"What is your novel about?"
Oh. Oh! Oh, how I hated it when someone would ask me that. For this is what would happen:
Me: Deer in the headlights look, shuffling feet. Then, "Um, well, it's about this woman and she goes back home - yeah, it's about home and family and stuff, and she spreads her momma's ashes, and stuff happens and stuff, and it's like stuff abounds and all manner of stuffity stuff stuff and then, well, it's got this mountain, see, and did I say it was about this woman and family and home and belonging and stuff happens and stuff?"
Them: now they have a deer in the headlights look, followed by a slow blink. They quickly recover and ask: "So~! What's the title?"
Me: Oh crap. "Um, well, see, it's not titled yet...well, it is but the title is temporary, haha, I mean, haha, you know those publishers - I mean, when I get a publisher (for this was before Bellebooks!) they'll change it anyway - and well, anyway, the title I have for it, just temp mind you - not really the title, haha, ah, er, the temporary title, and it kind of sucks, so remember it will change, is [really bad title here]."
Them: Blink. Blink. Blink. Recover: "Oh! well, that's Great! Really Great!"
And I've lost them.
Can you imagine going to the movies and hearing a trailer like this:
“In a world where a woman goes back home, cause it’s all about home and belonging and stuff, to spread the ashes of her mother, and while there, she goes in the attic and finds stuff and looks at all the stuff and it makes her remember all this stuff! And it’s about family and stuff! And belonging too! And somebody gets killed or something, and there’s this crazy Mee Maw and stuff, and …well, AT YOUR FAVORITE THEATERS! …THIS MOVIE THAT HAS A TEMPORARY TITLE THAT KIND OF SUCKS!”
No. No. and No. I always saw my stuff in the “abstract” – tell them it’s about this and that and they will understand what I’m talking about. When instead, I needed a Blurb, a quick one to three or so line that WAS my book—and I just didn’t get it.
Here’s what Bellebooks wrote:
Contemporary southern fiction about a young woman returning to her childhood home in West Virginia to bury her late mother and reconcile memories of a turbulent childhood. Strong commercial women's fiction showcasing this debut author's powerful, poetic voice. A touch of mysticism makes this a transcendent read. For fans of The Secret Lives of Bees, Ya Ya Sisterhood, etc. The first book in a planned trilogy.
What is so hard about that? But, sometimes we can’t see our Forests for our Trees. We see our work in the abstract – we see the meaning and love for our characters and stories that won’t convey to Reader (or to whomever we are querying) what the novel is About.
I’m going to memorize the above, or the back cover of the novel, or whatever I need to memorize, so that when someone asks again: What is your book about? I can quickly and confidently say, “It’s about… and the title is tender graces…”
No more feeling as if I’ve been smacked by pie in the eye.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Little Lambs and I-me
I've been tossing and turning. You'd think I'd sleep the sleep of innocent lambs who know they won't be lambchops and will romp around fields of clover baa-ing and kicking up their tiny little hooves (I'm running with this lamb thing, ain't I? laughing...).
Instead, my mind will not be still (see below--at least the trombones song is gone...oops...or was gone...Dang it! Help me think of something else...quick!).
The night before last I thought of something I hadn't done, or should do, or it would be cool to do, and of course, being a writer who is always on the ball (ahem) I do not have paper and pen by my bed. Actually, I rarely have paper and pen, for if I do write down any scribbles of something, it languishes in a black hole somewhere. Still, when something hits me upside the head in the middle of the night that may or may not be Important (because after dark, way after dark, weird things become "important"), I should write them down. I didn't; so I lost the thought.
So, last night, I thought of something, and forced myself to get up, go into the living/kitchen/dining area, in the dark, scrabble for a pencil and scrap of paper, and jot it down - just the act of writing it down and seeing the nocturnal paper sitting on the counter reminded me.
All this tossing and turning is getting on my nerves. However, it's "good" tossing and turning. I mean, I wake up Grinning for gawd's sake. Of course, I have my terrified moments -moments where the negative thoughts creep in, and I have to force them away. You just replace a good thought with the creepy or negative thought. You do it until the bad goes away. You do not take any crap from Negative Thought- Negative Thought must be dealt with severely and quickly. Being grateful is a good way to chase away the NT's. I guarantee it.
Bags under the eyes of a 51 year old woman is not purty. When a 51 year old woman loses sleep, it shows. When a 21 year old woman loses sleep, no one knows until she lets out a long yawn and says, "I couldn't sleep a wink!" A 31 year old woman may have a few little darkling circles. A 41 year old woman will show the fatique but a little concealing and Voila! But, darlings, a 51 year old woman just looks TIRED when she's tired *laugh*...however, I notice that if I'm smiling, or feeling upbeat, or having that gratitude feeling, well, no one notices I am tired and no one cares what age I am (and neither do I) and no one knows my age--not even me.
This is an exciting time. But it's also very surreal. I walk around feeling the same; yet different. I sometimes want to shout, "GUESS WHAT? My novel...." etc etc etc. I can't wait to hold TENDER GRACES in my hands - I know I will weep. Oh yes, I'll cry. This tough woman's gonna cry (Right, Angie?....)
I hope I sleep tonight. I hope the ocean's waves of thought after thought after thought will calm so I can just get some rest. But, what a problem to have right now, huh?
Maybe if I count those little lambs.
Instead, my mind will not be still (see below--at least the trombones song is gone...oops...or was gone...Dang it! Help me think of something else...quick!).
The night before last I thought of something I hadn't done, or should do, or it would be cool to do, and of course, being a writer who is always on the ball (ahem) I do not have paper and pen by my bed. Actually, I rarely have paper and pen, for if I do write down any scribbles of something, it languishes in a black hole somewhere. Still, when something hits me upside the head in the middle of the night that may or may not be Important (because after dark, way after dark, weird things become "important"), I should write them down. I didn't; so I lost the thought.
So, last night, I thought of something, and forced myself to get up, go into the living/kitchen/dining area, in the dark, scrabble for a pencil and scrap of paper, and jot it down - just the act of writing it down and seeing the nocturnal paper sitting on the counter reminded me.
All this tossing and turning is getting on my nerves. However, it's "good" tossing and turning. I mean, I wake up Grinning for gawd's sake. Of course, I have my terrified moments -moments where the negative thoughts creep in, and I have to force them away. You just replace a good thought with the creepy or negative thought. You do it until the bad goes away. You do not take any crap from Negative Thought- Negative Thought must be dealt with severely and quickly. Being grateful is a good way to chase away the NT's. I guarantee it.
Bags under the eyes of a 51 year old woman is not purty. When a 51 year old woman loses sleep, it shows. When a 21 year old woman loses sleep, no one knows until she lets out a long yawn and says, "I couldn't sleep a wink!" A 31 year old woman may have a few little darkling circles. A 41 year old woman will show the fatique but a little concealing and Voila! But, darlings, a 51 year old woman just looks TIRED when she's tired *laugh*...however, I notice that if I'm smiling, or feeling upbeat, or having that gratitude feeling, well, no one notices I am tired and no one cares what age I am (and neither do I) and no one knows my age--not even me.
This is an exciting time. But it's also very surreal. I walk around feeling the same; yet different. I sometimes want to shout, "GUESS WHAT? My novel...." etc etc etc. I can't wait to hold TENDER GRACES in my hands - I know I will weep. Oh yes, I'll cry. This tough woman's gonna cry (Right, Angie?....)
I hope I sleep tonight. I hope the ocean's waves of thought after thought after thought will calm so I can just get some rest. But, what a problem to have right now, huh?
Maybe if I count those little lambs.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Seventy-Six Trombones in my head today...
Right now, "Seventy-six trombones" is raging over and over in my brain. I just looked outside at the fog wetting the cove at Killian Knob and that's how I alternatively feel - bouncing off the walls with seventy-six trombones blaring, and in a fog of otherworldly-ness (and I use "ness" so ironically, of course *grin* After the classes of Mad Madden, my wonderful David Madden, I still hear him tell us: "Do not attach 'ness' to the end of the word - it only means you can't think of something better." He meant it is cheatingness).
I tossed and turned last night, and how my strange brain works is, if it gets too full of "Stuff" - it picks some obscure song or music out of some memory bank or the airwaves and blares it over and over and over (seventy six trombones...) and over (on parade today) and over (seventy six trombones) and over (and that's all the words I know so those words will circle round and round...).
And what had me tossing and turning? Okay, don't laugh. I shouldn't even be worried about this right now. Maybe shouldn't be worried at all. As one person put it, "Come on -it's not like it's the Academy Awards or something..." But, still - it's important. What had me tossing and turning is the Acknowledgements page to the novel. I'm terrified I'll not include someone and hurt their feelings, but I also know I can never include every single person who's ever encouraged me or made a difference or helped in some way.
For example, my blog friends - how could I name them all? Or the postman when I first began writing it and I blurted out "I'm writing a novel!" and he said, "Don't forget to mention me in the acknowledgements," and I said, "Oh, wouldn't that be something..." and I kept the receipt with his name for a while- in fact, I bet it's still around somewhere. And the postpersons at the Maggie Valley post office who watched my tired stressed face as I sent manuscripts or query letters and they always encouraged me. My friends. My family. The waitress. The butcher. The baker. The candlestick maker.
I'll want to thank those who went the extra mile. I'll want to apologize to my family for using some of our stuff as fodder for my fiction. I'll want to thank and hug my husband for being so patient with my awayfromhimbecausei'mwritingness. I'll want to write to my biomom, "This isn't about you - it's fiction - really. You know you are not Momma! (because she isn't)."
But, in all that swirly madness of people who have touched me in one way or another, there is one person. You know who you are! You know I'm going to say your name and put a link here to your blog, and say what a fine writer you are and one day maybe I'll be in your acknowledgements (ha! no pressure huh...seventy six trombones!).
Angie Ledbetter (Gumbo Writer) picked my butt up off the floor and looked me square in the eyes and said, "Write this dang novel, girl. You're crazy if you do not. This is IT. Virginia Kate is Your Baby. Your Girl. Your Novel. Do it!" Before she said that, I thought I couldn't write more than a few thousand words. I thought I didn't want to write novels. Huhn. Who Knew.
And I did. Because she believed in me yes, but also because she SAW something... she knew something I did not.
Now, all this may sound silly and as the woman told me "It's not the Academy Awards for god's sake...!" - no, but still...still...when people touch you, when people take the time to encourage you in a business that can be so, well...rejecting, when someone takes time from their busy schedule to read fledgling manuscripts, when someone goes that extra mile or two, then they deserve my thanks.
Gosh, all my friends, some readers, some encouragers; I mean, Patresa (who always makes me feel as if I am better than I am), and Cynthia (your wise eyes), and Susan, and Charles and Mark and Francis, and Barb, and Kim (who read AND did my website and is doing it again!), and Diane, and Daniel, and WDCers, and Margaret, and Ruvena (I miss you and hope you are well and you may not even know it's going to be published), and, and Adnan (you gifted man!), Lorelle, Nanette, and Bellebooks (of course), Marilyn, and Mary Ann, and Deb, and Alaine (get out that Birds, girl!), and John & Tere, and my "blurb writers"...so many. And even now I think - Oh! I've left someone out and they'll get their feelings hurt (seventy-six trombones...), but this post is getting way too long.
Of course, my publishers may look at the acknowledgements and say "Good Gawd, Woman--this is longer than the first chapter..." and I'll have to say to some, "You know who you are...." There's no way to say thank you to everyone who has ever said, "We believe in you..." how golden are those words?
And maybe they don't really care. Maybe I'm making too huge a deal out of this. I always look at writer's acknowledgement pages....I noticed that as the number of books are published, the acknowledgements grow smaller until there is usually just one small thing, such as, "To John Doe, Always..."
I think the acknowledgments are going to be harder to write than the novel itself! *laughing*
Okay. I've regurgitated my fear. Silly or not. Presumptuous or not. Eye-rolling worthy or not - that is what is on my mind right now - besides the dang trombones.
I tossed and turned last night, and how my strange brain works is, if it gets too full of "Stuff" - it picks some obscure song or music out of some memory bank or the airwaves and blares it over and over and over (seventy six trombones...) and over (on parade today) and over (seventy six trombones) and over (and that's all the words I know so those words will circle round and round...).
And what had me tossing and turning? Okay, don't laugh. I shouldn't even be worried about this right now. Maybe shouldn't be worried at all. As one person put it, "Come on -it's not like it's the Academy Awards or something..." But, still - it's important. What had me tossing and turning is the Acknowledgements page to the novel. I'm terrified I'll not include someone and hurt their feelings, but I also know I can never include every single person who's ever encouraged me or made a difference or helped in some way.
For example, my blog friends - how could I name them all? Or the postman when I first began writing it and I blurted out "I'm writing a novel!" and he said, "Don't forget to mention me in the acknowledgements," and I said, "Oh, wouldn't that be something..." and I kept the receipt with his name for a while- in fact, I bet it's still around somewhere. And the postpersons at the Maggie Valley post office who watched my tired stressed face as I sent manuscripts or query letters and they always encouraged me. My friends. My family. The waitress. The butcher. The baker. The candlestick maker.
I'll want to thank those who went the extra mile. I'll want to apologize to my family for using some of our stuff as fodder for my fiction. I'll want to thank and hug my husband for being so patient with my awayfromhimbecausei'mwritingness. I'll want to write to my biomom, "This isn't about you - it's fiction - really. You know you are not Momma! (because she isn't)."
But, in all that swirly madness of people who have touched me in one way or another, there is one person. You know who you are! You know I'm going to say your name and put a link here to your blog, and say what a fine writer you are and one day maybe I'll be in your acknowledgements (ha! no pressure huh...seventy six trombones!).
Angie Ledbetter (Gumbo Writer) picked my butt up off the floor and looked me square in the eyes and said, "Write this dang novel, girl. You're crazy if you do not. This is IT. Virginia Kate is Your Baby. Your Girl. Your Novel. Do it!" Before she said that, I thought I couldn't write more than a few thousand words. I thought I didn't want to write novels. Huhn. Who Knew.
And I did. Because she believed in me yes, but also because she SAW something... she knew something I did not.
Now, all this may sound silly and as the woman told me "It's not the Academy Awards for god's sake...!" - no, but still...still...when people touch you, when people take the time to encourage you in a business that can be so, well...rejecting, when someone takes time from their busy schedule to read fledgling manuscripts, when someone goes that extra mile or two, then they deserve my thanks.
Gosh, all my friends, some readers, some encouragers; I mean, Patresa (who always makes me feel as if I am better than I am), and Cynthia (your wise eyes), and Susan, and Charles and Mark and Francis, and Barb, and Kim (who read AND did my website and is doing it again!), and Diane, and Daniel, and WDCers, and Margaret, and Ruvena (I miss you and hope you are well and you may not even know it's going to be published), and, and Adnan (you gifted man!), Lorelle, Nanette, and Bellebooks (of course), Marilyn, and Mary Ann, and Deb, and Alaine (get out that Birds, girl!), and John & Tere, and my "blurb writers"...so many. And even now I think - Oh! I've left someone out and they'll get their feelings hurt (seventy-six trombones...), but this post is getting way too long.
Of course, my publishers may look at the acknowledgements and say "Good Gawd, Woman--this is longer than the first chapter..." and I'll have to say to some, "You know who you are...." There's no way to say thank you to everyone who has ever said, "We believe in you..." how golden are those words?
And maybe they don't really care. Maybe I'm making too huge a deal out of this. I always look at writer's acknowledgement pages....I noticed that as the number of books are published, the acknowledgements grow smaller until there is usually just one small thing, such as, "To John Doe, Always..."
I think the acknowledgments are going to be harder to write than the novel itself! *laughing*
Okay. I've regurgitated my fear. Silly or not. Presumptuous or not. Eye-rolling worthy or not - that is what is on my mind right now - besides the dang trombones.
Monday, January 5, 2009
It is Happening...
I have a publisher. I have a title. I have a cover. I can't wait to see it all together.
I can't believe it is finally happening.
This blog is here because I wanted a place uncluttered by all my other "stuff" - a place I set aside just for what is happening with the "Virginia Kate" novel: Tender Graces. How strange to see that title! My novel had more than five titles...and more almost titles...and some "how about this titles!" I at first said "Oh, I don't know..." to Tender Graces. Why? A lovely title, a cadence, a poetry to it. Well, because I was afraid of Tender and I was afraid of Grace. I should examine that. I should wonder why those words worried me so. When paired with the cover image - it's going to make me cry; I just know it.
Virginia Kate will now come alive. I hope you will love her as I do.
Bellebooks is the best publisher I could ever have found - they took a chance with this writer in a publishing atmosphere that has agents and publishers and booksellers quaking. I will love them forever for it. They've been patient with my questions and concerns. With my emails of "what about THIS title...." and my "I'm a-skeered of grace and tender..." They know what I need before I do.
It is happening. I'm terrified and excited.
I changed my profile to "author" - can I do that now? Am I being too presumptuous? Am I in "the Club" now?
I'm shaking in my boots. I'm grinning like an idiot.
I can't believe it is finally happening.
This blog is here because I wanted a place uncluttered by all my other "stuff" - a place I set aside just for what is happening with the "Virginia Kate" novel: Tender Graces. How strange to see that title! My novel had more than five titles...and more almost titles...and some "how about this titles!" I at first said "Oh, I don't know..." to Tender Graces. Why? A lovely title, a cadence, a poetry to it. Well, because I was afraid of Tender and I was afraid of Grace. I should examine that. I should wonder why those words worried me so. When paired with the cover image - it's going to make me cry; I just know it.
Virginia Kate will now come alive. I hope you will love her as I do.
Bellebooks is the best publisher I could ever have found - they took a chance with this writer in a publishing atmosphere that has agents and publishers and booksellers quaking. I will love them forever for it. They've been patient with my questions and concerns. With my emails of "what about THIS title...." and my "I'm a-skeered of grace and tender..." They know what I need before I do.
It is happening. I'm terrified and excited.
I changed my profile to "author" - can I do that now? Am I being too presumptuous? Am I in "the Club" now?
I'm shaking in my boots. I'm grinning like an idiot.
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