape or bestiality. TechCrunch already summed up my first thought: Who the hell is PayPal to censor books?

Mark Coker, founder of Smashwords, sent a notification letter to authors and publishers this week. In it he writes:

PayPal is requiring Smashwords to immediately begin removing the above-mentioned categories of books.  Please review your title(s) and proactively remove and archive such works if you are affected. 

Because…

PayPal began aggressively enforcing a prohibition against online retailers selling certain types of "obscene" content. 

Smashwords, and other online publishers using PayPal received an ultimatum from the third payment provider that basically says the sites have a few days to comply with PayPal's demands to remove "obscene" content, or PayPal would deactivate service. You may think this is a simple option—say no and find another payment option. However, PayPal stands in a pretty powerful position. It is the most trusted payment method on the web and many online sellers both receive and send payment through PayPal. I for one trust no other provider than PayPal because it has proven secure and trustworthy. I'm sure I'm not alone. So Smashwords kind of has very few options.

Paypal lists their areas of concern are "bestiality, rape-for-titillation, incest, and underage erotica."

Now, underage erotica, aka "child pornography" should not be published, in my opinion. I don't understand the mind that would find this arousing. However, who am I to say someone shouldn't be able to sell a book that contains said content? This is tricky, and it's very difficult to place a line in the sand here. At what point do we say censorship is no longer reasonable? Is it ever reasonable?

Coker says that "The underage erotica is not a problem for us.  We already have some of the industry's strictest policies prohibiting underage characters (we don't even allow non-participating minors to appear in erotica), and our vetting team is always on the lookout for "barely legal" content where supposed adults are placed in underage situations."

As for incest, well in a lot of erotic novels categorized as "pseudo-incest" or PI stories, you'll see relationships between step-parent and step-child, or step-siblings. No blood relation, and thus, no real incest. Follow me? Okay, PayPal says this is obscene and will not allow it to be sold through its system. In most cases the parties are consenting adults, so I'm not sure how they can deem it as oscene, but they do.

Coker addresses this point, writing,

"Incest, however, carries thorny baggage.  The legality of incest is murky.  It creates a potential legal liability for Smashwords as our business and our books become more present in more jurisdictions around the world.   Anything that threatens Smashwords directly threatens our ability to serve the greater interests of all Smashwords authors, publishers, retailers and customers who rely upon us as the world's leading distributor of indie ebooks.  The business considerations compel me to not fall on the sword for incest.  I realize this is an imperfect decision.  The slippery slope is dangerous, but I believe this imperfect decision is in the best interest of the community we serve."

Sigh. How many great books have you read, that are NOT erotic, contain incest of some kind? Did this make them obscene? I'll tell you, while I'm no pro incest, I've read some brilliant novels that include it, and once you start censoring it here, how long before it's censored there?

Now, bestiality. Coker is very clear on this one, there is to be no depictions of "enjoying animals for sexual gratification" and it makes sense to me. He clarifies that "this does not apply to shape-shifters common in paranormal romance provided the were-creature characters are getting it on in their human form.  Sorry I need to clarify it that way, but we don't want to see bestiality erotica masquerading as paranormal romance."

So, Anne Rice's newest novel, The Wolf Gift, would be considered obscene by this standard. Because that guy gets it on in beast form. Many times. And it's titillating, and touching, and serves a purpose to the plot…but no matter, it's obscene and PayPal will have none of it. How many of you think The Wolf Gift will still be purchased through PayPal? Yep, me too.

Rape is where the waters become murky. Rape is no longer allowed in erotica published with sites that use PayPal like Smashwords. If it is used with the sole purpose of titillation, in other words, getting your rocks off, turning your crank, making you horny, then it's not acceptable. I have no issue with the reasoning behind this, but I do have a problem with how to differentiate this. Coker goes on to say that "Non-consensual BDSM - or any other form of non-consensual violence against another person - is prohibited."

This single sentence could possibly make books like Girl with the Dragon Tattoo unpublishable. It contains "non-consensual violence against another person." This is where a line is crossed in my mind because that sentence can be interpreted so many ways. "Non-consensual violence"…is ALL violence, don't you think? So erotic writers can't use violence that is non-consensual at all. Kind of limits the plot options, no?

This is just another discriminatory slap to writers of erotica, and possibly writers who like to write content that goes against social norms. It's not right and as Coker says, it's a slippery slope. If we don't stand up for these writers, whether we write in this genre or not, then how long before the content of our work starts getting censored?

Erotica writers are warned that while erotica is still permitted, authors that try to push the limits risk further "clamping down" and are advised to push the limits of great writing, not legality.

I'm sorry, Mr. Coker, but part of "great writing" is the ability to depict themes and topics that make other people uncomfortable. That is one of the most precious parts of writing for me. I want to push the limits of what's acceptable. I want to make people think. I know that in this context, we're discussing erotica and legal sexual limits, but is it fair that these limits are set only to one genre? Do you really believe that the folks who get off on rape, incest, child abuse and bestiality won't find their kicks in other ways? You're crazy if you do.

If the depiction of illegal activity is considered obscene, doesn't that make crime fiction horror and other genres unpublishable as well? I know I'm being literal, but that slippery slope just keeps getting slipperier.

I'm not okay with this. No writer should be.

Try, Try Again: Plan D

As most of you know, like many new authors, I did this publishing thing ass-backward in the beginning. I'd written the novels before doing anything else—and that includes actually learning how to write fiction.



So, I took a giant step back and started again. I soaked in as much as I could, as fast as I could. I'm a quick learner on most things, but fiction writing took just a bit longer. It's an ongoing process. But that's okay. It's kind of fun learning new things all the time. Makes me feel not quite as old as I usually feel.



When I started looking for a publisher, I heard one thing repeatedly; You need a platform. A what now? Where shall I put it? Just out of like wood and stuff? Do I need a permit?



Then it was explained that a platform meant that I'd have to become a "presence" on Twitter, Facebook, the blogosphere, etc. in order to get myself out there. No, this has nothing to do with readers, something I didn't realize for a long time. It's about the author. So my platform might say something like, "Hey, look at me over here! Please like me and tell your friends. I'm a good person, sometimes funny, and I often say things you'll regret. Oh, and I'll have something to sell you soon, so don't go away."



Well I build that damn platform, and what happened? Absolutely nothing. Sure, people knew me. I moderated several writers groups on Goodreads, I was on Twitter, Facebook, and I'd even tried to understand this Klout bullshit. Sorry, I do not get Klout, and quite frankly, it annoys me. Anyway, I've freelanced online for two years now, and I receive excellent "scores" from all of my clients. (Many rate your work in terms of grammar, research, and content based on a 5 star system. Practice for the real world of writing, I say.) I have a blog too. It's not crazy popular, but it's here, it's updated, and I don't write about crafts, parenting or cookies too often. Not if they don't pertain to writing in most cases. I done good, right? Apparently not.



I stopped querying agents and publishers last year because I just couldn't bang my head against another wall and walk away without any ill effects. I reached my rejection limit. The plan was to focus on polishing and then publishing Writer'sCompanion with Carlos, and then to get On Fiction Writing online and humming. Then I'd go back to my pile of manuscripts and decide just what the hell I'd do with them. I know I write well. I know at least three of my five polished manuscripts are fresh and interesting reads that would make excellent debut novels. Why wasn't I getting a single bite? So I thought, Renee, your platform stinks. You don't push it enough in your queries and you aren't building it as high as it can go.



Since October 2011, I've built that stinking platform. My Twitter following has increased by more than 300 tweeps, and let me tell you, that is not easy folks. You've gotta get into that black hole and tweet and be nice and…it's so scary. *shudders* I also made the rounds and took on new writing clients, and we've got the website up and running. First, let me say, we are very fortunate in that we've met some amazing writers, agents, editors, publicists, publishers, and other industry people. If this doesn't work for me personally, I'm so glad Carlos and I launched this site. In many ways it sparked renewed hope in me for the future of publishing.



So, that's done, what am I doing about these manuscripts? Well, I'm giving traditional one last shot. I'm finishing up The Legend of Jackson Murphy (thanks in large part to Carlos's eagle eye for dodgy bits) and I shall be querying it this spring. I'm also going to query two other projects; Dirty Truths and In the Bones. Ancient Blood is a possibility, since it's the only one that's had partial requests and two conditional contract offers. Sigh. It gets so close and then…ugh.



I'm not sure how I can possibly go bigger in terms of platform. I've done all that the agent and publisher blogs say to do, including improving my skills. Hell, I studied intensely so that I could co-write a book about writing, for crying out loud. If this doesn't do it, I've got no Plan…I'm not sure what letter we're at now. Plan E? I've certainly gone at this at least three other ways in the past. Perhaps by the time I've lost myself in the bottle over this new query process, I'll have a Plan E. I'm hoping I won't need it.



Although it sounds like whining, I'm not whining. I'm hoping that those of you who are new to the querying process or who are at the point I was last year and can't do it anymore, look at things from a realistic point of view. It's not the industry's fault I'm not published, and it's not their fault you're not published. True, they make some strange and probably very bad decisions, but that's not why we haven't snagged that contract. There's a magic little window of opportunity that only opens when you've got all your ducks lined up. If it's not opening, at least take one more stab and your ducks. Maybe you've got one turned sideways or upside down. You never know.



Am I nuts for keeping at this? Probably. But I looked at the other side of the fence these past few months, and that grass ain't so fucking green either. Also, it's got some shit there, just like this side, and I don't want to step in it.

Second Grade Wisdom for Grownups

Every now and then, my kids teach me something I'd either forgotten, or hadn't quite understood before. Actually, it happens often. My youngest had to write a speech, which she would read in front of her class. The teachers then choose the two students they feel gave the "best" speech, to do the same in front of the entire school. Ken wrote her speech, and it although her words made me proud, they also saddened me at the same time. I realized I didn't truly know what it was like for her. at school I thought that she'd adjusted well, and that her hearing impairment had never been an issue in terms of "acceptance." I was very wrong.

Anyway, she was selected to speak in front of the school, but decided she's not quite ready for that. I can't say I blame her there. However, I was so proud of what she'd written, that I thought it needed sharing. This has nothing to do with writing or publishing. It has more to do with being honest with ourselves, and speaking from our hearts. Well...I suppose that can relate to writing. And just as a side note: I didn't edit her phrasing or her grammar. She wouldn't allow it. All I was allowed to correct was spelling and punctuation. Like her mother, Ken has a fear of commas, and sometimes periods.

Here you are, wisdom from second grade:

My name is Kennedy P. and I am 7 years old. Today I'd like to talk to you about what makes us different and what makes us special. To do that, I think I should explain what makes me unique.

When babies are born, the doctor does a lot of tests to make sure that they are healthy. They check the heartbeat, eyes, fingers, toes, and ears. When the doctors tested my ears, they found that something was wrong.

I was hearing impaired. This is not the same as being deaf. When someone is deaf, it means that they can't hear at all. When someone is hearing impaired, it means that they can hear some sounds, but it's hard to hear others.

Before I was a year old, I wore hearing aids. My first set of hearing aids was really small, and they were pink. Even though I couldn't talk yet, the doctors said it was important for me to have the hearing aids so that I could learn sounds just like any other baby. My mom and dad were warned that I might never talk like other kids. I had a teacher named Sharon who used to come to our house to make sure my mom and dad knew what to do to help me learn to talk. As you can see, they didn't have to worry. I talk just fine.

I didn't know I was different from other kids, until I started school. Before that I always played with kids who knew me since we were babies, like Olivia and Jenna. They never made a big deal about my hearing aids because they had always been there.

When I started school, I felt different because I had to have special speakers in the classrooms and I had to go with special teachers sometimes, and other kids didn't.

The other reason I felt different was because some kids kept asking what was in my ears. I tried to tell them, but they still asked questions. Sometimes I didn't have any answers for them and that made me feel bad.

For a long time, I felt like they thought I was weird. But now that I'm a bit older, I see that they were just curious and there was nothing wrong with their questions.

So I'd like to explain what my hearing impairment is like, and how my hearing aids help.

When I don't wear my hearing aids, I can hear voices, sounds, music and other noise, but I can't always make out what people are saying or where the sound is coming from. It's kind of like a TV on mute, or turned really low.

My hearing aids don't fix my hearing. Instead, they have a microphone inside that makes noises louder for me. So while I can hear you speaking, sometimes if there is too much noise around me, I can't pick out one sound out of the others. I get really frustrated because people don't realize I can't hear something just because it's loud. Sometimes too much sound is as bad as not hearing it at all.

Does this make me different or special? No. It doesn't. This is how I was born. I don't know what it's like to hear normally and so I don't wish that I could. I wish sometimes I could hear so that things would be easier, but sometimes it's kind of nice not to hear things.

Now that you understand what my hearing aids are for, you can look at me the way I look at all of you. You are all special because you have different interests and you're good at different things. Some of you are good at sports, and others can draw really well. No matter what it is you do well, everyone is special.

There are many other kids who wear hearing aids, just like me. So this isn't special or weird or unique. What makes me who I am is what counts. And that is not my hearing aids. What makes me different is the same things that make all of you different.

I love my family, my pets, and my friends. I like to write songs and I love listening to the radio. My favorite color is blue and I have an older brother and sister who I love to annoy. I like to help people, especially my friends, I like to wear my clothes differently than other people, and I don't like being alone.

These things inside of us are what make us different and special. The things you see on the outside don't matter.

Sometimes it's nice for parents to see proof that they're doing a pretty good job. If there was one value I could teach them, I think self worth and empathy is probably high on my list.  

Why I Read Bad Books

I pick up books that others have trashed, or that smell mighty shitty, and I do so intentionally. Why? You probably think I'm going to say that I read suckish books because they can teach me how to write, or to help me improve my writing in some way. That's sort of true. I read poorly written books to determine whether or not I can pick out what's wrong with them. It's one thing to read a book, hate it, but not know why beyond "it just didn't appeal to me". There are a ton of books out there that don't "appeal" to me, but that aren't poorly written. Can I see the difference? Yes. I can. And all writers should be able to do the same.

But that isn't the primary reason I spend money on books that I suspect of suckishness.  To be honest, I'm always hoping to be pleasantly surprised. Let me give you an example. Recently I bought Tempest, by Julie Cross. I've published my review at OnFictionWriting.com so I won't go into detail here about what I thought. The thing is, I really hoped to find an amazing new author in Julie Cross, but I knew the odds were against her being any better than the countless others before her. Bestseller means nothing in terms of writing quality. It only means that the marketing is exceptional and the author has something I don't. Is Julie Cross a good writer? In a word, no. She is not a good writer. But she's done something right. I'm not sure what it is, but I have much to learn from her. So do you.

You see, marketing can propel a book to bestseller status, even if the writing hasn't earned that spot, but marketing alone can't keep a book at the top of the Bestseller list. We'll have to see what happens with Tempest, but I suspect Cross shares Stephenie Meyer's talent for something that can't be learned easily. She knows her audience and gave them what they wanted. I'm not sure what that is, but I read this book trying to figure it out. I attempted to read Twilight for the same reason. I continue to read the Sookie Stackhouse novels in spite of my growing disgust at the diminished writing quality as well. But I think I get it now.

Kate Quinn gave me the answer. She wrote an article for OFW recently (to be published February 11 - do go and read it when it's published) that shed some light on what it is I'm looking for and it made total sense. Talent is not black and white. It's not about show or tell, plotting or any other single technique that has or hasn't been honed to perfection. Talent is a mixture of many things, different for each writer. These ladies have it. Each shares a talent for knowing what the reader wants and playing to it. They aren't stellar writers. They shouldn't be bestsellers based on writing ability, but perhaps they have earned that place for other reasons.

Is it fair? Of course not. But it's reality. If I could have nailed my audience and given the publisher what they wanted the first go round, would I have worked so hard to perfect other areas of the craft? I'd like to think I would, but that's not how things worked out, so I can't say definitively that I would have done that. I might have said fuck it and kept doing what I was doing, never moving forward, never improving.

So I'm glad I didn't get a contract right away and I didn't become the "stay-at-home" mom who is plucked from obscurity. Sure, lots of us say that. But I truly mean it. I wouldn't have turned it down, and I'm frustrated at the slow and tedious process I've waded through, but I think my path is the right one.

Sometimes the hard way is the best way to reach the top, because you learn the skills necessary to stay there.

2011: The Year Publishing Lost its Fucking Mind

2011 was a big year for publishing. Whether events were negative or positive depends on your perspective I suppose. Some headlines made me smile, eager to see how it panned out. Most made me cringe. I've got a tiny optimist inside of me. She's elusive and doesn't come out very often. 2011 had her locking the door and refusing to reply to even the gentlest queries. Let's examine some of the top headlines for last year. Why? Because it seems as though 2011 might be marked down as the year that publishing went batshit.

Self-publishing becomes the magic ticket to bestselling authordom:

Before last year, the ideal way to establish yourself as an author, and have any shot at a successful career, was to find an agent and sign with a traditional publisher. Hard work, determination, skill and a dash of luck were the primary focus. It was a long road, but a respected one where authors were rewarded…eventually. In 2011 this all changed. At the top of many digital bestseller lists (including Amazon) are self-published titles. In 2010, there were just over 133,000 self-published books released. Care to guess what 2011's numbers will tally? I suspect it doubles, at least. Seems the old saying "Everyone has a book in them" is true. The question is: Is that book worth buying?

Bookstore Deaths:

Consider that in 2001 there were about 2,000 Borders stores across the U.S. making billions of dollars annually. Seems impossible that such a moneymaker could ever fail, doesn't it? In the middle part of 2011, Borders filed for bankruptcy and put thousands of people out of work. Borders' demise also left many booklovers in the cold. Although Borders was the store that made headlines, several independent stores collapsed as well, and that is even more saddening to me. Small, independently owned bookstores are one of my favorite parts of the whole book experience. I love the smell, the atmosphere; everything about them. A tiny piece of my heart shatters every time I hear one has closed. It's more troubling to watch libraries fight to stay alive in this new digital landscape. They're adapting, but will it be enough if publishers won't bend enough to help them rise to the challenge?

Amazon is 2011's Villain of the Year:

What hasn't Amazon done to increase sales? I'm sure the list is short. In 2011 Amazon takes the prize for most cutthroat seller in the business, often referred to as "Bully" among booksellers worldwide. Amazon controls the largest percentage of e-book sales and a significant portion of print sales as well. Not satisfied with being a middle man, Amazon has now become publisher. In 2011 Amazon said screw these small potatoes, and started competing with Big Six, offering authors top dollar to publish with them. It's reported it paid six figures to acquire Penny Marshall's memoir. Amazon isn't playing around it seems. Recently Amazon has sent book sites like Goodreads yet another blow. I'm not sure what that blow entails, but it prompted Goodreads to send a message to its librarians that is…disturbing. If you've got books listed using Amazon's data on Goodreads, I suggest you investigate this a little before your book data "disappears" from the site.

Here's what you find if you're lucky enough to know about the "rescue me" program (which now you are):

At Goodreads, we make it a priority to use book information from the most reliable and open data sources, because it helps us build the best experience for our members. To that end, we're making a major change.

On January 30, Goodreads will no longer display book information that comes from Amazon.

This includes data such as titles, author names, page counts, and publication dates. For the vast majority of book editions, we have imported this data from other sources. Those few remaining editions for which we haven't found an alternative source of information will be removed from Goodreads.

Your data is safe.

Your ratings, reviews, and bookshelves are safe, but your data may be moved to a different edition of the book. If we can't find a matching edition, then your review will be attached to a book with no title or author

Luckily, you can help us find alternate sources for book editions and rescue those editions.

Rescuing a book is easy.Just click the "Rescue Me!" button next to each book edition that needs help, and fill in the information on the following page. A few keystrokes can help preserve these book editions for millions of future readers.

Thanks for helping Goodreads remain the special place it is!

I'm not sure of the reason for the lack of notice on this one. It irritates me and my gut reaction is "Listen, Goodreads, you chose to opt out of your deal with Amazon. The authors who've been loyal to your site deserve better than this. You say that there are a few remaining editions that need saving, but your few and my few are very different. A note to each author on the site, a mass email for fucksakes, which means one letter, one click, would ensure that these books and their info doesn't get dumped. How hard is that?" Another part of me curses Amazon for making it impossible for anyone to use anything but their site for purchasing, marketing, etc. But, it's a business I suppose. The details are hazy, and this is the only information I have, so I won't try to speculate what happened, but it seems that these "small fries" aren't playing Amazon's game. While I think Goodreads might have handled it a bit better, I am behind their decision not to use Amazon's data 100%.

I believe in healthy competition. Amazon is a business and sentimentality should play no role in that. However, there's a fine line between good business and villainy. Booksellers might consider the Goodreads shenanigans another cause for crying foul. Amazon is demanding exclusivity, I suspect, and that's not playing fair, is it? Fair? It's business, you remind us. Booksellers need to get some balls and compete instead of crying. But as we chastise booksellers for their whining inaction, let's not forget that Amazon has played a pretty dirty game. Anyone recall the whole price check app? Devious, Amazon. Not cool. Competition is good, but shouldn't there be a line in the sand between healthy competition and downright guerrilla? Yet again, it looks like it's on the authors and readers to draw that line. Will it happen? I'm doubtful.

Self-Published Authors Get "Discovered":

Possibly one of the most troubling trends in 2011 is the contracting of self-published authors by traditional publishers. It's not troubling because these authors are terrible or don't deserve the recognition. In most cases, they deserve to be where they are, and I say congrats and I can't wait to see what you do next. What's troubling is that every self-published author out there who is too lazy or impatient to at least give the traditional route a shot is now using authors like Amanda Hocking and John Locke as their poster kids. They got contracts, so can we. Self-publishing rocks! I imagine we'll wait a very long time before enough authors realize this type of success is rare, and often fleeting if the author hasn't put in the work to maintain it. Hell, I felt myself swaying to the tempting call of self-publishing. I'm still on the fence actually. Not because I think I'll be "discovered". I have no illusions there. I know it's highly unlikely…okay, I know it won't happen. But I'm tired of running the wheel and getting nowhere. I've done all that they tell us to do. Now what?

You know, perspective is difficult when in addition to those select self-published authors making it big, you've also got the Meyers and the Crosses out there making the big bucks for what can only be called subpar writing. They come out of nowhere, with no platform, no previous "presence" in the industry. It seems that they just fell off the nobody truck right at the publishers' feet. There's more at play here, and I won't go into it now, but what's happening in this industry is outrageous to those of us who do what we're told to do in order to succeed and then see these hacks do none of that and get rewarded.  I dream of an industry where hard work and skill are rewarded, not contrived marketability and fluff. Yeah, pipe dreams. I know.

No time to write? Just use someone else's work.

Ah, plagiarism. Theft. Near the end of 2011 it seemed every week brought another dirty lying plagiarist out of the woodwork. Is this a new trend? Nah. It's always been a black spot in this industry. I suspect that now, with plagiarism checkers at the fingertips of every reader on the planet, it's just easier to catch…which makes anyone who thinks they won't get caught the stupidest person on Earth. What troubles me is that publishers don't have a system in place to catch it before they have a lawsuit on their hands.

Agents and Publishers: No Longer a Difference?

I think of all of the changes in publishing last year, the one that bothered me the most, was the agents as self-publishers trend. All the big guys are doing it; Bookends, Dystel, and I suspect many more this year. Actually, publishers have even started offering a self-publishing arm. What does this mean to those of us who held onto that distant dream of acquiring an agent and getting into the golden gates of publishing? Reality hit, and it hit hard. Ethics and talent play a very small role in today's publishing industry.

What will 2012 bring? More of the same? I am hoping that something positive comes out of 2011's shakeup. Growing pains always accompany change and this industry is long overdue for it. Those of us who can roll with the punches will leap at whatever opportunity bubbles to the top and we'll survive. But how many more punches will we have to take before we see something positive happen?

I Wish I Wanted to Write Historical Fiction

The other day I was researching literary giants for an article and I came across a little story. This is a true story…well as true as hearsay can be when it's had a couple of centuries to mutate...and it sent the plotting wheels in motion. Why? Because it has the right amount of sick twistedness and hopeless desperation to make it a perfect love story.

Of course, the previous research was abandoned as I read all I could find about Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud. Who? Well, let me try to explain this story in a nutshell. I apologize if I leave anything out. I've done my best to keep it to "nutshell" and purge the less interesting parts:

Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud was a French poet, born October 20, 1854. Rimbaud is said to have produced some of his best work while still a teen, which is good because he gave up creative writing at about 20. Now Rimbaud, a restless, intolerant and childish soul who travelled three continents before his death at the age of 37, was encouraged one day to contact poet Paul Verlaine. Rimbaud did, sending Verlaine several of his (Rimbaud's) poems.



Impressed by the boy's poetry, 27 year old Verlaine sent him a one-way ticket to Paris, which Rimbaud accepted, arriving in 1871, just shy of his seventeenth birthday. Rimbaud stayed with Verlaine and his then pregnant seventeen year old wife. Verlaine himself had recently quit work to take up drinking, a pastime he'd continue for the remainder of his life.



Here's where it gets good. No, it's not Rimbaud and the young wife who get it on. That'd be boring. Verlaine and Rimbaud are said to have begun a brief but steamy affair, scandalizing the staid late nineteenth century souls around them.



Amidst their peers, the criticism and scandalousness (I know it's not a word.) of their affair probably wasn't quite so serious. You see, at about the time Verlaine and Rimbaud met, the Decadent Movement was about to begin. Libertine men such as Verlaine and Rimbaud were the epitome of the word decadence, so they could have been poster boys for the whole movement. The Decadent movement in literature was first given its name by critics of the writers associated with Symbolism or the Aesthetic movement. The name was given derisively, but the writers tagged as "decadents" adopted the label with relish. (For those of you who might wonder, in social settings, decadent is used to describe the "decline" of certain sections of society due to a decline or loss of moral, ethical, and sexual norms. In other words; decadents described the folks who did who they wanted, when and how they wanted.)



But back to the story:



Verlaine eventually abandoned his wife and infant son to live with Rimbaud. So you might think that love prevailed. (Don't feel sorry for the wife. It's rumored that Verlaine, a mean drunk, used to abuse his wife and son, so I'm sure she was like "Good riddance, ya alcoholic bastard.) Sadly, this isn't happily ever after for anyone. The lack of money coupled with Verlaine's violent temper and Rimbaud's spoiled immaturity, along with a dash of hashish, a generous dollop of booze, and the vagabond lifestyle the two lived, caused the relationship to sour rapidly.



So, they broke up, leaving Verlaine heartbroken (we call it unhealthy obsession nowadays). He eventually sends for Rimbaud. Of course, being childish and immensely stupid, Rimbaud runs back to his former lover. This reunion ends in Verlaine getting drunk and shooting Rimbaud in his left wrist. He might have died had the man been sober, but booze tends to make accuracy with a firearm nonexistent. So for once in this story, yay for addiction!



So, after the firing of the gun, everyone's like "Harsh, dude," to Verlaine and he's all like "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me," to Rimbaud. At first Rimbaud says "Nah, I'm fine. No big deal. We're still good." He was probably in shock and I'm sure getting shot in the wrist hurts like a motherfucker, so he wasn't really looking at the Big Picture. But then Verlaine's mother (surprise, he's a mama's boy) escorts the two to a railway station where because Rimbaud has to go home, and she's probably hoping to get him gone before he can consider pressing charges against her crazy baby. It's here that Verlaine slips off the precipice of amusingly batshit and dives smack into seriously fucking insane.



Rimbaud sees this nuttier than usual behavior from his lover and finally says "Uh…no thanks, dude. I've got something else to do…like live." Panicked, Rimbaud goes to the cops, has Verlaine arrested for attempted murder (you can totally bleed out if shot in the wrist) and then Verlaine undergoes what to him is probably a humiliating investigation. All of his dirty little secrets (that weren't exactly well-kept anyway) get brought into the open. Rimbaud withdrew the charges eventually, but Verlaine was still sentenced to two years in prison because even back then, judges frown on things like shooting people, even if the people who get shot are okay with it.



Well you'd think that would be the end of the affair, wouldn't you? But it wasn't. Sure it's where most tales about these two end, but in reality, they remained in love…or whatever you want to call what they had, be it healthy or not, with each other until each died.



Rimbaud traveled the world between the breakup with Verlaine and his death, although he wrote no more poetry. He didn't wallow in wretchedness though. Not publicly at least. No he busied himself with several commercial and spiritual endeavors over three continents. Rumor has it these enterprises included gun-running in Africa and an attempt to join the US Navy. His bum wrist and French ancestry probably contributed to his refusal. When he discovered he had cancer in 1891 he returned to France, and despite amputating his leg in the spring of that year to stop the disease, Rimbaud died November 10, 1891 at the age of thirty-seven.



Four years later, in 1895, Verlaine published Rimbaud's complete works, immortalizing his lost lover forever. Isn't that sweet? Whether you think Verlaine is a total fucktard or not, his obsession with Rimbaud ensured that we are able to read his work today. I recommend Venus Anadyomène or Mes petites amoureuses, if you're at all curious. Rimbaud's work has inspired poets and artists for two centuries including more "modern" folks like Bob Dylan, Patti Smith, and Jim Morrison.



Verlaine did try to move on in the years after his imprisonment and prior to Rimbaud's death. He tried teaching and lived with one of his students (Lucien Létinois), but they went bankrupt twice and Lucien died in 1883. Verlaine spent much of the last decade of his life in the bottle, relying on public hospitals and such for shelter. He is said to have spent his days drinking absinthe in Paris cafes. The French have never be known to as the most morally restricted bunch (and good for them, I say), so it should be no surprise that the French love of all things artistic resulted in Verlaine's resurrection as a poet in 1894, when his poetry was "rediscovered." But this time, Verlaine's batshit craziness and his decadent lifestyle inspired admiration rather than ridicule, and in 1894 he was elected France's "Prince of Poets" by his peers.



He died on January 8, 1896 at the age of 52. Just five years after his lover, Rimbaud.



Looking for inspiration? Do a little historical research. No, don't write the exact stories you read, unless historical fiction's your thing. There is so much to draw from no matter what genre you write. If I were a little more ambitious in the research department, I would write historical fiction, but I'm not really fond of research. So, instead I'll envy those who can write it and use some of these real people and their real messed up lives as inspiration for fiction.