It's not you, it's me...

Thank you Merit Badger for so beautifully expressing what it means to query.

For you non-writers out there,¹ querying is when you think your novel is finished and you start to fish around asking agents to consider representing you and your little project. The main thrust of the process is the query letter, in which you must convey just how frikkin' awesome your work is, without telling (showing only, of course) and by somehow encapsulating the plot, characters, voice and genre in about 250 words. You research agents and figure out which ones might be interested in your work and try to find some tidbit of information that links you to them³ or to work they've represented and/or admired.⁵ Then you you do a few (63) test runs to make sure your formatting is going to be ok when you send it, you double, triple and quadruple check your spelling, grammar, sentence structure, contact information (yours and theirs - no Dear John when you are sending to Jill), blind copy yourself so you can prolong the torture after you actually send it by finding typos and /&*20/ weird formatting codes that pop up despite your best efforts and then - press send. Then throw up. You do this individually for your dream list of agents.

And then you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And hit refresh.

And wait.

And wait.

And repeat this process 68 times per hour until...

The first form rejection.

And then you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And hit refresh.

And wait.

And wait.

And repeat this process 68 times per hour until...

The second form rejection.

And then you wait.

And... well, you get the picture.

Rejection is an unavoidable part of most writers' lives. The form rejection is where you get to see how nice and creative your dream agent is (and get reminded how much you really, really liked them before they smashed your tender little dreams into a million little rainbow sprinkles, peed on the sprinkles and then flushed them down the nearest toilet), or how they were probably an arsehole and you were lucky to dodge them. (Hey - we have to protect our fragile egos somehow.)

"You're work is interesting, but I'm not the best person to represent it at this time."

"Thank you for your interest, but I'm not looking for this type of work."

"I'm going to have to pass at this time - this is not a reflection of the quality of your work; I'm sure some other agent will love it and make you millions of dollars. I'm just too stunned to appreciate your brilliance and earn you the money you so richly deserve."

"It's not you, it's me."

A response to a query letter can take anywhere from an hour to never (many agents have a "no response means no" practice thanks to the gazillions of queries they now get in this delightfully convenient age of e-mail).  

Occasionally, so I've heard, writers will get a request for a partial (50 or 100 pages) or full (the entire manuscript). A precious few will get offers of representation. I'm at two form rejections now, so I'm just getting started. There will be many, many more rejections before I get a nibble. If I get a nibble. Eventually I will tire of stalking my e-mail and pacing a hole through my living room floor and will get back to what we are all advised to do when querying:

Keep writing.

Actually, that's what we're advised to do all the time. Because writers write. And if you love it, you have to focus on the writing and not on the business side of it or you will surely go mad.⁷

Just keep writing.

And so, here I am, blogging again after an embarrassingly considerable absence and hopefully giving you a taste of an unpublished writer's life. And perhaps a hint as to why I am so fucking crazy half⁹ the time.

Wish me luck!

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1. The writers, upon seeing the Q word, have long since retreated to a corner and are balled into fetal position, rocking back and forth, humming and sucking their thumbs. Or petting rabbits.²

2. And by that I mean the John-Malkovich-playing-Lennie-in-Of-Mice-and-Men style of rabbit petting.

3. She's a Quidditch Seeker too - match made in publishing heaven!⁴

4. I'm not really a Seeker. I'd be more of a Beater. But not in a dirty way.

5. She loves Helen Fielding and Ernest Hemmingway - what a coincidence - I write like their long-lost love child!⁶

6. Not really. But maybe I should...

7. I know, I know, Most writers are a bit loopy to start with.⁸ But this whole trying-to-get-published stuff is like a hyper-warp beyond your previously slow, measured descent into madness, fo' shizzle.

8. Sort of like city councillors.

9. Jodi. Being generous with the fractions. (Think Rob Schneider making copies again.)

Rescue Pounds

Wanted: Good, loving home for four pounds.

I have enjoyed bringing them into the world, raising them, nurturing them, carrying them close to my heart (they love to nestle right into my belly—so sweet!), but I no longer have the energy to keep them. Plus, I already have so many pounds to take care of already—these lumpy little sweeties need someone with fewer pounds of their own so they can get the attention they so desperately crave.

I know there has to be somewhere out there for them, but I must say, it won’t be easy parting with the little buggers.

Truth be known, I’ve been trying to find a better home for them for years, but they refuse to stay anywhere I leave them. I’ve walked for miles and miles and miles to find them a good place, yet they STILL manage to track me down and cuddle right back on to the Buddha belly they love so much. I’ve tried leaving them at a lovely Pilates studio, the Dalplex pool, Point Pleasant Park—they just don’t seem to be happy anywhere else but with me! (And who could blame them—am I right?)

But I know there must be a forever home out there that is willing to rescue these darling ones. I’ll be honest with you, they do take up a bit of space and they love to be fed lots of rich, fatty food. But the return is worth it—I mean, is there anything better than cozying up to a few extra pounds in the winter? And, it’s soooo delightful when they line up around your waist, end-to-end: it looks like—I don’t know—like the top of a muffin! Or a life preserver ring! ADORABLE!

I’ve thought long and hard about this and I feel this is my last resort. I can’t stress enough how much I love my little poundies, so I only want them to go to a home where they will be appreciated for how special they are. These aren’t work pounds or show pounds (although everyone will definitely see them—they don’t like to hide!), so that perfect someone needs to be willing to lounge around on the couch with them, or bring them right to the table and hand-feed them the delectable goodies they so love. I guarantee if you do these two things alone, they will love you for LIFE!

(I may be kidding myself but I think if I can find a good home—or homes even—for these fellas that it might be easier to start finding homes for the rest of their siblings. My selfish goal is to be an empty nester—oooh, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet! I get chilly just thinking about it...)

I can deliver them to you as soon as you like—let me know where and when I’ll be there lickety-split.

Right after I finish this snack.

Thanks—you won’t be disappointed!

LoMyFuMiMo

Many writers rejoice (or shudder) as November approaches, for our favourite cold damp month brings with it NaNoWriMo, AKA National Novel Writing Month. During NaNoWriMo, some crazy writer types in the US and beyond commit to writing a 50,000 word novel (each!) over the course of one month.

After a slow start (I did a bit at the beginning, then nothing for three weeks), my NaNoWriMo is looking a little like LoMyFuMiMo (Losing My Mind Month) at this point. However, progress has been made.

Since I’ve already got one novel drafted and another started, and there was no way in hell I was ever going to write 50,000 new words this month, I committed instead to a serious schedule of revising and writing. So JoReWriMo (Jodi’s Revising and Writing Month) broke down into 5,000 new words and 72,000¹ revised words. Or, in other words², a couple of chapters in the new novel and a few blogs for the new, and a completed second draft of the existing novel for the revision.

To me, NaNoWriMo is all about just doing it. Getting ‘er done. Ass in chair, hands on pen/keyboard. Making some goals and sticking to them. Staying up late and shunning paying work for the dream.

And for the past week especially, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

So why am I boring you with this poopstorm of decidedly unfunny facts and numbers? Because JoReWriMo is precisely why I haven’t been blogging lately. Yes, after only a month into production, I had to take a hiatus from blogging to make a sincere run at draft two. Plus my daughter turned eight and my in-laws visited for two of this fine month’s fours weeks.³ Life gets in the way.

But the cold November rains will soon be gone, I’ve got 2,750 new and 67,000 revised words in the can and I am going for the win.

So stay tuned and wish me luck—we’ll be talking again before you know it...

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1 - Yah – you read that right. 72k. Although it’s turning more into 80k because of the stuff I’ve added in.

2 – Jodi’s are punny.

3 – Yah – you read that right. Please see Now We’re Talking! “Some people (me) never learn...” re: not blogging self out of wills. Also, see this blog. :~)

The Monthly Airing of Grievances

So my mood’s been up and down like a whore’s drawers* for the past 48 hours. I just ate barbeque chips for breakfast and had half a tub of PC Loads of Chocolaty Carmel Treats Ice Cream for a 2 am snack. (Yah, I know I spell it differently every time I write it. Got a problem with that?) I have been up for three hours, spent about five minutes with spouse and have allowed the word “divorce” to enter my brainspace approximately 67 times.

Diagnosis?

HA! Like I have to tell you.

In keeping with being a living, breathing cliché for a few days, I will now proceed to rant.

Along with the usual happy days histrionics, I also have the shakes and hallucinations thanks to my Blackberry DTs. Yes, my BB took a Dantean tumble and no longer calls (pun intended) the land of the living home. Bell Aliant has been most helpful in solving the problem. (That particular device is called SARCASM in case you don’t recognize it or have never been a Bell Aliant customer.) I really can’t talk more about it without running the risk of adding many buckles to my fall fashion statement (who says no white after Labour Day?). Suffice it to say, if you have a spare BB you’re not using, please holla.

Now, our old computer is slow. I get that. But I loathe when I get the “This program is not responding, wait or end now?” message, and I press “end now,” and then it runs an hourglass for twenty minutes before shutting down. I’m sorry, but what part of “end NOW” did you not understand, mofo?

I move on to shiny new (less than one-year-old) computer. Start to open things and then get the WHITE SCREEN OF DEATH. WTF? Have I dropped into José Saramago world or something? Who has a white screen of death? Blue, yes. Black, yes. White? NO! Argh.

I restart and pray the new computer hasn’t followed my Blackberry to its final reward. In the meantime, I revisit the old computer, press a button and—just so I know the entire universe has not gone completely pearshaped—BLACK SCREEN OF DEATH. Seriously.

EPIC ELECTRONIC FAIL.

That’s sooo enough for today.

Happy Effin’ Festivus everyone. I’m off to enjoy the PC Loads of Chocolatey Carmel Treats Ice Cream course of my breakfast.
                                                                                      
* Props to my friend’s dad Bill, who used to shout this at us as we pounded up and down the stairs of their house.