Querying is strictly the rat’s ass.
It’s not the rejection that’s difficult to handle. It’s
the waiting and having the patience and will to keep writing (and eating and exercising and staying sane) in the meantime, even when you
have no idea what the response will ultimately be. It’s faith, baby.
That’s pretty much all I’ve got to say today.
I sometimes watch Noir Alley on TCM just for the Eddie
Muller intro. Eddie’s the balls, man. I wonder if the fucker even uses a
teleprompter—so much passion for his subject.
A great narrator can make your favorite book an event—better
than any movie you’ll ever watch. My favorite narrators are Christopher Lane
and Scott Brick. I never understood how funny American Tabloid is until I heard
Christopher Lane’s reading (maybe my sense of humor is a bit…well…). And I
never realized the true and misguided passion of White Jazz until listening to
Scott Brick’s recital.
Kids are great. They have no fucking agenda other than
wanting to be happy. Adults, even the best of us, always have an agenda.
One of my favorite biographies is “A Tragic Honesty,
The Life and Work of Richard Yates”. I have nothing in common with Richard
Yates, but I understood him as a person, you know? Then again, maybe that means
I have something in common with him. Which is some scary shit.
I haven’t listened to the radio for a couple of years.
The last time was a road trip for work. I couldn’t tell country from hip-hop or
rock. I kind of stick to streaming what I want instead.
I’m currently reading “The Big Sin” by Jack Webb of
Dragnet fame. Not bad. You can kind of tell that Jack wanted to break loose but
was constricted by the ethics of the 1950’s.
A few years back, I purchased the first three novels
of a popular thriller series. It’s been made into a couple of movies and recently
a series on Amazon Prime. Partway through the first book, the main character
said something that made no sense, and I threw the fucking thing across the
room. Maybe I’ll get off my high horse and try it again sometime.
I named my beautiful son after a fictional private
eye. If you think it’s “Philip” or “Marlowe”, I’ll have to come back in my next
life as a squirrel and run straight up your pants leg.
A few
days of forced absence are sometimes required. Within some of us lies a deep
and ingrained sense of discipline. People brought up to work do not take time
off because they "deserve it". In this case, though, I took a couple
of days off and let my thoughts and ideas percolate. I wanted to sift through
my writing and see if I still felt the same—I'm a notorious perfectionist.
I
wrote the story I set out to write in the style I wanted. I wrote the truth.
We'll see if this translates for agents. Patience and optimism are my wingmen
in this numbers game.
Understanding
my writing may fall into grey areas of acceptability is critical to my psyche—people
tend to play it safer than ever these days. But I told myself: If you're going
to do this, you have to be all in—no safe places.
And so here we are. All in.
I managed a lot of work this week. My manuscript has been thoroughly edited
(to my absolute best ability), its word count sitting at 102k. Word count is
important, but it should not dictate the story. And I'm very close to nailing
down my query—call it 90% complete.
I resist the urge to start sending out my agent package too quickly. When we
close in on the goal line, we all tend to get our assholes in a pucker.
However, one can only edit a document so many times—at some point, you have to
fish or cut that fucker loose.
I’ve worked hard. I'm confident in my work. I'm ready to do some fishing for a change.
I won't bullshit anyone; today has been rough. I don't like getting into why- I'm not interested in pity parties. Sometimes, or many times, shit comes at you from all angles, all at once. You either deal with the circumstances or puss out. You'll always feel better if you deal.
I've managed another ten pages of editing so far today. Not too impressive but this is deep editing, down to the marrow. It's remarkable the fuck-ups you can find when you focus beyond your own perceived brilliance.
Still cutting. I've whittled it down to 102,600 words. Pretty sure I can knock off another 1k plus. I worried taking so much out would dilute the story. The worry is false. I find it easier to read and follow with the bullshit out of the way. But it's a process- long and painstaking.
I enjoy it to the point of obsession.
