Rookie Riter: Trying to get it write

A goat. A meme.

2012-03-07T10:15:00.016-08:00

The air was crisp enough to see a hint of breath hanging in front of me, the earth looking fresh after the cleansing rainfall it endured the night before. Book in hand, bundled in my favorite sweatshirt, I stepped, slipper-footed, onto the cold landing outside my kitchen door and proceeded down the steps to the patio. The flock of wild, lime green parrots that live somewhere nearby passed overhead, shrieking in a language I didn’t understand but loved to listen to, while the personal-space challenged Labrador I’d come to love tip-toed beside me, matching my stride step for step. A beautiful winter morning in San Diego. Or so I thought...

“Somebody’s up bright and early.”

Eh? The sudden interruption forced my attention from the lush patio furniture beckoning me and to the corner of the yard.

I extinguished a heavy sigh. “Good morning, Nigel.”

“Good morning, love. What brings outside on such a crisp morning?”

“Oh...you know, just thought I’d get in a little reading before the girls woke up.” I raised my copy of Miss Peregrine’s for evidence, but quickly tucked it back into the safety of my arms. The paper used for the printing of this book was particularly high quality. If Nigel came within a foot of a delicacy like that, I’d find myself on Amazon ordering a replacement book for Anita.

“Well, isn’t that a grand idea,” he said, elongating his pronunciation of the word grand in case I’d forgotten he was English. He dropped his head to the ground, taking one last nibble of dew-ridden grass, before approaching me with a loping gate Heidi Klum would kill for. “What else have you on your schedule for today?”

I settled Indian-style into the corner of the wicker couch, tucking the red throw pillow on my lap and thought about the day that lie ahead. Groceries, a little laundry, date night with my husband...

“Oh,” I groaned, suddenly remembering the task I’d unwillingly been assigned. “My friend Cherie tagged me with this meme a couple of weeks ago. I hate those things but...you know, I love her to bits so I guess I have to do it.”

“You’re not fond of the memes then?”

I glanced up at him, his beady eyes intent on me. “No,” I said. “They’re too...dogmatic for my taste.”

“Well that’s a shame,” he said, shooing the dog away with a gentle kick of his hind hoof. Chance, the wonder mutt with Bambi eyes, whimpered before venturing into the depths of the yard in search of his own grass to chew. “Say, I’ve got a brilliant idea,” Nigel said in a surprisingly chipper tone. “Why don’t you let me take care of the meme? I’m quite sure I’d do a smashing job–given my English heritage and propensity for wooing lady-folk.” I had a momentary flashback to the panty meme last summer and felt my cheeks flush. “Cherie wouldn’t mind, would she? As I recall she was quite fond of me...”

My teeth sunk into my bottom lip, as I considered the possible ramifications of such an agreement. I’m in the middle of submissions with my book, trying to present myself as a serious, professional writer–if Nigel took the reigns, what would I be subjecting myself and my caree–

“Sure!” I agreed, broad smile threatening to rip through my skin. “You know my Gmail password, right?”

“Indeed, I do,” he said behind an unsettling smirk. “Indeed I do.”

And now...Nigel’s meme:

1. What is your dream vacation? It’s quite simple really. An open field with rich, decadent grasses that I could graze on for days. Somewhere in the countryside–perhaps outside of Darlington or Middlesborough...though if I’m dreaming I should say I’d prefer the grasses in Ireland. Unfortunately the Irish are a very daft audience, so I should stick to my homeland. Something befitting a nobleman like myself.

2. Are you spontaneous or do you like to plan ahead?
Spontaneity is for the lower-classes. These suits don’t iron themselves, you know...

3. Tell us one thing you want to do but don’t dare to do.
Oh heavens, I think I should love to run nude through the streets, kicking up my hooves and wiggling my dingly danglies, but a gentleman would never do such a thing.

4. What’s your biggest phobia?
That the Beckham’s should split. David and Victoria are quite possibly the most beautiful, well-groomed humans on the planet. If their union were ever to dissolve, I fear it would be the end of a fairytale I've only begun to enjoy reading about.

5. If you were stranded on a desert island, what 3 things would you want with you (not including your laptop, or family).
Well now...you are a naughty thing for asking such a question, aren’t you? I suppose I’d start with an endless supply of 24 lb. bond paper. Not only does it taste like a tiny slice of Heaven on Earth, but it keeps my nethers running in a timely fashion. Secondly, I dare say I’d bring along Daisy. She’s not the most elegant of my admirers,but she’s quite entertaining when she’s had a few drinks. If we’re on a deserted island, I might as well cut loose, right? Lastly, I would bring my manicure kit. Without my regularly scheduled spa visits, I fear I might look a bit ghastly if I didn’t at least maintain my hooves. Can you imagine...the horror of a chipped nail!

6. Name three blessings in your life.
The neighbor’s clothesline
My ability to make Americans feel inferior simply by speaking in my native brogue
My ass in a thong

7. What was your nickname in high school?
Dearest, I’m a goat. I skipped high school and went straight to university. There I was known only as, The Great Ramming Horn.

8. If you could meet the President of the United States, what would you say to him? Where do you get your suits?

9. If you could be any literary character for a day, who would you be?
Bella Swan, for obvious reasons.

10. What is your favorite quote?
“Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that but not with all those flies and death and stuff.” - Mariah Carey. She’s such a visionary...

As I understand, meme rules dictate I should pass this task along to seven other bloggers, however, I cannot see how anyone could possibly improve upon my response so I think we shall consider this memo officially retired. Why mess with a good thing, after all.

Until next time, my beloved fan club.

Cheers, Nigel

Gratuitous cuteness in lieu of legitimate creativity...

2012-02-24T07:19:00.018-08:00

What's a writer to blog about when they are feeling exceptionally lazy and so contented with their recently completed WIP that their brain hamster is in a constant state of hung over?

Baby animals, of course!

Have a great day!! I'll do a legit blog post again soon. Maybe...

Not quite ready for public viewing...

2012-02-05T07:34:00.000-08:00

Hip, Hip, HOORAY!

I have finally completed the first draft of my next book! (I'm refusing to call it rough because I edit as I go--if anything it's course, like margarita salt. Besides, rough sounds very X-Rated).

After just over nine months, I have 77,962 words that I think make a pretty good story. It's got some high-stakes drama, gut-wrenching emotion, potentially inappropriate humor, and of course some make-your-toes-tingle love scenes to round things out. It's a wonderful story and I'm truly proud of it...But here's the kicker: IT'S NOT READY FOR PUBLIC VIEWING!

*Ugh* Rookie clutches her cheek, still aching from the reality slap.

As beautiful as my story is in my head, it needs a lot of work to get purdy enough to share with the world. I don't know about you guys, but that's a hard pillow for this author to swallow. I want this book to be READY. DONE. POLISHED AND SHINY! But the truth is it takes a long, long time to get a manuscript to that point.

So...here I am. Scrub brush in hand, fingers poised on the keyboard, bound and determined to make this book as amazing as I know it can be. Will it take a long time? YOU BET. But sending something out into the world before it's ready is just foolish. Don't believe me?! Just ask these chicks...

A man and his eyebrows. (A true story)

2012-01-20T19:09:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a man who grew more and more handsome the closer he came to his fortieth birthday.

The dusting of gray amidst his dark brown hair made him look distinguished, and the faint wrinkle lines around his eyes showed a life filled with joy and laughter--a good look for any man. The one minor problem though...his eyebrows.

Thought it hardly seemed to bother the man, his wife was deeply troubled. For when she looked at her beloved husband, she no longer saw this:

But something that bore a striking resemblance to this:

Not all the brow hairs were bad, mind you. In fact there was just one. One evil, despicable thing that would appear on his right eyebrow approximately every six weeks. With the immeasurable powers of a super hero, this rogue hair would sprout out of virtual nothingness and into a length of 7/8" overnight.

For days the wild hair would go unnoticed, until one evening at the dinner table, the husband, in a benign gesture, would drag his arm across his forehead in an attempt to drown out the incessant chatter of the nine-year-old girl at the table. Unbeknownst to the husband he'd awakened a beast. A course, thick, deep rooted beast that stood at full attention nearly an inch above the rest of the eyebrow.

Shrieking at the sight, the wife begged her husband to let her tweeze it. "It is ugly and dastardly and makes you look unkempt," she begged him. "Please let me rid you of this hideous hair or people will think I don't love you."

The husband scoffed at her request, claiming that the pain associated with a needle-nosed tweezers extraction was too great for any man to endure.

The woman, a survivor of two Cesarean sections, rolled her eyes. Though disappointed with the surprising wussiness of her husband, the former marine, she stayed steady on her course to rid the man of the atrocity that grew upon his beautiful face.

For days she pleaded for submission to the tweezers. She begged him to dismiss the notion that an eyebrow comb over was sexy.

Finally, upon the threat of abstinence, the man relented.

It was a cold, Thursday night in January when she sat him down on the bathroom counter and approached him with the silver Revlon tweezers (available at Target for $6.99, less 5% with the red card). The man gripped the tile, bracing himself for the pain he'd experienced only twice before in his life. With the steady hand of a neurosurgeon she gripped the angry hair between the tips of the tweezers, clamped down and pulled.

A high-pitched shriek was heard throughout the land,

"HOLY CRAP! Look at the size of this root ball!"

While the husband whimpered in shock on the counter, the wife held her victim to the light for a better view. At 7/8" she knew that little bastard would win records if she were into that kind of thing. But she wasn't. She didn't need an award to prove she'd done something wonderful. She had a well-groomed husband for that.

Don't Give Up On HOPE

2012-01-07T16:18:00.000-08:00

Every now then I veer off of the freeway of sarcasm and inappropriate humor I drive most days, and take a much needed detour down emotional lane. This post, my inaugural for the new year, is my first pit stop on the sentimental side street. I hope you enjoy...

It was almost exactly a year ago that a good portion of my prayer life was dedicated to asking the BIG GUY for someone (AN AGENT!) to take me seriously. You know...just give me and my peculiar book a chance. Six months later...I got an agent. WAHOO! Thanks, God!

This morning I was feeling much the way I did a year ago except that the request to the you know who had changed. This morning I prayed that someone (AN EDITOR!) would take me AND my agent seriously. (Calm down, Kitten--no news to report). On days like this, when I feel like the last author in the world an editor would be willing to take a leap of faith with, I'm reminded of one very important four-letter word: HOPE!

You see, the beauty of HOPE is that it strikes you when you're at your lowest point and quite often through unconventional means. Here's how the HOPE bug big me today:

On December 24th (Yeah, the DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS) my darling 9 year-old decided to write Santa a letter. (Apparently I wasn't supposed to read it, though she left it out on the hutch in the living room--um, FREE GAME, TOOTS!) Anyway, I got the Aww...lump in my throat as we moms do, and then I read the inside:
(I cannot tell you how many times we've told my daughter that she cannot get a trampoline, but I assure you it's well into the double-digits.)

My husband and I chuckled about this card, both enjoying what could very well be her last Christmas believing in the white bearded man from up North, and then we actually discussed her request. After surprisingly short deliberation, we decided this actually could be a good investment for us and that both our kids would get a lot of use out of it. (Not Christmas of 2011, obviously, but perhaps an Easter gift purchased off of Craig's List)

At any rate, my kiddo never lost HOPE. She was the dog under the dining table just waiting for a scrap. And you know what...she got it! A piece of macaroni fell on the floor. (Or in this case, a used trampoline that will probably need new springs).

She never gave up--she just kept hoping. After finding this letter in my dresser drawer, right next to her letter demanding more money from the Tooth Fairy, I realized that I cannot give up on HOPE. It's all I've got left.

(Side note: I had a trampoline as a kid. Our hesitation in buying one was not because we are wicked, evil parents who like to stifle our children of exercise and a good time, but because we didn't think she would use it. If we are guilty of anything--it's practicality.)

Someday...

2011-12-27T09:57:00.000-08:00

Someday I will see my book on a bookshelf

Someday I will look back on submitting to editors as a learning experience

Someday I will finish my WIP

Someday I will write a decent blog post again

But it's not today

Adendum to the last post...

2011-12-23T17:48:00.001-08:00

ONE MORE THING!!

I have also learned that if a piece of scotch tape (the gift wrap kind) accidentally gets stuck to your lip (don't ask) it WILL pull a chunk of your lip skin with it.

(Get your mind out of the gutter, girls. You know which lips I'm referring to)

A few things I've learned this week...

2011-12-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

Fear not, Fan Club! This is not the witty Christmas post I've long been crafting together in my substantially follicled head. This is just a quick blurb by which I will share a few things I have learned in the hopes of sparing you the same painful learning curve I've had to endure. (Tis the season, and all).

#1. If you have a child who likes to bang on keyboards, NEVER, EVER leave your WIP open on your computer. A great love scene with (fill in the blank: Bradley Cooper, Zac Efron, Mark Wahlberg, Matt Lauer, (it could happen)) can quickly turn into a blank screen and a houseful of expletives directed at your child who will in turn repeat them to their teacher.

#2. Write down your Blogger password. On the occasion your computer doesn't "remember" for you--it makes logging in for a blog post a whole lot easier.

#3. Don't get annoyed with the stupidity of Hollywood. Case in point: The novelty license plates they use in movies. Unless you just arrived to this country, you know that license plates (novelty included) are only allotted SEVEN characters. So when you see an awesome movie like THE LINCOLN LAWYER, starring the very delishhhhous Matthew McConaughey, and his license plate reads, NOTGULTY, don't freak out. You'll only drive yourself, and your husband crazy.

And finally,

#4. If your husband says things around the house like, "I gotta see a man about a horse," when referring to a bowel movement, don't be surprised when your nine-year-old daughter suddenly pushes herself away from the dinner table, and announces with the dramatic prowess of an academy award winner, "I'VE GOTTA TAKE A DUMP!" I found that it's a whole lot easier to just laugh, and retell the story on your blog, than to remind her that not only is that gross but she never waited to be excused from the table to go take that dump.

Until next time, my friends...

BAH, HUMBUG!! Things that drive me NUTS about the Christmas Season

2011-11-27T15:02:00.000-08:00

Relax, Frances! Don't get your undies all twisted. I'm not really a Scrooge--but there are a few things that really annoy me about the Christmas season. Rather than fester on them though; which inevitably results in me seeking comfort at the bottom of a beer bottle or a bag of holiday M&Ms, I thought I'd vent my annoyances to all of you. And here they are:

THE THINGS THAT DRIVE ME NUTS ABOUT THE HOLIDAY SEASON

Airing the Christmas classics (i.e., A Charlie Brown Christmas, The Grinch, Frosty) 17 times before December 2nd. When I was a kid, way back in the 80's, they aired the show once. ONCE! You looked forward to that night for weeks. And if, on the off chance you missed it...well then, you cried, and then got over it.

Giving impersonal gifts. Give me a cinnamon scented votive in a snowman candle holder any day of the week, (I love cinnamon and candles!) but don't expect me to give you something impersonal back. I don't give impersonal gifts--I CANNOT DO IT! If I cannot find something I know you will love--I will buy something I would love. Like a Jake Ryan T-shirt. (I already have one of these--but I don't have a Bradley Cooper one...) Santa yard decorations intermingled with the Nativity scene. (sigh) Go secular. Go religious. I don't really care--but don't have Santa standing above the baby Jesus' manger--it's just WEIRD!

People that make you WAIT to open a gift until Christmas morning. If we exchange gifts on December 17, knowing we won't see each other on Christmas morning, please don't tell me to wait until then to open it. The best part of giving a gift is seeing the recipient's expression! (Hopefully the expression will be a happy one--though my husband nearly bought me a steering wheel for a dying Honda Prelude 17 years ago. That would not have been a happy one.) And if you do you forbid me from opening it, trust that the second you pull out of the California Pizza Kitchen parking lot where we've just had our holiday girl's lunch, I will be tearing into that bad boy. My Jeep smells like stale goldfish crackers and dirt. I need a little cinnamon-scented candle action to clear things up.

Those doughy candy cane cookies that taste like chalk. You know the ones I'm talking about. The ones your stay-at-home neighbor/mom whips up to make you look like a slacker in front of your children? (Because you opted not to bake--instead purchasing some festively packaged caramel corn from Target). Every year, EVERYBODY in your house forgets that those cookies taste like crap--they just know that you didn't labor over a hot oven for seven hours making them.

Holiday work parties. (sigh) I hate them almost as much as I hate office birthday parties. (Except the year I met Aerosmith in the bar of the hotel where my husband had his party 15 years ago. That's for an entirely different blog post, though). I already sacrifice 40 hours of my life every week for you people--do I really need to give you another four? And on a weekend??!!!

Parking lots. I'm an incredibly impatient person. Please climb in your car, buckle the kids, and get the heck out of the space within 30 seconds, or I will play that game where I imagine how many points I will earn if I can hit you while keeping your Uggs on your feet. (By the way, Uggs and cut-off shorts do not look good.)

Pink Christmas trees. Just...DON'T!

Feel free to share your Christmas grievances below. Ho, Ho, Ho! (Oh yeah, I don't like hoes parading around on Christmas, either. Take a break, girl. Have some eggnog or somethin')

Interview with (MY) agent, RACHAEL DUGAS

2011-11-18T14:58:00.000-08:00

Hip, Hip, HOORAY!
I am so excited for this second installment of the THREE AGENTS WHO CHANGED MY LIFE mini-blog series.

Today it is my pleasure to introduce you to MY amazing agent, Rachael Dugas of Talcott Notch Literary Services. (I do not have a head shot of Rachael, but imagine a dainty brunette with sparkly eyes and a giggle that rivals a Disney princess and you've got her).

For all of you agented readers, you how amazing it feels when someone other than your mother thinks your book is awesome. (Let's face it--your mom is still impressed that you can read an entire book, let alone write one). And for all of you soon-to-be agented folks, hang in there. Every painful rejection becomes a distant memory when you get THE CALL from THE AGENT who loves your book as much as you do. At least that's how it worked for me.

Now, on to the interview...

RR: How long have you been agenting, and what made you decide to pursue it?
RD: I have been an agent for about 5 months now. Publishing seemed like an interesting way to use my English degree and I love the idea of being a part of the process that brings amazing new material to the shelves. I previously held a long editorial internship, which was my first hands-on experience in the industry, and I enjoyed it greatly. When I was presented with this opportunity, I was excited to explore the agent side of the industry. I love having the chance to discover new material and to advocate for authors/manuscripts I really believe in.

RR: What genres do you represent?
RD: Currently, my authors fall under the categories of YA, MG, romance, women's fiction, and cookbooks. I try to keep an open mind and give any great manuscript a chance, regardless of the genre. However, I will admit that you will probably have a difficult time winning me over with Sci-Fi/Fantasy-this is more due to my relative ignorance than lack of interest.

RR: When does a query have the "wow" factor?
RD: A query that is well-written, clear, and that captures the tone and feel of the story perfectly will always make an impression upon me. Of course, a really phenomenal idea can also generate that "wow" factor regardless.

RR: What should authors avoid in their query letters?
RD: First and foremost, really proofread your query letter before you send it. If you have awkward sentence construction and multiple typos, we will fail to be convinced that you can actually write. Additionally, while politeness will get you far, over-obsequiousness can be a turn-off. Just generally, be specific and describe your story. If something sounds too generic, I'm not likely to request anything more. To give a more specific example of something to avoid, I would highly recommend that you don't write from the perspective of your character. You might think it's creative, but we know the author is writing the query, not the character, and, more often than not, it comes across as odd, not interesting. I find it's especially strange when this sort of letter is written from an animal's perspective-and we've received more than one of those during my tenure here!

RR: Do you see any specific trends in the market right now?
RD: It's hard to say. One thing I can say with relative certainty is that it seems that paranormal is past its prime, especially vampires/werewolves/shifters. I've seen several books about the Amish recently, which surprised me, both in YA and adult fiction, but I'd categorize that as more of a mini-trend. Certainly, in YA, dark is name of the game, both in the fantastic and realistic universes.

RR: What's on your wish list?
RD: I would love a really amazing memoir-that is a genre I really enjoy but do not currently represent. I would also love a really smart, well-written commercial adult fiction novel or a really phenomenal women's fiction that relates to cooking. It's kind of been done, at this point, and I've read a couple that were ok, but if I found one that really blew me away, I'd love to give it a go.

RR: What are you reading right now? (for pleasure)
RD: Reading for pleasure? What's that?
Oh, yes, I remember those days! I don't really have much time to read "for fun" lately, but, when I do, I tend to return to some of my all-time favorites, like The Bell Jar, Little Women, anything by David Sedaris, food memoirs like Julia Child's My Life in France and anything by Ruth Reichl or Jeffrey Steingarten, A.S. Byatt, John Connolly, etc. I also read a lot of cookbooks. The book that I am dying to get my hands on right now is the finale to Gregory Maguire's "Wicked years", Out of Oz.

RR: What is the typical day like in the life of an agent?
RD: It really varies. Most days, I start by checking my email for correspondences with clients, agents, and authors I am considering working with. Next, I usually catch up on any partials that are sitting in my inbox. From there, I might do some research for my clients, do some general market research, work on a query letter, or read some of the manuscripts in my ever-increasing queue.

And just for fun, a few of my favorite James Lipton questions:

RR: What is your favorite word?
RD: Catalyst, scintillating, salacious, quintessential, brouhaha

RR: What is your least favorite word?
RD: Moist (Rookie side note: AGREED! Moist is nearly as bad as "drip")

RR: What sound or noise do you love?
RD: The sound of autumn leaves crunching beneath my feet, especially when I'm out walking my dog and she's crunching them under her little paws too!

RR: What sound or noise do you hate?
RD: Nails on a blackboard or any kind of scraping noise, fire alarms, loud sirens, exploding guns/cannons… anything jarring really.

RR: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
RD: Food Network star or Broadway actress

RR: What profession would you not like to do?
RD: Anything with numbers or anything uber dirty or physical. I'm not exactly an outdoorsy sort of girl!

Wow--great interview, Rachael! Thanks for your candid answers and the behind-the-scenes look at life as an agent, though you neglected to mention pacifying neurotic clients in your daily activities. Hee.

Rachael is currently open to submissions. You can find the query guidelines on the agency's website.

*One last thing: Because we are nearing the day of thanks, I'd like to say how incredibly thankful I am to have Rachael in my life. She's patient, helpful, supportive, understanding and vigilant not only in her efforts to get my book on the shelves, but to help me become the best writer I can be. Thank you, Rachael!

Rest in peace my beloved...

2011-11-13T17:15:00.000-08:00

The 4th edition of Rookie's Revlon Ionic Ceramic Pro Stylist was laid to rest on Saturday, November 12, 2011, after its motor began to sputter out mid-blow. Unlike the 4th edition's predecessor, Rookie elected to retire her companion before it became a fire hazard--sending sparks into her mane and, in turn, forcing Rookie to throw the 3rd edition across the room while swearing like a long-haul trucker.

The 4th edition leaves behind a legacy of follicular beauty and ionic shine that can only be compared to Heaven's streets of gold. You have been replaced my beloved, (Same model: $18.99 at Target, plus 5% discount with the Target red debit card) but you will never be forgotten.

Interview with agent Nicole Resciniti

2011-10-30T08:56:00.001-07:00

I don't really believe in luck, nor do I hold much stock in coincidences. I'm one of those old school, faithful types who believes everything happens for a reason. This includes the divine placement of people I've met--more specifically the people I've met on my journey to becoming a writer.

From a herd of the most creative, talented writers on the blogosphere, to other hopeful authors looking to connect, to a best friend who gets me like no one else can (and loves me anyway), I've been showered with encouragement, support and love from folks who two years ago didn't exist to me.

But the blessings don't end there. Along this awesome (read: frustrating/exhausting/exhilarating) road, I've also come to know three amazing and generous ladies who have truly changed my life as a writer. And get this...THEY'RE ALL AGENTS!! (Crazy, right?! They're NOT the dream-crushing trolls we thought they were.)

Today I'd like to introduce you to the first of these amazing women. Please welcome to the Rookie Riter stage, the stupendous Nicole Resciniti of the Seymour Agency. *applause, applause, applause* Settle down everyone, as we jump in with the questions:

RR: How long have you been agenting, and what made you decide to pursue it?

NR: I began officially acquiring clients about nine months ago, after receiving my accreditation from AAR. Mary Sue Seymour offered me the opportunity and after studying her techniques, I thought this was a career I could excel at. I fell in love with this side of the publishing business because it is forever changing and it allows me the flexibility to read and champion an assortment of projects.

RR: What genres do you represent?

NR: Everything with the exception of erotica and poetry. We’re really selective about nonfiction—authors need to have a strong platform. I’m particularly interested in romance and sci-fi/fantasy/UF.

RR: When does a query have the “wow” factor?

NR: Let’s face it, queries are brutal. Take a 100k word book and summarize all its greatness and grandeur in a one-page letter? Plus convey how you, the author, are equally amazing?

The “wow” factor for me comes when the query resembles a book blurb—of a book I’d want to buy.

RR: What should authors avoid in their query letters

NR: Queries are tough, but by adhering to some simple guidelines, any author can entice an author/agent.

Keep it short. Include the vital information: genre, word count, logline/hook, and a concise summary (the kind you’d find on the back cover of a published novel).

There are a few things I would advise an author to “leave out” of their query. Any variations of the following are probably ill-advised:

--“I spent ___ years writing this book.” You’re trying to convey your passion and dedication to this project by disclosing the numerous years you’ve toiled over your novel, but an agent/editor takes away something entirely different, namely, “this person may not be a ‘career’ author.” Many editors will offer for more than one book, and agents want to know their authors can deliver.

--“This is my first book.” When an author writes this in a query, it may suggest that this isn’t their strongest work. Yes, some authors sit down and write bestselling work straight out of the gate, but most authors do not. Most toil and labor and have one (or several) “practice” novels stashed away in a drawer or on a hard drive somewhere, because these beginner books were the projects they learned on. Writing is a craft that develops and improves with time.

--“My mother/spouse/sibling/BFF read this and loves it.” Well, of course they do. That’s what friends and family are for. Editors and readers are much harsher critics. On the flip side, listing your affiliations with writer’s groups, previous publications, and/or contest awards will tell an editor/agent that you’ve done your homework.

--“I’m the next ________(insert NYT Bestseller’s name).” If you really feel it imperative to make this kind of statement then ‘in the vein of’ or ‘fans of’ a certain bestselling author may be a safer way to convey the same idea. Comparisons can help, but it’s usually better to be yourself, to find your own voice and style.

-- No white space. If you’ve filled virtually every line on the page, chances are you’ve said too much. Keep the exposition tight.

RR: Do you see any specific trends in the market right now? (Read: Is paranormal still the cat’s pajamas?)

NR: Dark paranormals still sell, and the darker, the better. By the time most trends are identified they’ve usually passed. I don’t worry about trends for a few reasons. First, writing is cyclical. Something that was once popular may be not be in high demand, but the market will eventually swing back to it. Another reason is because it all boils down to the writing. If the book is spectacular enough, it won’t matter.

RR: What’s on your wish list?

NR: Ooh, my tastes vary, but I can never resist a good romance. Or a thoughtful mystery. I’d really like to find more sci-fi/fantasy. Crossover YA is always high on my wish list.

It all comes down to voice—your voice, Bethany, is spectacular by the way. *blushed when I read this* Regardless of the genre, if the voice is very strong and distinct, I will seek to work with that author.

RR: What are you reading right now? (for pleasure)

NR: Janet Evanovitch’s latest Stephanie Plum novel, Explosive Eighteen.

RR: What is the typical day like in the life of an agent?

NR: Check email (usually from phone before I even get out of bed). Reply to emails, read queries. Client manuscripts/edits/marketing/contracts take up the majority of the day. I may work with a client on a manuscript several times before it’s ready for submission. Editing is a big part of the job.

I correspond with editors to follow-up on submissions and to pitch new projects. I browse PM to see what’s selling and who’s buying. I do lunches or drinks (yum) whenever possible to pitch a client’s work face-to-face. I LOVE the projects I represent, and it’s really important to convey that enthusiasm to an editor. The remainder of my day is spent reading requested partials and complete manuscripts.

And just for fun, a few of my favorite James Lipton questions:

RR: What is your favorite word?

NR: Audacity. (Do I want to see it used in books I read? No, not necessarily. But I DO like bold writers.) *Commentary from the host: I squeed out loud when I read this. Audacity is also my favorite word*

RR: What is your least favorite word?

NR: Looked. (It’s the most common repeat word I come across in the manuscripts I read. Instead of “looking” at something, SHOW what is seen.)

RR: What sound or noise do you love?

NR: Cicadas. Hands-down. It is the sound of summer.

RR: What sound or noise do you hate?

NR: My alarm clock. It’s evil. I wake-up before the alarm just to avoid the blaring beeps.

RR: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Dive instructor. I love scuba.

Wow!! If this interview doesn't earn me an Emmy...

Thank you, Nicole, for your thoughtful and helpful answers. I'm sure your inbox will be overflowing now. Sorry...

Nicole is currently accepting queries and can be reached via the guidelines posted on the agency's website.

(Any of you interested in the specifics of why I love this gal so much--feel free to email me and I'll share. I won't embarrass her publicly with all my praise.)

Please visit again, as I'll be posting interviews with my other "life-changing" agents in the near future.

Don't Skip on the Deets, Bra!

2011-10-15T19:15:00.001-07:00

Viva Kleenex band paper towels with festive prints (prints are optional, though highly recommended)

Tropicana Trop50 Blueberry Pomegranate Juice

Labrador Retrievers

Predictable chick-flicks, coming of age tales (usually including a dance-off or ridiculous, far-fetched duel) and anything including Bradley Cooper

I could have just said; paper towels, juice, dogs and movies, but instead I gave you specifics about the things I like because that makes getting to know me a lot more interesting, right?! (Your first instinct will be to say "no, that just proves you're a picky, pain in the ass," but for the sake of the blog--just agree). Exactly. And I'm no different than the characters you're writing (Minus the hair. Nobody is brave enough to write about hair like mine).

For example, is reading about a girl who is having a snack while watching TV interesting? UH, NO! Is reading about a girl who is stuffing her face with chips and peach mango salsa while watching a rerun of The Love Boat interesting? WHY YES, YES IT IS!

It's the tiny little details that make our characters relatable, detestable or down right desirable.

If your main character has a strange obsession with David Cassidy, let us know! Though many of us will think he/she has a tiny, old man fetish, there will be a handful of late thirty-somethings who can totally relate.

If the bum on the corner is holding a hand-written sign, tell us what it says! We need to know whose working for beer and who isn't.

If your token rich bitch had plastic surgery, we need to know the cup size, how much she paid, and exact measurements of the misaligned nips.

Details make your characters come to life. Your readers want them and your book needs them.

Take short-cuts when you need to, but never, ever skimp on the details!

FOUR-LETTER WORDS: What are you packin'?

2011-09-30T17:37:00.001-07:00

Relax, Nancy...no one's throwing F-bombs your way.

This post is dedicated to the four-letter words every writer should include in their handy WRITER'S SURVIVAL PACK on a daily basis. Let's take a look at what's inside:

HOPE: Hope tops the list because without it, we'd have nothing.

SUCK: If your manuscript doesn't suck at least once every ten days--you're doing something wrong. Everybody has doubts about their writing. If you can't admit it--you will be taken to the barn and stomped to death by cloven hooves. It's been documented. It will happen.

LOVE: Write because you love to write. Not because you want to sell a book.

FART: When did farting become a bad thing? If you don't let loose every now and then, the stifled gas will clog up your internal blood flow thereby causing a depletion of oxygen to the brain. Without that, your brain hamster cannot run and your writing will suffer. It's basic science, folks. Acknowledge it and move on. (And if they're particularly bad, like you ate 2 cups of broccoli the night before--run after you distribute or quickly apply scented lotion to your hands to mask the odor.)

HATE: Hate is a strong word kids, but it's essential to your survival. If you don't hate other writer's who sign a bigger contract than you, agents who don't respond to your query, or co-workers who think your story is "cute", than you're a liar and will also be taken out to the barn. Just be honest and hate...it's okay, we still love you.

FEAR: You bet you're packing this! This is a scary business, bro! It's okay to be fearful, just don't let it stop you from living your dream.

DAMN: Sometimes it just feels good to say it. Take this sentence for example, "Damn, that is some good writing." See...it just works. Don't ignore the damn.

BEER: Beer, or other alcoholic beverages, should be embraced by all writers. It makes the most boring scene funny, the most annoying characters likeable, and you ten pounds thinner. How can you lose? I recommend stocking up on this bad boy. You never know when it might come in handy.

PRAY: You cannot do this alone. Prayer is a powerful tool, my friends. Don't leave home without it!

DUMB: Some people are just dumb. This has nothing to do with your survival as a writer. It's just important to mention.

WAIT: Ah...to wait. Getting a book published is like rush hour at Disneyland. Yes, we know you want to get on Space Mountain like...yesterday, but you have to wait just like everybody else. The truth is, most of us have to wait. A LOT. Those stories you read, about authors who got picked up on their first query, went to auction after 3 days, and got a seven-figure deal with additional movie rights...yeah, those people might not have had to wait, but they're the ones the rest of us hate...it all works out in the end.

This my list of essential four-letter words. What are you packin'?

GIVE ME YOUR BEST CAPTION...

2011-09-20T17:35:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay, (Rookie raises hands in defense) I know this is a bit of a cop out, but I'm tired and oh so busy trudging away on my WIP that this is the best I can do. Give me your best catch phrase, sentence, or short story for the photo below. All who participate will receive a special gift from yours truly.

GUILT: It's a verdict, not a feeling.

2011-09-10T13:27:00.000-07:00

I'd like to introduce you to my dog, Cooper. Sadly, my handsome yellow boy died suddenly on Halloween 2009 forever taking a piece of my heart with him.

While there are many things I miss about Coop on a daily basis: The way his eyebrows shifted when he listened to me talk to him. How silky his ears felt beneath my fingers. His eternal hopefulness that one day I'd actually give him a scrap from the table *sigh*, there is one thing I definitely do not miss...the suffocating guilt he freely handed-out while sitting at my side and staring at me until I played ball with him. (He could go for hours folks. It was torturous.)

Aside from the handsome guy above the only other person on the planet whose guilt distribution has any affect on me is my husband. (His guilt trips are slightly different than that of the dog's and reserved for an entirely different kind of post. *wink*)

OH WAIT!

I nearly forgot. There actually is one more person who can make me crumble at the knees with unrelenting guilt. She's blue-eyed, types 90 wpm and has hair the size of a small village. Her name is Bethany and she is a gold medal winner at self-inflicted guilt.

Until I got serious about my writing, I had no idea how hard I was on myself. The expectations I hold myself accountable to are not only unattainable, but completely ridiculous considering my life. (Full-time job, 2 kids, husband...you know the drill). I can go from having a great, 1,000 word writing day to feeling like a useless turd on the doorstep in the matter minutes. All because I let my own guilt trip me up.

I know I'm not alone in this self-defeating behavior. It seems most of my writerly friends share in this neurotic behavior. (Aren't we the lucky ones?!) But I did receive some advice a few years ago that I've been trying hard to incorporate into my life in hopes to ease the guilt.

Here it is: (Put on your waders--we're about to get deep).

After the birth of my first daughter, I went through a period of some very low-lows. It wasn't exactly postpartum depression, but what a therapist diagnosed as postpartum anxiety. Like a lot of creatives, I'm a control freak--having my world turned on it's head by this 8lb. person who did little more than cry, poop and literally suck the life out of me, definitely did not fall into my list of familiar and scheduled activities. (Fear not! The child in question is now nearly nine and I no longer want to run away from her (most of the time)) When I learned I was pregnant with baby girl #2, I quickly sought guidance from a therapist so I would understand how to deal with the feelings that still frightened me when I thought about bringing another new person into my world.

Therapy taught me that not only am I a control freak, but I'm also an emotional responder. (duh) Rather than deal with things rationally...I blow them out of proportion. I know...shocking! But, and here's where it gets interesting and back to the point, the best thing I learned was that there are really only 4 true feelings when it comes to our emotions. They are:

SAD
MAD
GLAD
AFRAID

Lorie, my therapist, suggested that anytime I start having feelings of guilt, which was my biggie, that I stop and break it down to an actual feeling. Because guilt wasn't a feeling. It was a verdict.

Here's what I mean:

I'm a horrible mother = GUILT

The Breakdown:

I am afraid that I'm going to do this wrong.
I am mad because my life has changed in ways I never expected.
I am sad because I don't feel like the same person anymore. I miss her.

This little formula was a lifesaver. I didn't suffer any of the same symptoms with #2 as I did with #1. AND, the best part, I've been able to translate this little process over to my writing life. For example:

I didn't write all weekend = GUILT
The Breakdown:

I am mad that I had to go to Costco to buy husband Cliff bars instead of spending an hour writing.

I am afraid that if I don't commit every free moment to writing God won't think I'm serious about it and I will never "make it."

I am sad that I know my friends made time to write this weekend and I didn't.

You can break it down for days--and believe me, I have. But the bottom line is--GUILT IS NOT A FEELING. It's a culmination of other feelings that you just haven't stripped down to the roots yet. Most of my guilt actually comes from fear. I'm not sure that's a good thing, but at least I've diagnosed the source.

Perhaps my therapist was a bit more "enlightened" than some folks (I'm pretty sure she went to Berkeley) but, either way, this little tool has helped me a lot. Maybe it can help you, too.

Look Mom, I'm on Oprah!

2011-08-31T14:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, you caught me. I'm actually nowhere near Chicago, but I am on the hot seat! Twice!!

My new friend, Jessica LeSaicherre, has invited me to her blog for a little chat about the struggles of doing it all. (Read: How do you bathe, feed and love your children, keep a little spice in your marriage, and pick up dog poop all while becoming a writer?) Besides the fact that Jess has an awesome blog, and is as cute as a button, she's also a member of Team Peeta. (Bonus points in my book). So swing by, say hello, and check out my interview beginning this Thursday.

And in other exciting interview news...

The fantastical Anita Howard has invited me to participate in her QUERY TRACKERS MAKING TRACKS series over on her blog this Friday. Most of you know that QT played a huge part in me finding my agent, Rachael Dugas (the darling little dynamo who will be swinging by Rookie's blog very soon). It was a treat & an honor to sing QT's praises to Anita. I'd love to see you over there, too.

BETTER THAN SLICED BREAD

2011-08-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

Last week I was granted an AWESOMESAUCE award by the amazing, and soon to be best selling author, Anita Howard. I'll be honest and admit that my first thought upon notification was, bloody hell! There's a reason why people don't ask me to participate in dish towel chain letters, or pass me a loaf of soon-to-be Amish friendship bread. The reason is because I don't follow the rules. I never have. Rules infuriate me! (And the thought of eating a slice of bread that originated from 10 days of neglect on my counter is about as appetizing as anal warts. Just about.)

But because I love me some Anita, and because I happen to have some serious blog envy going on, I decided I would follow the rules, this ONE time, and play along.

So, it is with great pleasure I present the the AWESOMESAUCE award to the fabulous and witty Ms. Jessie Humphries. Besides the fact that the girl has titled her blog page with the best letter in the alphabet, "B", she's just damn funny and puts together some entertaining, well-written blog posts on a regular basis that all begin with the letter "B". (She first reeled me in with her "B is for BRINGIN IT" post on August 12. This post was inspired by the darling Mr. Ryan Gosling, which provided me a perfect opportunity to comment about my favorite blue-eyed honey, Mr. Bradley Cooper. I am to Bradley Cooper as Barack is to the word 'change'. I will incorporate it as often as possible.) So, congratulation's, Jessie. You are so worthy of the awesomesauce, I hope you bathe in it for days.

And now to the rules. *sigh* *groan*

1. I'm supposed to thank the person who bestowed me with this fabulous award.
THANK YOU, ANITA!!

2. Pay it forward to no more than one person a month.
NOT A PROBLEM. THE AWESOMENESS STOPS WITH JESSIE.

3. What is your favorite song currently playing on your iPod?
THE GLEE KIDS RENDITION OF, DON'T STOP BELIEVIN'

4. If we peek into your Internet history, what would we find?
LAST GOOGLE SEARCH: IS BRADLEY COOPER SINGLE?

5. And lastly, what is your all-time favorite movie that you watch over and over again?
DO YOU EVEN NEED TO ASK?

Sixteen Candles - Final Scene - Movie Ending. Watch more top selected videos about: Sixteen Candles, Michael Schoeffling

The second that music starts playing, my heart actually stops beating. It does not get any better than Jake Ryan in topsiders and when he says, "Yeah, you." Ahhh...I'm in Heaven.

That's all I have for today, my bloggerly buddies, but something exciting is in the works...

STAY TUNED!

LOCKED IN THE WRITER'S CLOSET

2011-08-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

Shh...Please don't tell anyone I'm in here.

This is my secret hideout and if too many people find out about it, I'm afraid they'll force me out. It's not that I don't like it out there, in the real world. The people are nice and the food is pretty tasty, but it's so much different in here.

In here I can really be myself.

I can talk to the voices in my head and nobody thinks I'm crazy. They think I'm inspired.

In here I'm encouraged to color outside the lines. In fact there aren't any lines in here. It's just me, a big empty page and a brand new box of crayons. (I love new crayons).

In here my big ambitions are met with excitement, not speculation.

In here a rejection doesn't mean failure, it means I'm one step closer to success.

In here all the nonsense in my head has a purpose. And it's a purpose I'm discovering more every time I step inside.

I know the day is coming when I'm going to have to 'out' myself to the rest of the world, but until then I'm going to stay out of sight, answering only to those who know the secret password.

HAIL, HAIL THE MIGHTY MULLET

2011-08-14T13:24:00.000-07:00

In my opinion a mullet is a lot more than a hideous hairdo that should have been snuffed out the day it was invented, along with every man, child and K.D. Lang fan who ever donned it atop their head. THE MULLET IS A STATEMENT. It says, we've got to take care of a little bit of business before we hit the party.

Which is exactly what's happening on this post today.

First, THE BIDNESS:
Query Tracker is quite possibly the coolest site for hopeful authors to meet, connect and record our efforts as we try to land an agent. Now that I've earned myself representation, I am stoked to report that I participated in a Query Tracker Success Story which can be found here. (I'm not very comfortable with self-promotion so if I need to toot my own horn to get a little attention than, toot toot. That's all I got.)

Now, THE PARTAAAY!
Recently my witty and panty-loving pal Angela, as well as my new pal, A.M. who has exceptional taste in girls and goats, bestowed me a very special gift. It is the Liebester Blog Award.

(I am told that Liebster means "friend" in German. I suspect, though, that it has something to do with hooves and intricate bead work. Research pending).

The Liebster award is presented to bloggers who have less than 200 followers, with no conditions for the recipient other than to link back to the givers and bask in the glory of being recognized by some pretty cool chicks. (Actually, that's not true. I'm supposed to tag five people with this gift, but rules scare me. The second I read, "ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS..." Melvin actually leaps from his wheel and I'm left pudge-brained wondering how the goat got my undies over his horns. Rules aren't good for Rookie).

Because I'm the rebellious, youngest daughter of a former minister, I'd like to incorporate my own rules as I always do. Rather than tagging 5 friends for this list, I thought it more fun to create a list of people I'd love to be tagged by. (naughty, naughty, preacher's kid!)

The list goes something like this:

1. Bradley Cooper (Come on, you know me. If I can incorporate his name into a blog, I will).

2. Mark Salling, a.k.a. Noah "Puck" Puckerman, from Glee. This sexy boy with a one-track mind makes my toes curl. 'Nuff said.
3. Shia LeBeouf. Shut up. He's legal.

4. Mathew Fox. Just because LOST is gone, and PARTY OF FIVE ended too early, doesn't mean I can't keep swooning over this fella.5. Ben Affleck. He's still hot, even with a little extra poundage. So long as we don't talk politics, we're good to go!

(No celebrity hunks were harmed during the making of my most recent fantasy)

LIFE AS A WRITER, THROUGH THE EYES OF A HAMSTER

2011-08-04T10:03:00.001-07:00

If I've ever commented on your blog, or emailed you privately, you probably know that I have a hamster living inside my brain. (It's true. Under all that hair there is a brain) My little hamster does not have an official moniker, though this week the name MELVIN popped into my head, so I think that's what I'll call him. One thing my little hamster friend definitely does have, however, is a tremendous amount of influence on my life.

Because this may be an advanced concept for some of you to process (or, more likely, too ridiculous to consider) I thought I'd give you the lay version of what my life as a writer is like through the eyes of Melvin. Please follow along using the pictures for guidance.

Here we see Melvin in the condition I was in on Monday after returning from vacation. He is fat, lazy, and content with doing absolutely nothing. He hasn't written anything in days, and he drank more alcohol than his furry little body was used to. He doesn't care about much of anything--except getting some sleep.

Here is Melvin on Tuesday. He woke up to the painful reality that he was fat, lazy, and had been, up until that morning, absolutely content doing absolutely nothing. In short: MELVIN WAS A LOSER WITH NO FUTURE! Because he was a disgusting, going-nowhere little beast, he immediately began nourishing his body with healthy treats like broccoli, blog posts, water, books, and emails from encouraging friends. If he was going to get back on that wheel, he'd need energy, right?

(Side note: On this day Rookie received an unfair amount of support from a fellow writer and dear friend, assuring her that she had not lost her passion for writing, and that God would not deny her an opportunity to be published, simply because she took a few days off.)

And today we see the fruit of Melvin's labor. See him there? He's sprinting on his wheel! That sucker is about ready to fly off its hinges! Ideas are percolating, words are flowing, fingers are flying...it's a good day to be a writer. Melvin is on a roll. (literally...see below)

And then...well, then we will come to this weekend. When Melvin will rest. He will eat just enough, but not too much. He will drink a little, not a lot. He will write enough to feed his habit, but stop before overdosing.
Melvin's an interesting little guy. He's a passionate, dramatic and soulful little creature. He takes things seriously, over-analyzes everything, and pours himself into his work. But I guess that's the life of a writer--through the eyes of a hamster, anyway.

Heading to the trees...

2011-07-26T17:54:00.000-07:00

Twenty years have passed since my dear husband graduated from high school. Because I love him, and am anxiously awaiting 5 days of no diaper changing or lunch packing, I will be joining him in the great northwest. That's right--we're heading to a small town in Oregon where recreational activities include: rafting, smoking pot, hiking, smoking pot, not wearing deodorant, and...smoking pot. (I actually don't roll that way, but do enjoy being entertained by those who do)

So until I see you again; be well, write like you love it, play nicely with each other, and pet your goat often.

NIGEL: THE PANTY THIEVING GOAT

2011-07-15T08:17:00.000-07:00

This is my goat, Nigel.

He lives in my backyard, though it's no secret he'd prefer to be back in his summer home in Bexley, grazing on the uptight British grass that works "brilliantly" on his immune system.

By day he's a struggling loan broker, but by night...well, I just found out he's something very different...

Here's how it went down:

While watering the plants last night, I stumbled upon a small, leather bound book tucked snugly between a planter and the ceramic patio fountain Nigel drinks from because bending over to drink from a rubber garden hose is beneath his station. Five, golden letters were scrawled across the cover of the worn treasure, DIARY.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I flipped the book open hoping to uncover the secrets of my mysterious pet, but instead found remnants of the parchment paper that once filled the soft, bound interior of the book. (Nigel considers heavy stock paper a delicacy befitting nobility).

I collapsed into the cushions of my new, wicker-like-vinyl love seat, while the diary fell to the cracked cement floor beneath me. "What has become of me?" I groaned, guilt-stricken by my juvenile behavior. For months I'd been trying to uncover some hidden truth to Nigel's illusive past, but I continued to come up empty. It was a hard pill to swallow, but maybe he wasn't a sinister goat after all--maybe I was just a suspicious, Fox News-watching conservative who assumed everyone was up to something. I closed my eyes and sucked back a deep, cleansing breath. "Never again," I vowed. "Never again will I think the worst of Nigel."

I retrieved the book, hoping to stash it back into its hidey-hole before Nigel returned from happy hour at VanOmerling's dairy, when I saw it. A scrap of thick red paper complete with nibbled edges and the cloven writing of an educated goat.

My heart raced as I did a quick over-the-shoulder check that the coast was clear. It was safe, so I hunched over the paper like it was a lone flame in a frozen tundra and read the following words: If my owner does not answer these questions by midnight--I shall steal her panties and add them to my collection.

The thought of Nigel stealing anything that belonged to me made my stomach turn. After all, I forked out over $300 for the vaccinations he needed to enter the country and don't get me started on his deworming medicine. Even online Canadian meds are expensive! But the thought of him stealing my undies...No Way! I pulled the blue Bic from behind my ear, because all writers carry a pen with them at all times (and a flask), and sat down to answer his questions.

What do you call your panties/underwear/undergarments? Do you have any commonly used nicknames for them? I reeled my head back, "What do I call them? Undies. Obviously. Or broochies, what my Dutch neighbor, Mrs. Slegors, called them growing up." I jotted down the words while I spoke and moved on to the second question.

Have you ever had that supposedly common dream of being in a crowded place in your underwear? I couldn't help but laugh as I responded to this question. "NO," But I often find myself trying to feed fish who are living in only an inch of water who I've neglected to feed for well over a year. (I suppose that's not funny to the fish. They always seem really pissed in those dreams).

I moved on to the third question, it read: What is the worst thing you can think of to make panties out of? This wasn't an easy question to answer. I thought for a moment, uncomfortable-feeling items flying through my mind: burlap, barbed wire, Democrats--and then it came to me. I quickly wrote, "GRASS". Not only does it itch sometimes, but it also attracts neighborhood cats who want a change from litter.

Question four required less than a second of thought to answer: If you were a pair of panties, what color would you be, and WHY? My favorite color is purple. So I wrote, "PURPLE." But then, because I'm a writer and our motto is "edit until you die", I crossed it out and wrote, "DUSTY LILAC."

I felt my cheeks flush when I read the fifth question: Have you ever thrown your panties/underwear at a rock star or other celebrity? If so, which one(s)? If not, which one(s) WOULD you throw your panties/underwear at, given the opportunity? The memory washed over me like an ocean of feel-goods I wanted to drown in. Ray Romano's baby face, and these panties...damn, that was a great post-9/11 comedy fundraiser.

The sixth question was a no-brainer for this preacher's kid: You’re out of clean panties. What do you do? I wrote in big, capital letters: GO COMMANDO, BIATCH!

Question number seven actually stirred up a buried emotion I hadn't realized I was carrying. I sat down on the love seat and pondered the best way to answer. Are you old enough to remember Underoos? If so, did you have any? Which ones? The answer was obvious enough--of course I remembered Underoos. I was born in '75--everybody had them. Everyone but me, that is. I wiped back a tear as the vision of the Wonder Woman Underoos I nearly stole from Amber Webb's drawer flashed through my mind faster than an invisible jet could travel. White, chin-high undies with tiny pink rosebuds was all I was good enough for. A package of six for $6 at Penney's...I quickly penned my answer, "YES." and "No." and "WW." and moved on to number eight while the taste of resentment still lingered in my mouth.

Thankfully, question eight offered some levity to my mood: If you could have any message printed on your panties, what would it be? I considered my answer for a moment before jotting down the response, "REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT."

The last question left me a little confused: How many bloggers does it take to put panties on a goat? I had no idea what a blogger was, but figured it had something to do with Nigel's drinking mates back in London. I wrote down "5", because I would need at least five stiff drinks to dull the humiliation of falling victim to panty-thieving goat and called it good.

Just when I thought I was done, and the knowledge that my favorite cheetah print undies with the tiny pink bow on the front was feeling secure, I read the last line on the page. It said, TELL ME WHERE THREE OF YOUR FRIENDS LIVE SO I CAN ASK THEM THESE QUESTIONS OR THEY WILL ALSO LOSE THEIR PANTIES TO MY EXTENSIVE COLLECTION.

BLOODY HELL!

My heart was beating outside of my over-priced, lightly-padded Vickie's T-back--I couldn't give this deliberate thought. I scrawled down the first three names that came to mind: Angela, Huntress and Marian, I capped my pen, slipped it back behind my ear and tucked the paper back into the diary.

The morale of the story: Always wear clean underwear. And never trust a goat named Nigel.

Boo, hoo, hoo

2011-07-11T15:12:00.001-07:00

Because I have a sore throat, headache, and an impossible amount of mosquito bites, I thought I'd share my favorite poem with you. Because it makes me feel a little better.

Sick

'I cannot go to school today, '
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play! '

-Shel Silverstein

BLACH! Quick, get it off!

2011-07-07T14:23:00.000-07:00

BREAKING NEWS: ROOKIE RITER FALLS VICTIM TO THE EVER-EVOLVING MEME!

Son of a BIATCH!

Somehow I thought I could sneak through another round of Memes without having to participate (I'm lazy, guys), but at least three of my blogging buds have tagged me like a cheap hooker at closing time--guess that means I have to put out. Because I have some very talented, funny, and slightly sadistic friends who have already contributed to this round of debauchery, I thought I'd combine a few of their questions and a few of my own, creating one, seriously jacked-up meme. So, here we go...

1. If you were a rutabaga, would you be hot?
I would be. Especially if I was on the grill. Wait, what is a rutabaga?

2. When was the last time you ate lion meat?
I live in San Diego, which means we are just one Disney dvd ride from the happiest place on earth. If you've ever been to the Magic Kingdom you'll recall they used to serve enormous turkey drumsticks from an umbrella'd cart just outside of Fantasy Land and also near Sleeping Beauty's Castle. What you may not know is that under President Obama's recently implemented turkey embargo (It's true. I read it online), the fine folks at Disney are no longer allowed to serve their famous turkey legs. Instead they're using Lion. They call them SIMBA STICKS. I agree...it's a little tasteless considering the venue, but damn, they're good! Anyway, the last time I had lion meat was...spring break.

3. Upload a picture of something that makes you smile.

WalMart and I go together like toe fungus and banana bread. The fine folks I see trolling through the ROLL BACK bins always bring a smile to my face. Always.

4. Name one habit that makes other people plot your demise.
I am a schedule Nazi. I like routines. And I expect others to follow them, too. HEIL!

5. How many goats, stacked atop one another like Yertle's Turtles, would it take to reach the moon? Uh...it's my understanding that space exploration has been given the big middle finger so...I can't even contemplate an answer for this one. But I'm guessing more than 4.

6. Describe yourself using obscure Latin words.
Pelo grande y rubio, ojos azules y muy sarcástico. Latin?? Seriously...who speaks Latin any more? Hable Espanol or go home!

7. If you could shave someones head while they slept, and they'd never know it was you who did it...would you?
Definitely. I'd start with this chick.
And finally,
8. Where da muffin top at?
Is that something you can order from McDonalds in the bad neighborhoods??

I'm not tagging anybody with this meme because they've all done it already and, as previously stated, I'm just freakin' lazy.

Writing the Love Interest: The Jake Ryan Complex

2011-07-01T10:13:00.000-07:00

They say that inspiration comes from the most unlikely of places. In the case of today's post that sentiment couldn't be more true.

Let me set the scene: It's about 6 am Thursday morning. I'm blowing my hair dry in preparation for a day of work, praying for an epiphany as to what my next blog post will be. My husband stumbles into the bathroom, eyes narrowed to pinch out the morning light, and that mysterious nighttime crust is wedged in the corners of his mouth like he'd been making out with a glue stick. (Hands off, ladies, he's taken!) He drops down onto the toilet seat and begins lacing up his running shoes, grumbling about the stupid dog not caring whether he gets walked or not, and that's when it happens...INSPIRATION STRIKES!

With as much maturity as a four-year-old boy who licks mailboxes and chews on his own toenails, my husband discovers he has a little booger dangling from his nose. Rather than depositing said snot rocket into a tissue or square of toilet paper like a civilized person, he determines that an appropriate relocation would be to smear the little sucker on the leg of my pajama pants. Under different circumstances I would have thrown a royal fit, going all blond-afro-girl on his disgusting arse, but I opted not to because he'd just given me my next blog topic, and therefore I was extremely grateful.

It's what I refer to as: THE JAKE RYAN COMPLEX

For those of you who don't know who Jake Ryan is, (Cherie!) please pull your head from beneath the rock you're buried under and rent SIXTEEN CANDLES. It's this movie that absolutely ruined the realistic love interest for any teenage girl.

You see, Jake Ryan was really a thirty-year-old man trapped in an eighteen-year-old boy's body. He didn't care that he drove a zippy red Porsche when all the other kids drove hand-me-down Honda's. He was the most popular guy on campus, dating a gorgeous cheerleader with big dairy pillows, but it was of absolutely no consequence to him. Jake wanted more than a good time. He wanted depth. He wanted sincerity. He wanted Samantha Baker, the flat-chested sophomore who took a sex quiz in Independent Study and, stupidly, answered honestly!

"I don't know, Rook," you say skeptically. "This guy sounds too good to be true."

Brilliant deduction my underpaid fan club. He is! HE'S TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE! Which is why we love him so much!

As YA authors it's our job to create a desirable 17-20 year old boy that any girl would be thrilled to tongue tangle with. He shall be good looking, mature for his age, loyal, funny, smart and be willing to walk through fire, slay dragons, stake vampires, publicly humiliate snobby cheerleaders, or put an abusive father in his place on his girl's behalf, all within forty-eight hours of meeting her.

Is he realistic? HECK NO! But who wants to read about a pimple-faced kid who lights his own farts for entertainment? Our job is to create the ideal boyfriend who says all the right things and makes our tummy quiver with just a glance. Is it misleading to our young readers? Yep. But if we had our Jake Ryan moment it only seems fair that they should have theirs, too. After all, in fifteen short years they'll look down and find a booger stuck to their cotton jammies.

I GOT AN AGENT!

2011-06-27T17:34:00.000-07:00

I've been dreaming about this blog post for a long time. I had it all worked out in my head--and let me tell you, friend, it was RAD!

First I was going to suck you in with a really sexy title like, "You had me at hello" or, "Out of the slush I will rise!" And then I was going to string together a beautifully eloquent statement about subjectivity, and how one agent's trash is another agent's treasure.

I was going to captivate you with unlikely metaphors, and dazzle you with my surprising wit and off-color humor. I'd offer a sweet little nugget that you'd chew on and think, "Man, that RookieRiter totally gets it!" And then I'd conclude my awesome post by telling you that it only takes one YES to make it all worthwhile.

And now here I am...
The day I've been dreaming about.
The day I've been praying for.
The day I got an agent.
And what do I come up with??? I GOT AN AGENT. (Brilliant, Rook).

The truth is, I'm at a loss for words.

Up until a week ago my story was cliche. But today it's charming & fresh? What gives?!

Doesn't this east coast agent of glory know who she's talking to? I'm the RookieRiter. I get rejections, not offers. I run around with women who liken themselves to goat herders, not poet laureates. Why do I deserve all this love & affection??

All I can come up with is, SHE GETS ME. I don't know how it happened, but Rachael Dugas gets me. And now she's going to do her best to help my book become something wonderful--and that is just about the coolest thing that's ever happened to me.

The 90+ rejections over two manuscripts are history. The words "cliche" and "predictable" that plagued me three weeks ago are just words in a dictionary now. All the hurt, frustration, tears, anger and booze (okay, not the booze) but the rest of it really is dust in the wind. It's gone...

Since I can't think of anything fancy to say (I'm in a happy fog right now), I'll leave you with this:
DON'T GIVE UP! EVER!! If it can happen to me, BELIEVE ME, it can happen for you! JUST KEEP SWIMMING!!

PEARLS OF WISDOM. OR NOT.

2011-06-24T08:32:00.000-07:00

I survived my 36th birthday this week. You know what that means, right?

It means service people call me ma'am, not miss. It means that the tiny little hair that creeps out of my chin scar every few months is going to bring friends with her next time. It means I can hold a pencil (or a phone book) under my breast with no hands. And it means I will probably never get carded for buying alcohol again. (Except at Claim Jumper--they card EVERYBODY!)

But it also means I've had 13,140 days to learn, grow, and experience life--and in that time I've learned some pretty valuable lessons. Today, I'd like to share some of them with you.

Ahem...

-A genuine smile can be very disarming.
-Your mother will always love your manuscript. Even if it sucks. She's just amazed that you were able to string 75,000 words together considering you're the kid she used to find you in the basement shaving bars of soap and sniffing--just to see if you'd sneeze.
-Do not go barefoot to pick up dog poop.
-One armed hugs are stupid. Go big or go home.
-Lite beer doesn't taste good, and only pansies drink it.
-Sing loud. Even if you sound terrible.
-Go to church sometimes. Good things happen there.
-Laugh until you cry.
-If a burner smells hot--don't touch it!
-Fainting goats are proof that God has a sense of humor. (see video below)
-Say what you mean.
-Girls with long hair should not stick their heads into ice coolers outside the 7-11. The little fan inside can do damage.
-If your dad offers to pick you up from school in a sky blue, 1969 Winnebago with an umbrella-holding, cartoon bear on the side, and a caption reading, "God's love shines through" just say no.
-Potlucks are a stomach ache waiting to happen.
and finally,
-Always have faith.

This post is like the penny-cup at the drug store. Take a lesson if you need one, leave one if you don't.

DON'T RAIN ON MY CLICHE!

2011-06-13T14:09:00.000-07:00

noun

Something that is so commonly used in books, stories, etc., that it is no longer effective

Or as defined by a nameless agent:

SUMMER ON THE SHORT BUS (Rookie Riter's current MS)

It's true. A very well respected, desirable agent finished reading my manuscript and, after telling me how strong a writer I was and how likable the characters were, said this, "My concern really lies in the predictability of the story...in the end I am afraid that editors will see the story in the same way and that as a result it would be a fairly challenging sale."

Then a second agent who was reviewing only the first chapter said this, "...I just got back from a three week trip in New York City stacked with editor meetings and they were adamant that they don't want to look at anything even remotely derivative. It has to be truly unique to garner interest at this point."

I'm not going to lie to you, I was pretty pissed for a few minutes there...my story, predictable?!
And then I started thinking about it...

And they were right.
It is predictable.
Sort of.

The main character is an angry, self-absorbed girl who, through unlikely circumstances and even more unlikely friends, discovers who she really is and who she wants to be. Sound familiar? Probably--in one form or another, but I'm not convinced that familiarity is a bad thing.

For example: Have you ever read a Nora Roberts novel? (Don't be embarrassed. We've all done it. It's no worse than farting in the grocery store and blaming it on your disabled daughter who doesn't speak) Well, haven't you ever noticed all her novels are exactly the same?! ALL OF THEM. Here's the formula:

EARLY 30's KNOCKOUT WITH UNLIKELY JOB + MISUNDERSTOOD DREAMY MAN + DANGEROUS SITUATION = HAPPILY EVER AFTER

It's the same as our favorite chick flicks: We watch them because we know the formula:

HOT GUY + TUMMY TINGLES = $8 WELL SPENT!

Are they cliche? Prolly.
Do we still love them? YES!

So, my beef is this: WHY DOES A CLICHE HAVE TO BE A BAD THING? Aren't the millions of dollars in royalties from best-selling books and box-office chart busters proof enough that cliches are, sometimes, a good thing?!

I leave you with this final nugget to chew on: (Relax! It's a 100% pure breast meat nugget. Only the best here.) My favorite television show is the biggest cliche imaginable. The dorks make Farmer Ted look cool. The Jews compare their large noses like other people exchange text messages. The jocks think with their man parts, and collectively, the cheerleaders are as bright as a box of hair. In case you haven't figured it out yet, it's a little show called GLEE. And, from what I've heard, it's doing pretty darn good in the ratings.

So, to all you agents out there, I say this: DON'T RAIN ON MY CLICHE!

Or, according to a recent agent, MY NOVEL

DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME(me)

2011-06-02T18:50:00.000-07:00

ou may have heard about a sneaky little guy whose been corrupting the coolest blogs on the blogosphere. He strikes when you least expect, is harder to shake than a booger from your finger, and leaves you with a creative hatchet wound so deep it will literally keep you up at night. He's called MEME and he was created by a pretty rad chick we call, GREEN WOMAN. (I'm guessing that's a pseudonym, though I once was secretary to a committee that housed a member named RICHARD BONER, so who knows.)

GREEN WOMAN suggested that writing was definitely NOT like a box of chocolates, but thought her fellow writers were astute enough to come up with a metaphor for what writing IS like. So, my sweet friend Angela, and my disturbed friend Marewulf, happily leaked my location to said MEME, enabling him to jump me like a common street thug after my late night shift at Hooters, and forced me at cursor point to come up with my own MEME.

So...here it goes:

WRITING IS LIKE THE ALL 80's CHANNEL ON SIRIUS/XM

I know you're wondering how on earth I'm going to swing this comparison, but bear with me for a minute. It all makes sense in my head.

I was born in 1975, thus making me a real kid by the time the 80's rolled around. Like every other Reagan-era thug, I wore jelly shoes, tried (unsuccessfully) to master the Rubik's cube and yes, had a wide variety of neon-colored clothing, studded belts, and even a pair of L.A Gear high tops with two different colored laces just like Tiffany's (You know, I THINK WE'RE ALONE NOW). But besides my bitchin' wardrobe, I also developed two great loves in the 80's: Music & Writing. (I wrote my first book in 2nd grade. It's a testament of why parents should not pay the extra money for private school)

It's not to say that I'm stuck in a time warp, but there's something about the 80's that feels familiar. Comfortable. The way I feel when I'm writing.

(yes, this would be the segue to the metaphor)

Some days a really bitchin' song will come on and I am transported back to the place when I first heard and fell in love with that song. Like SISTER CHRISTIAN, by Night Ranger. I remember riding in the backseat of our Malibu Classic and the plastic seat covers were leaving marks on the back of my legs, but I didn't care because that was just the coolest song ever! I still feel that way about my first manuscript. I remember a moment from a particular scene, or that stolen glance that still makes my tummy twist in delight. Those are the days when I love being a writer.

Then there are the days when you feel like you're off to a good start. You drop 300 words in a matter of minutes, and the familiar song stars to play. You get yourself all worked up, expecting another 500 words to flow magically through your fingertips, and then you realize it's Duran Duran's ,THE REFLEX, and that the song actually sucks. And before you know it you're staring at a blinking cursor, wondering why you ever thought you were a good writer, or that Duran Duran wrote good music. These are the days when being a writer is frustrating.

Unfortunately there are the SUCK days, too. The days when Linda Ronstadt and Lionel Richie are clogging up the airwaves and my fingers are nothing more than bloody stumps completely incapable of typing. How is one supposed to come up with a decent thought when ISLANDS IN THE STREAM is playing the background? It's impossible. Those are the days when being a writer totally blows.

But, like every John Hughes movie, something good still lies ahead.

It's one of those days where you're cruising along an empty freeway--you're alone, the windows are down, the sunroof is open, the warm spring breeze is whipping your hair so you look just like a girl on a Pantene commercial. Everything is just right. Your chair is comfy, the scene you wrote before you went to bed last night still rocks, and then you hear it. Eddie's guitar riff, Sammy's familiar voice. Your fingers start dancing across the keyboard. 100, 200, 300 words. And then you're singing--like you've never sung before. LOVE COMES WALKING IN...Who needs thesaurus.com, you're a wordsmith on your own! You've never seen writing like this! It's beautiful and amazing. Just like Van Halen's gut-wrenching ballad. You are a writer! YOU ARE A WRITER! And those are the days that make it all worth while. Because it erases all the edits, takes away all the distractions and reminds us that it's not a choice. Writing is just who we are.

(Side note: The Rookie Riter looks a lot like Sammy, minus the red parachute pants. It's all about the hair, baby!)

Now I think the MEME rules say that I'm supposed to chuck this little miscreant at someone else, but I'm going to leave well enough alone. In part, because I'm lazy. Sorry guys, it's something you should know about me. But also because I'm in a Hagar-induced daze right now and the only creative thought coming to mind involves me, a sandy beach, Sammy Hagar and a bottle of suds.

Post-Meltodwn Post

2011-05-30T07:29:00.000-07:00

I'd like to thank all my blog buddies for their encouragement during my tirade yesterday. It might not have been the offer I dreamed of, but it's a gift just the same. As are all of my blogging buddies. You guys are the best, and I can't thank you enough for backing me up.

In recognition of your awesomeness, I present to you a video that makes me laugh until I pee.
I hope you enjoy. And, in the words of the great BARTLES & JAYMES, "THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!"

Because Jimmy's response is even funnier, check this out:

and, of course, a little beef cake for your holiday:

I'M NO HOOKER!

2011-05-29T13:55:00.000-07:00

WARNING! The blog you are about to read is little more than a rant littered with whining, speculation and enough self-doubt to make Paris Hilton feel chunky.

That said, grab a cocktail and a handful of Advil...you're going to need them.

Over the last few months I've entered SUMMER ON THE SHORT BUS in 2 online pitch contests. One generated a request for the full manuscript (still waiting to hear on that one) and the other, as of this past Wednesday, generated an offer to publish. Good news, right?! In theory, YES. It is good news. Someone likes my book enough to want to publish it. OR DO THEY???
Here's the skinny: With the help of some blogging buddies I've determined that this company is legit, but not a whole lot different than self publishing. (First e-books, then when enough have sold -- 100 I believe, then paper & hardbacks) True, I don't have to put any cost out of pocket--they pay for everything and the royalties begin at 45%. (Me likey more money). The downside is no advances, I do the majority of my own promotion and...here's the kicker, NO AGENT.
WHAT? NO AGENT?!

Yes, and now we segue into problem #1: The contest wasn't to pitch an AGENT (Realized this after the fact). The contest was to pitch to an EDITOR of a small, independent publishing house founded by authors & editors who were sick of publishers dictating the market. In theory, also cool--but venturing forward w/out an agent? (and a full time job)...

Do I want my book published? YEAH.
Do I want to sell my book once it's published? DUH.
Can I do that by myself? (cannot answer...laughing too hard)

And now we encounter problem #2: The editor. She's a nice woman who answers all of my questions in great detail. All except one. She won't tell me if she's actually read the whole book! She requested the first 3 chapters after the pitch fest, which then led to a request for the full 2 weeks ago. Since then the offer came through but she's yet to comment on the story--even when I've asked if there are specific areas that will need revision, etc. Has she read the book? Does it just fit into their now-expanding YA category? When I think about all the work I put into this book--I don't want to hand it over to someone who isn't wildly crazy about it.

Which leads me to my last problem, and it's a killer...

Problem #3: MY PRIDE! I have to be honest--I feel a little bit like a girl out walking who was mistaken for a hooker. That's not to say all hookers are bad people--hey, we all gotta eat, right? That's just to say that my book, my hard work, my dream--isn't for sale at a bargain basement sale. I don't want to be the Kathy Griffin of the book world. I want to be Jerry Seinfeld, or Chris Rock or...well, you get what I'm saying. I want to be taken seriously and going this route just doesn't seem like the right one. For me, anyway.

So now, as I sit here on this cloudy, chilly Sunday afternoon,I feel like I've just done something horribly stupid. Although deep down I know it was the right thing to do. (Yes, this is the self-doubting portion of the blog. If you haven't thrown the pills back yet, go ahead and do that now). There are 3 other agents reviewing the full MS and 3 partials. I've gone ahead and emailed them all letting them know of this recent development.

Am I hoping this will prompt one of them to realize that MAYBE there's some potential there they might not have seen before, just knowing someone wants to publish me? YES.

Do I think all 6 of those agents are cracking up at their computers right now because I had the audacity to believe this offer was legitimate enough to warrant me emailing them? YES. YES I DO.

Do I think I've now set myself up for 6 rejections all within the same week and that all hope I had of obtaining an agent for this book are about to go down the crapper? YES!!!!

*For clarification: I think self-publishing and this direct author/publisher route I've described above are perfectly respectable and legitimate ways to publish a book. It's just not what feels right to me right now. Props to all the mad-writers out there who've done it successfully!*

Hideous drapes make perfect play clothes!

2011-05-19T10:06:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite films (and Broadway productions, so good!) is THE SOUND OF MUSIC. I grew up with full exposure to this classic because my parents (the preacher & his wife) thought it was good, wholesome entertainment for their three precious, never to be tattooed or drunken, daughters. (These are the same parents who allowed us to watch THE THORN BIRDS every year, but forbade us from watching ONE DAY AT A TIME because Ms. Romano was divorced--and said, "G.D. a lot." Don't ask me.) Anyway, I was stumped for blog ideas until a blogging buddy of mine picked up on a not-often-appreciated reference to another awesome flick, ST. ELMO'S FIRE, and that's when it became clear. I MUST BLOG ABOUT MY FAVORITE SCENES!

I'm a movie watcher, book reader, TV junkie--I love to be entertained! And in my 35 years on this planet, I've accumulated a generous stash of favorite scenes. (We writers know how important a good, memorable scene is, right?) So just for fun, (because this blog isn't just about me *not* getting agented or published) I thought I'd share some of my all time favorite scenes with you.

1) I wouldn't be much of a SOUND OF MUSIC fan if I didn't include this favorite scene first: Maria has decided that the (hideous) drapes that hang in her bedroom will make perfectly functional play clothes for the recess deprived von Trapp children. After a day parading around town while they sing like the little Austrian angels they are, the children & Maria are shocked to return home and find that Captain von Trapp has returned early, and that the sneering, "send them to boarding school" Baroness Schraeder is with him.

By this point, the audience has witnessed this amazing transformation between Maria and the children, (it turns out they're not the evil tyrants as first appeared) but what we weren't sure of was whether or not Maria's presence had any effect on the gruff Captain von Trapp. Incensed by her insubordination (drapes for clothes/refusal to learn dog whistle calls) Captain von Trapp attempts to put Maria in her place, when he gets himself all tangled up and actually calls Maria CAPTAIN! And this is it...the best moment. The moment when we see a turn in the story. Maria's influence has reached even the impenetrable Captain von Trapp. Look out, Nazis! There's a fair-haired beauty on the prowl.

2) Say what you will about the TWILIGHT series, but there's one scene (or lack thereof) in NEW MOON that just tore me up. At the end of chapter 3, Bella realizes that the one photo she had of Edward is no longer in her album and it finally hits her--he's disappeared from her life forever--as if he never existed--just as he said he would.

The chapter comes to a close and we eagerly turn the page to see what happens, but rather than an indentation and a number 12 font, we're assaulted with a seven letter word we weren't expecting:OCTOBER. (Wait...what?) We turn to the next page, NOVEMBER. (Oh no!) Another page, DECEMBER. (That bastard!) and finally, JANUARY. (No more, please!) It's the lack of scene in this instance that is so jarring--Stephenie easily could have written, "I didn't hear from him for four months," but she didn't--and thank God for that! This is far and away my favorite *non* scene in all four of these books. (My favorite part contains none of her own writing--interesting...)

3) The tiny organist who squeaks with every step has gone home. The Donger has recovered from his late night debaucheries with the big breasted shot putter. Everything is the same as it's always been--that is until Samantha recovers her Midol-induced sister's veil, and returns to find this waiting for her:

(If I need to explain this at all--there's something wrong with you and your membership in my underpaid fan club is hereby revoked.)

So, these are a few of my favorite scenes...what are yours?

Dory Days

2011-05-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

We all remember Dory, the fun-loving, slightly forgetful, Regal Blue Tang fish (Peracanthurus hepatus for all you geeks out there) from Disney's FINDING NEMO. Thanks to the vocal artistry of Ellen DeGeneres, the world fell in love with that silly blue fish as she adventured through the dangerous Australian waters with an uptight clown fish in pursuit of his gimpy-finned son.

Loyal. Brave. Hopefulness in the face of uncertainty.

Dory embodied all the qualities we strive for...OR DID SHE?!

Sure she impressed us with her mastery of whale speak but don't forget, dear blogging pals, that she had one major flaw. A flaw that is...CONTAGIOUS! (Insert sinister music here)

As evidenced in the above video clip, we see that Dory is easily distracted by shiny things. And since I've been blogging, I realize I've been contaminated by this debilitating syndrome as well.

You see, I have these amazing, creative friends with amazing, creative blogs that I enjoy checking in on from time to time. (Multiple times a day) For example, my friend Phresh is quite possibly the most disturbingly funny person I've ever met. I know that a pit-stop by the Party Pony will leave me laughing and wondering why God passed out all the creative juices to her. And then there's Anita...Anita my rock. My constant source of encouragement and wisdom. I need Anita! And I can't forget Mindy...geesh, Mindy's like Wonder Woman (only Wonder Woman would have used her invisible jet to catch her rather than tumble down the stairs with no undies. Wait...are her undies invisible?) with all of her amazing interviews and impossible metaphors.

I could go on and on, there are so many of you!

BUT, you knew that was coming, YOU'RE ALL TOO SHINY FOR ME!

I can't seem to help myself when I start looking at all your beautiful, shiny blogs. I want to read, then post, then come back and see if you commented on my comment, then blog hop, then read again...and when I finally minimize Explorer and reopen Word and see that tiny little cursor flashing in the exact same spot it was an hour before--well, that's when I know I've been infected.

The truth is, I want to stare at you all day. But for my own sanity, and the future of my current WIP, I need to limit my exposure. (Just a little).

These are dangerous waters we're swimming in, my friends. Be well. I'll see you often. (Just not as much.) So until next time, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

CAUGHT ON CAMERA! A Day in the life of an aspiring author

2011-05-05T11:53:00.000-07:00

(To be read in the deep voice of the movie trailer guy. I contend that this does not count in my 55 word limit as it is instructional content.)

For decades these legendary creatures have evaded the public eye. Disappearing into the darkest corners of their local Barnes & Noble--vanishing into the safety of their heavily-curtained living rooms.
"Who are they?" we ask, "these professors of make believe?"
Thanks to the undercover work of Nigel Merryman we finally have an answer: ASPIRING AUTHORS.

(Caption comments are to be read in your best Australian accent, think Crocodile Hunter. However, like most Americans, your attempt to master an Aussie accent will fall short, likely evolving mid-sentence to that of a drunken Englishman from Texas. Since the Rookie Riter cannot seem to master the art of including text beneath the photo, parenthesis will act as a replacement.)

(Working off an anonymous tip, acclaimed undercover journalist Nigel Merryman was able to nab the following photos of actual aspiring authors in their natural habitat.)

(This photo was taken just shy of 6:30 a.m. last Thursday morning. As you can see , the writer is waking up refreshed, happy and hopeful. She is certain that today is the day when she'll finally get the email from that agent. The email requesting a phone call to discuss the future of her book and offer representation.)

(After a quick shower (photos of this event were taken but are currently on display in a private gallery in Charlie Sheen's bedroom) Nigel found our agent looking sharp and relaxed, enjoying her morning coffee and checking her bound-to-be bursting with offers inbox.)

(Because he had eaten two bowls of Fiber One cereal for breakfast, Nigel took a brief reprieve in a Chick-fil-A bathroom before returning. It was just after 2 p.m. when he found the author in this position:)

(From the untrained eye the aspiring author appears more bored than creative. A sad, sad sight. )

(Deciding to take advantage of TGIFriday's happy hour specials, and because the aspiring author has done little more than refresh her email for the last two hours, Nigel returned at 5:30 that evening to find our author no longer bored but slightly agitated.)

(As night sets in on any town America, Nigel records the author as she submits to the inevitable pressures of so many creatives before her:
THE BOTTLE)

(Because he is easily influenced, and thought he had a chance with the chunky blond he was sitting next to at the bar, Nigel returns to TGIFriday's before happy hour disappears, only return at 9:30 pm to find this. It is at this point that Mr. Merryman's professionalism prevents him from taking any further images. It has nothing to do with the fact that there's a seriously intoxicated, half-dressed woman just feet from him who would mount a ten-speed if willing.)

(With their existence proven, I pose the following questions: 1) If this is their daily life, why do they do it? And 2) Why do we care?)
*This post represents my attempt to win the very cool, very verde, Jenny Phresh's trashcan worthy prize for a blog post using only 55 characters.*

My best "THANK YOU"

2011-05-02T07:59:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I've learned in my thirty-five years of right-brained living on this planet it's this: INSPIRATION COMES FROM THE STRANGEST PLACES! Today is no exception.

I've been racking my noggin for days (or minutes, but let's not get hung up on the details) for the best way to thank the amazing authors who have befriended, encouraged, and now honored me on this here blog. (See PRESTIGIOUS AWARDS section to the right.)

I thought about creating my own award, but figured their many awards were probably covered in mantle dust by now. I tossed around the idea of sending flowers, but considering I just cancelled my NetFlix account because my 30-day free trial period was expiring, the odds of me dropping $100 on 3 chicks who don't know my last name is highly unlikely.

OH, NO! Rookie Riter, what are you going to do?!

Fear not, Underpaid Fan Club, it's all figured out. It seems the answer was there the whole time--staring up at me like a freakishly long second toe.

The best way for me to say thank you, is in rhyme. So here goes:

An ode to Blogspot.

Ahem...

"Before this Blogspot I felt so alone,
there was noone to complain to, cry to or moan.
My queries were rejected like a dork at the prom,
my only true fan my sweet, loving mom.

So sad, so pathetic,
so painfully true.
But all of that changed,
when I hooked up with you.

Oh Blogspot, oh Blogspot,
what a savior you are.
Fostering friendships from near and from far.

Some think they are ponies who paint themselves green,
others are dorks submitting art "on the scene".
There's the girl whose poor cat wears a frilly, pink boa
and another whose got a huge second toe-a.

They laugh at my jokes,
empathize with my rage.
They give good advice
and throw roses on stage.

They support and encourage,
sing my name to the masses.
(Too bad when I'm famous,
I'll forget their sad asses).

Without you, Blogspot,
I'd have none of these,
So thank you for giving me just what I need."

Thanks to all my blogging friends who encourage me daily through advice, wisdom, laughter and freakishly private personal information. I know I'm supposed to post seven things about myself--forward the same award on to a few other friends--cut off a lock of my hair and send it to an inmate--but I've never been one to follow the rules. You wouldn't love me if I started now, would you?!

The well runneth dry...

2011-04-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

In the last 24 hours I have been lucky enough to receive two AWESOME awards from two equally AWESOME writers.

I intend to reply as instructed (i.e., send a dishtowel to the person on the bottom of the list and I add my name to the top of the list--before Christmas' arrival I will have received 1,042 dishtowels or something like that) but today, my creative well seems to be running dry.

As an appetizer to my bound-to-be-super-cool-main-course-blog-of-thanks next week, I thought I'd do something to acknowledge just how much I appreciate all my blogging buddies.

Considering my mother said she would disown me if I ever put a picture of one of my children on the Internet (because all 142 of my Facebook friends ARE, in fact, registered sex offenders) the very idea that I'm including a picture of me, ACTUAL ME, on this blog is pretty impressive. (My husband is in the picture, too. He's a complimentary accessory to the Rookie Riter package). But, here it is anyway.

THANK YOU, BLOGGING BUDDIES FOR YOUR FRIENDSHIP, ENCOURAGEMENT and MY AWESOME AWARDS!

xoxo
Bethany

GO AWAY, BIG GREEN MONSTER!

2011-04-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

I've never been one to worry much about peoples' opinions of me. (There is significant photographic evidence of this, I assure you) But as easy as it's been for me to roll my eyes, flip a bird, or simply ignore the naysayers in my life, there is one I just can't shake.

It's this guy:

We've practically worn out the pages to this book at my house (Bravo! Ed Emberley--it's genius in its simplest form), but until last night it never occurred to me that THIS was the guy in my head. The guy who has been causing me so much grief.

You see, this Big GREEN Monster may appear sweet to the casual observer, with his face made of simple shapes that appears less and less threatening with each turn of the page, but to the Rookie Riter...this dude spells TROUBLE.

Most recently this evil-eyed freak has been polluting my mind with doozies like these:

"YOU'RE NOT LEGIT UNTIL YOU GET PUBLISHED!"

"NOONE IS GOING TO TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY!"

"THIS BOOK ISN'T CRAP. IT'S TWENTY DEGREES WORSE THAN CRAP!"

"THEY'RE JUST BEING NICE BECAUSE THEY'RE YOUR FRIENDS AND YOU GIVE THEM BEER. THEY ACTUALLY THINK IT SUCKS, TOO!"

And, last night he actually came up with this number:

"KINDERGARTENERS WRITE BETTER THAN YOU!" (This one was particularly painful because I've had a kindergartener...Ouch!)

So I beg this question of my underpaid fan club: How do you get YOUR Big GREEN Monster to shut up?!

Right where I left off...

2011-04-27T13:18:00.000-07:00

Recently I've been inspired by some of my blogging buddies' playful posts. (Blogging buddies...that sounds sort of dirty) While I find it beyond encouraging to learn of other author's harrowing journeys to publication, or discover where the latest, eager agent is hiding out, I also find that wacky, nonsensical posts are a much needed distraction to this emotionally draining process.

That said, my creative cohorts, I'd like to challenge you to a little game. I'm going to start a story, then you're going to pick up right where I left off. Second blog responder will pick up where the first responder left off and so on...

So, lock the kids in the basement, tell your boss you're on a conference call, order pizza instead of making dinner. Whatever it takes to get your silly juices flowing, DO IT, because the game starts...NOW!

"2:52 a.m.... just like clockwork," Roger mumbled, refilling the Starbuck's mug Joyce had given him for Christmas. He'd never seen anything like it before. When it happened the second time he thought it was just a fluke, but it had been five nights in a row now. This chick was up to something.

He added a generous helping of sugar to his house blend before returning to his secured location behind the living room curtains. This was a show he did not want to miss.

BUT I LIKE IT HERE!

2011-04-20T13:04:00.000-07:00

I like my comfort zone. A LOT.

It's a safe, cozy place where each morning begins with a steaming bowl of Quaker Weight Control maple & brown sugar instant oatmeal (add sliced strawberries and a fistful of black or blueberries for good measure) topped off with a lightly-freckled banana to be eaten in hand-torn pieces, not ripped into like a caveman with a drumstick, and a glass of Cranberry/Blueberry Ocean Spray 100% juice on the side.

What my comfort zone is NOT, is a dormitory for a discontented seventeen-year-old angel trying to earn her wings.

And THAT, my blogging friends, is the problem. My current WIP is so far out of my comfort zone I can actually feel my pulse quicken the very moment I sit down at the computer. Don't get me wrong--I'm wickedly excited about this story, but how on earth do you venture from the safety of your contemporary comfort zone into the scary world of make believe?
I decided to ask a few of my favorite TV personalities how they would adapt to such a predicament. Here's what they had to say:

MONICA GELLER:

"Adapt? Pffffff. Well, that's a stupid question. Adapt? Adapt to what? I'm flexible. I don't need to adapt to anything. In fact...I'm so adaptable I'm down right breezy! All the time. Adapt. Adapt. That's me! No comfort zones here. I'm open to the world, baby! I'm...hang on...Dammit, Rachel! The dish towels won't fold themselves into 3x3" squares. God, woman were you raised by wolves?! I'm sorry...where were we?"

SHELDON COOPER: "That's doctor Sheldon Cooper, and your question is riddled with so many external variants, there's no way to hypothesize how one might respond. For example, if I were to ask you if in 1943 one Oswald Avery would have had the intellectual wherewithal to determine that destruction of deoxyribonucleic acid would hinder transformation of the virtulent pneumonia without the precursory work of the great Frederick Griffith...well, I think you can see where this is heading.

MARLEY & LINDSAY

Marley: "Why would you ask that?

Lindsay: "Yeah, why would you ask that? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Marley: "Did someone say I wasn't adaptable? Someone did. Who said it? Was it Christine?"

Lindsay: "I bet it was. It was Christine. I'll rip her head off and shove it in my bag."

Marley: "That's a cute bag."

Lindsay: "Thank you. The nanny picked it up."

Marley: "Cinco finger discount?"

Lindsay: "Shut up." (uncomfortable silence). "Yeah. She found a little Coach shop in Tijuana. Me gusta Lupe!"

Marley: "I'm sorry Rookie Riter, you asked me something but I was so distracted by your hideous sweater that I forgot what it was."

Lindsay: "Yeah. Your sweater is ugly."

Marley: "You have that sweater."

DRAT! It looks like the Rookie Riter still needs advice. Got any???

TOP 10 LIST

2011-04-15T08:37:00.000-07:00

10 THINGS THAT ARE SLIGHTLY MORE AWFUL THAN BEING REJECTED. AGAIN.

#10) Tofu

#9) Picking up dog poop

#8) Root canals (to be fair, nitrious and a TV on the ceiling help a lot)

#7) The scale moving in the wrong direction

#6) The cancellation of THE NEW ADVENTURES OF OLD CHRISTINE

#5) $4.29 a gallon

#4) Trying to get this damn blog to post in list form

#3) Mosquito bites

#2) Tampax commercials (seriously...horseback riding in white shorts?!)

And, wait for it...wait for it...

#1) Banging your head against the wall

Encouragement Rocks!

2011-04-08T08:23:00.000-07:00

"Hello. My name is Bethany and I'm a reject."

"Hello Bethany."

As writers hoping to get published, and actually earn money with all the crack-pot ideas circulating through our brains, we all have those days when we're ready to call it quits. Throw in the towel. Kick it to the curb. Say, "Sayonara, Sweetheart." SO...WHY DON'T WE?

The answer is simple: ENCOURAGEMENT.

Without our mothers' reassurance that we've been talented since birth, or our QT friends reminding us that Stephen King's CARRIE was rejected 30 times before finally being published (That's true. I googled.) we'd just end up wandering through the creative Walmart of life. No direction. No hope. Just pent up frustration and the underlying fear that any day we'll be captured on camera, wearing an ill-fitting thong, while digging through the newest batch of must-have, roll-back items.

So here's to all the encouraging people in our lives: To the moms and dads, the sisters and co-workers. To Internet pals, the I.T. guy who fixed your computer, and the guy on the corner who smiled at just the right moment. To your husband, your kids, your second cousin, and Charlie Sheen (because he could probably use a shout out right now). We say THANK YOU! Thank you for encouraging us to keep going--it means the world! (I also hate Walmart and brutally mock and judge the people in those emails.)

This post was inspired by the note my brilliant and incredibly loving eight-year-old daughter left on edge of the bath tub last night. She knows I have a dream. She knows it's a big one. And she believes, wholeheartedly, it will come true! Thanks, Gracie.

THE IDEA MACHINE

2011-04-05T07:33:00.000-07:00

"My ideas usually come not at my desk but in the midst of living." -Anais Nin

I have a lot of hair. A LOT. It's blond, and curly, and really, really big. (If Julia Roberts in PRETTY WOMAN and Sammy Hagar had a baby--it'd be me)

Anyway, due to sheer follicle volume, I have developed a dangerously, co-dependent relationship with my hair dryer. The Revlon Ion Pro Stylist. (Available at Target for $20.99--5% discount with your red card!!) While a lot of women dread the mere thought of fifteen minutes of upside down, dry heat, arm-tiring activity at six o'clock in the morning, I actually look forward to it! It turns out I do my best thinking under 1875 watts of ear burning heat!

Don't get me wrong, some pretty crappy ideas are generated under the guidance of my hand-held electric god too, but all in all, I think I've discovered my personal idea machine.

So...what's yours?

Rejection Letters, Curtis Stone and the Dangers of Satellite Radio

2011-03-31T07:23:00.000-07:00

Rejection Letters, Hot Australian Chefs and Commercial Free Radio.

What do they have in common ? Nothing. Except that apparently each one of them is in my life for good.

Let's break them down one item at a time.

#1. THE LETTER: A rejection letter is the steaming turd on every hopeful writer's doorstep.

Yesterday I was riding high on the four outstanding fulls/three partials of SUMMER ON THE SHORT BUS, when I received notification that I had a new email. An email sent to my writing only email address! WAHOO! I clicked on the message, doing my best to ignore my inner pessimist Marge who says, "it's another rejection, stupid!" and eagerly await for what is bound to be another agent ready to represent me.

And then it happens...

My throat thickens, my shoulders sag to my elbows and I unknowingly mutter a curse word under my breath.

"Dear Author, please forgive the impersonal nature of this email..."

Ugh! Sigh. DRAT!

As if throwing a rejection turd in my face isn't bad enough, now you can't even call me by name when you do it? Is there no intern in your bustling, boutique agency who can be tasked with the job of inserting BETHANY into this email?

I know, I know, relax RookieRiter. Rejection is part of life. I get it. I understand that preferences in this business are as varied as Kirstie Allie's Crispy Kreme order, and that it only takes one "yes" to make it happen, but it doesn't make the initial sting any less painful.

I'm feeling sort of depressed now, so let's move on.

#2: CURTIS STONE:We were first introduced to Curtis as an occasional guest chef on The Biggest Loser, then got to know him much better during his stint on Celebrity Apprentice. Curtis is impossibly attractive, comfortably arrogant, and has that sexy, down-under accent that makes grown women rip off their undies and throw them on stage. (Okay...maybe not in a kitchen setting, but I'd totally rip my apron strings for him). Lately I've been enjoying him on the new NBC reality show, AMERICA'S NEXT GREAT RESTAURANT, but this morning, while watching last night's TOP CHEF finale, learned that he's going to be the host of the new season TOP CHEF MASTERS--yum, yum, more Curtis for me!

So, if you aren't familiar with Curtis beyond this blog, just tune into NBC, or any of their affiliates, because it seems this Aussie is here to stay and he's taking over America one high-definition flat screen at a time!

And finally,

#3: Satellite Radio

When I bought my first, brand new car three years ago, I assumed the one-year, free subscription to Sirius radio that came along with my new car payment would be little more than a novelty. Perhaps some light comedy while running errands on a busy weekend--some Sinatra for a rainy day. Yeah, right! I'm hooked like a street corner junkie, and yesterday I hit rock bottom.

I was tuned into the all 90's channel. Not the alternative 90's channel I usually listen to, but the top 40 type station. The variety is good--Aerosmith, U2, Stone Temple Pilots, Depeche Mode--it's the Souplantation of music for those of us who graduated high school in the 90's. Anyway, one minute I'm singing along to that Sugar Ray song, "I just wanna fly," looking like a regular schmo navigating the congested San Diego freeway system, and the next I'm bustin' moves like the very Anglo-Dutch/German girl I am. The very moment "Ice, Ice, Baby," pumped through the Bose speakers I knew I'd reached a very low, sad place in my life.

Driving with the windows down, sunroof open, and enough blond hair to cover a small village, earns me more attention on my daily commute than I care to discuss--add some white girl rhythm and the memories of Andy Wulgemuth's keg party my junior year to the mix and you've got a recipe for disaster--or at the very least, a life-long subscriber to satellite radio.

Like them or not, these things are in my life for the long-haul. I guess I should just embrace them and move on. I believe I'll start with Curtis...

Christmas in March

2011-03-22T09:27:00.000-07:00

Ho, ho, ho. Santa's coming early this year!

Had you told me two years ago I would be obsessed with a fictitious world where a gang of sexy, tormented vampires protect the streets from white-haired, baby-powder smelling Lessers so the rest of the vampire world could live in harmony, I'd have told you to put down your crack pipe and stop smoking! But I can't do that because I am obsessed. I am, dammit! I AM OBSESSED! (insert diabolical laugh and raised brow now).

Mark my words: Tuesday, March 29, 2011, sick day records will be shattered throughout the workplace. This is going to be bigger than Swine Flu, H1N1 and SARS combined. 25-45 year old women across the country will be couching it with "headaches" and "upset tummy's" next Tuesday--all because we can't wait to see what the Brotherhood is up to this time.

Am I pathetic? Yeah.

Am I addicted? Definitely.

Is this why we read? TOTALLY!

Don't believe me? Check it out for yourself:

www.jrward.com

Womack Woes...

2011-03-15T12:34:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure who is more upset this morning; Brad for choosing a girl who so clearly doesn't want him, or yours truly for getting suckered into watching another season of that damn show. And now we find out that Ashley, the soon-to-be dentist with the gigantic forehead, is the next Bachelorette?! ARGH--what's a viewer to do?

(watch, of course)

The waiting room

2011-03-14T09:34:00.000-07:00

The doctor's office.
The car dealership.
Your email inbox.

Wherever you are, waiting sucks.

Whether it's the outdated magazines, stale coffee, downed server or the demon possessed three-year-old whose parents think spanking is a felony, nothing makes waiting easier.

Or does it?

I've been chatting it up with some new friends over at QueryTracker and I have to say, I love knowing that I'm not alone in this venture to find an agent. I mean, who wouldn't want to know that fourteen other hopefuls were rejected by the same agent? And who doesn't enjoy vying for the fastest rejection time? (4 minutes was mine, but I don't think I hold the record).

The bottom line is, the old adage is true: MISERY LOVES COMPANY
While I may not be able to take a buddy with me to my next root canal appointment, you better believe I'll be hanging with my QT friends in the waiting room over there. If I've gotta go through this painful, exhausting, worth-every-second of it journey, I'd rather go through it with people who know exactly how I'm feeling.

So if you're trying to get published (I have 2 readers...this is a funny suggestion) go check out QueryTracker.com--there is safety in numbers people!

CHEERS TO THAT!

2010-11-23T10:34:00.001-08:00

I could easily think of a thousand reasons why the consumption of an adult beverage is a necessity. However, I have lots to do (like finish the first season of MAD MEN) so I won't bore you with overkill. Instead, I've compiled a list for your reference:

1. Holidays. (No explanation necessary)

2. Rejections. Particularly when someone says your manuscript is "cliche". (Thanks for reading beyond the first 30 pages!)

3. Children. (See #1)

4. Brad Womack is the new Bachelor. Again.
5. You couldn't say "no" to that slice of leftover birthday cake and now your jeans feel tight.

6. Cramps.
7. Waiting for J.R. Ward's latest installment of the Brotherhood.
8. Atheists.
9. Joy Behar.
10. It's there.

VIRTUE OR PAIN IN THE A*S?

2010-10-06T08:37:00.000-07:00

Patience has never been my thing.

Case in point: the ceramic angel I painted when I was about seven...

After a trip to LeeWards (Denver's version of Michael's in 1982) my older sisters and I stationed ourselves around the ping pong table in the basement and set to work painting our ceramic masterpieces. I remember taking the brush in my hand, and eyeing the beautiful array of colors...my angel was going to be stunning! I'd make her look just like the angel on the box; with long, blonde hair, shimmering blue eyes, and even a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. I'd take my time and do it just the way I wanted...

Two minutes later she was complete. And she looked nothing like the angel I'd imagined in my head. Disappointed, I ran to my mom to ask her what I could work on now that I'd finished the angel. She said, "Paint it again." So I did. About twenty-seven more times.

I'm pretty sure I saw that angel strapped to the hood of a Miata at the gay pride parade last year.

And so now I ask this question: Is Patience really a virtue, or is it just a royal pain in the ass that you're either born with or not?

Time to call the professionals...

2010-06-11T12:45:00.000-07:00

Up until this point, the responses I've received from agents have fallen into the following four categories:

1. Form Rejection: "Dear Author, I'm sure your book is good, but I am too busy to care..."
2. Polite, Personal Rejection: "Dear Bethany, thank you for your submission. It is not what I'm looking for..."
3. Encouraging, Personal Rejection: "Dear Bethany, what a great concept. Unfortunately I'm not currently in the market for chick-lit..."
and finally,
4. Encouraging, Give Me More: "Dear Bethany, You've nailed Peggy's voice--it's fresh, charming, and lively--and the title is superb..."

AND THEN LAST WEEK I RECEIVED THIS:
"Dear Bethany, Thanks for your submission. While your subject and writing interest me, as I began to read I found your manuscript filled with punctuation errors, which were distracting and detract from its professionalism. I'd suggest having your manuscript professionally edited before resubmitting it."

OUCH, STOP! THAT HURTS!!!
After my ego stopped bleeding, I took a look at the email with a little more diplomacy. First, she said "your subject and writing interest me". That's much better than, "this sounds stupid and you write like a left-handed preschooler." Secondly she said, "before resubmitting". Now it may be a stretch, but it sounds to me like she's offering me an opportunity to make it better and let her take a look at it again. That too, is a good thing.

So now I'm left with the question...DO I GET AN EDITOR?

I was well in the thick of mulling over the question of the day, when low and behold I received this email from another agent: "Dear Bethany:We are interested in reading your manuscript. Could you please send it as an MS Word attachment? Thank you."

It took me all of about nine seconds, and multiple confirming emails from my friends/family, to say, "YES. I NEED AN EDITOR." And that's exactly what I've done. I've gone and hired myself an editor. While part of me is anxious that it's officially been one week since the agent above requested the full manuscript and I've not sent it to her, I am confident that holding it for 2 weeks, so it can be in its most polished condition, is a much better decision then sending her something not entirely complete.

Of course, I wish I could go back and send Robyn, the first agent who requested my material, the revised manuscript (and I may do that if I don't hear from her before the revision is complete), but I think this is a wise decision on my part. After Jenni the editor works her magic, I will feel absolutely confident that what I am sending out is in its most perfect condition.

Here's to letting the professionals do their thing.
(And the agent who's tough words actually motivated me to make my book better)

Side note: I thanked that editor and asked if I could resubmit after revision. Her response: "Of course. I'd be happy to see it."

So THIS is what it feels like...

2010-05-05T09:55:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday evening, I received an email from my dream agent, (someone I actually met at a writer's conference the first morning, who was the sweetest, nicest, cutest little thing you could imagine), informing me that she liked the first chapter of the book enough to request the full manuscript with, "an eye toward representation."

After I did a little white-girl-jig, and a very loud, oooh!oooh!oooh! through my living room and kitchen, which is tricky considering I was just over 2 weeks out of knee surgery, the reality of the moment set in.

1. Someone is taking me seriously as an author
2. Someone might actually publish my book
3. Shit! I haven't revised it enough
4. She's going to hate it, laugh at me, and send an email to every, single, solitary literary agent in the continental US, (maybe even our neighbors to the north), telling them to steer clear of the girl who doesn't always know when to use a semicolon or that "succulents", when referring to plants, is not spelled, "succulence". (spell check sucks).

Fears aside, and there were many, I .pdf'd the entire manuscript to 'dream agent', hard copy following later in the day, and now I get to wait...
and wait...
and...my, aren't you sharp...yes, wait some more.

I hope (pray) that she will look beyond the typos and punctuation fatalities, and will fall in love with the characters just as I have -that she'll see the uniqueness in the story, the sarcasm in the tone and the voice behind the author. If she can't see those things, than I suppose she's not the person I'd want repping my book anyway. But I like her - I really do, and I couldn't have designed a more perfect agent to give me my first taste of 'what could be' than her.

THIS BREAKING NEWS JUST IN: I've started a new book: Jilted left-at-the-altar bride seeks retribution on ex-fiancee through highly unconventional, hopefully fatal means.

Bottom line: I'm excited! I'm anxious! I'm nervous! I'm scared! But more than anything, I'm trusting...
"Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." - Psalm 37:4
(in the end, His plan may not include a book with my name on the spine; but what He does promise is something far greater...I cannot complain about that.)

Be well. I'll keep you posted.

March Madness

2010-03-20T19:50:00.000-07:00

March Madness goes way beyond Dick Vitale and one of the last pure sports left in America - for me it includes revisiting Stalking Peggy Flemming...again.

After careful consideration, and the inability to turn off the italics enhancement on this blog post, I decided that Peggy needed a bit of a face lift - or, some personality to be more specific.
After nearly a month of revisions (long nights, ignoring my children...you get the picture) Peggy is now a smart ass, quick-witted girl who makes me laugh and I absolutely adore her - more than I ever did. I still have about 100 pages left - am hoping to be done by my knee surgery scheduled by April 14, but have also decided it doesn't matter when it's done...it will be done when it's done.

This leads me to the following question: When are you finally done revising? When it's on the bargain rack at Barnes & Noble...

A little itch...

2010-02-21T16:04:00.000-08:00

After plugging away on Stalking Peggy Flemming for almost two years (formerly Saving Peggy Flemming), I have allowed the world to do what it will with her while I begin on a new project...and I'm really excited about it!

The 20 Year Itch is the story of 3 former High School BFF's who reunite just before their 20th high school reunion. I cannot begin to tell you how much fun I'm having with this story! The characters are bits and pieces of me, my sisters and closest friends and their experiences are nothing short of...REAL LIFE.

My mother, God bless her, read the first chapter and said, "I absolutely love it, and I definitely cannot show it to the women at church." Well...yes, that is true. For a brief moment I thought perhaps I needed to reign in these characters and their foul mouths and questionable behaviors a bit to reflect my personal beliefs as a Christian. That said...the characters are not allowing me to do that. So, because these women are so eager to tell their story, I'm allowing myself the freedom to be the vessel by which these voices are heard (Oh heavens...that sounds awfully mystical, doesn't it?) - I am trusting that honoring them and the process is honoring my talents, which, in the long run, honors God. And hang on...BOOM! Down from the pulpit I come.

That's all the updates for now. Oh, and I finished what there is of the Black Dagger Brotherhood series by J.R. Ward. She's the queen of analogy...LOVE THEM ALL! (V the most though)

Stay tuned for more developments, God willing, with Peggy Flemming and progress on the 20 Year Itch!

Writer's Conference Recap

2010-02-03T19:19:00.000-08:00

I feel a little like Chris Harrison after a particularly awful episode of The Bachelor right now. But, rest assured, I will not be passing out any roses or kissing nine people in the same evening - promising each one of them that kiss meant more to me than any of the others. (Who am I kidding? I'd be the kissing bandit, too. PUCKER UP, BABY!)

Okay, back to the blog: This past weekend I had the opportunity to attend my first Writer's Conference - and what an experience it was. I was a little anxious day #1, largely because I HATE mingling with people I don't know. (I find small talk incredibly uncomfortable and a waste of air). I arrived right at 8:30 and took a seat at a table with seven empty seats and one guy filling the taken one. Zach, my table mate, introduced himself to me and instantly put me at ease...what a nice guy! (And cute, too...sorry ladies - I think he was gay). Anyway, I slowly grew more comfortable and soon a cute, little blonde gal came and sat beside me. (I was surrounded by cuties!!) We chatted here and there and it turns out...she's an agent. After she heard my rehearsed description of the story (nearly choking at one point when you sort of have that nervous lump that appears and you...ugh, cannot talk for a moment) she asked me to send her some pages (50) so she could review it. COOL!

Later that day I met with two other agents. One had read 50 pages before I arrived and we discussed her opinions of the manuscript. First she said, "You write very, very well." (SWEET!), she liked the story, but had some confusion with timing and also was concerned that maybe the book shouldn't be pitched as a YA but instead Women's Fiction... news to me, but I was up for her comments and agreed with what she had to say. After some discussion/clarification she suggested I make the revisions we'd discussed and send her more pages. (Again...SWEET!)

Second agent just talked to me and ...honestly, I don't think she really wanted to be at the conference. She said the book, based on what I told her was definitely YA and that it didn't matter if anyone knew he Penny Flemming was because they'd find out when the book was published. (Um...who is Penny Flemming?) At any rate, I appreciated her feedback but was left even more STUMPED than two hours earlier.

WHAT GENRE IS THIS BOOK?

After an encouraging first day I returned day 2 to about half the participants as the first day (hello!! you're wasting money, people!) and was starting to consider the day a bit of a snore...when I met my third and final agent for a consult. WOW! Can you say - "I DIG THAT CHICK!"? Seriously, what a cool woman. Not only was she comfortable in her own skin and clearly became an agent for her love of books and words -but she was engaging and genuine and actually asked me questions about ME, suggested things for the book and as we departed said, "I like the Peggy Flemming thing...it's quirky." (I am pretty sure I love this woman). She also asked that I send her the first 50 pages of the story, which, by the way, she thinks sounds like a Women's Fiction novel, too!

So, there you have it. I survived my first writer's conference. Felt like I was supposed to be there and came out feeling hopeful about what might happen. That said - I am setting Peggy free and not worrying about her anymore. Whatever will be, will be. I've edited, rewritten, cursed at and massaged her as many times as I can. Until someone else wants to take the reigns and guide me toward publication...I'm taking a rest and seeing where the proverbial shit falls.

HIT THE BRAKES!!! Do we need a rewrite?

2010-01-23T15:56:00.000-08:00

Ugh. I think the answer may be...yes.
Of course I want the book to be the best it can be, and I think I'm pretty darn close...but I am feeling a nagging to rewrite the first chapter.
"Why?" you ask.
"Because," I say, "for some reason the first chapter doesn't feel like it jives with the rest of the book. While the information is critical to the story, something about the presentation seems off.

So - now I get to start brainstorming on how I want to rewrite that darn first chapter. Part of me thinks this is a great idea & I should be excited to polish this book up so it's pretty and beautiful making it impossible for an agent or a publisher to reject. The other part of me has a sneaking suspicion that the first chapter is fine - that I'm just freaked out to call it "done" and am going to find ways to prolong the refining process.

Time will tell...

RULES SCHMULES...It pays to break them!

2010-01-08T07:42:00.000-08:00

Before I started soliciting agencies, I had no idea there were so many RULES to follow in this publishing game. Specific fonts. Specific spacing. Contact us/Don't contact us. Snail Mail ONLY. Where's your SASE? We will send the environmental police to your house and burn you at the stake (like a metal stake, not steak like sirloin, that would require a visit from PETA) if you dare print something on paper - EMAIL ONLY!

Everybody has different rules - it's a wonder anyone gets published.

I have learned, however, that there is one rule that's pretty firm across the board. If an agent rejects you, it's okay to send a courteous response ,but do not bug them. They've made their decision and bothering them will only agitate them and get you black listed. (Black listed? I thought that only happened in bad made for TV movies!)

Uh oh! What's a girl to do who's made a resolution to be more audacious?! ....
She responds to a rejection and says, "Would you be willing to offer any feedback on my query letter?"

Low and behold, the agent responds and gives her HUGE, WONDERFUL, INFORMATIVE feedback! Hallelujah!!! After a brief modification to the query, incorporating the agent's comments, I now have a query that, I hope, will be much more captivating , and assure prospective agents that my book is worth examining a bit closer.

So, thank you, Melissa Jeglinski from the Knight Agency, for breaking the cardinal rule and responding to my email. (She didn't respond when I asked if I could resubmit - that might have been pushing the audacity factor up a few too many notches).

So, my point for this post:
BREAK A RULE EVERY NOW AND THEN - SOME PEOPLE FIND IT ENDEARING!

For the sake of comparison

2009-12-31T08:29:00.000-08:00

For nearly two months I've been working on a very detailed proposal for an agency in New York.
Along with a copy of my passport, mortgage paperwork and the rights to name my next child, they want a comparison of my book vs. other books on the market. (HA! Jokes on them. My husband got "snipped" two years ago. Guess there won't be a little one running around named, Levine Greenberg Crandell)

So, along with the help of my super-sleuthing friend and future P.R. manager, Laura, I've been scouring the web, library and book stores for books similar to mine that I can essentially say SUCK, in comparison. The obvious irony of that statement is that all the books are:

1. Published
2. Made a lot of money
3. Published

Until yesterday, I had three solid comparisons.
1. Along for the Ride, Sarah Dessen
2. Stargirl, Jerry Spinelli
3. Twilight, Stephenie Meyer

(Yes! I did go there with Twilight. It was a great book, I loved it - but there were certain things (people: BELLA!) who drove me nuts. Why not compare your stuff to the best that's out there? I think it holds its own so I did it.)

Back to my story: So, I was stumped for one more book. I tried about 4 more that all sounded good based on their synopsis. One, I won't name names but it was made into a movie with the kid from Juno in it, I actually had to put down. Yep. Read the first 50 pages and couldn't go any further. One was darling, but not a good comparison, and there were two more that again, were pretty good reads, but not a good fit.

So, I rolled into the library and found a book that I'd written down as a potential. My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters, by Sydney Salter. Wow!! I fell in love with this book. Not only was it a great, funny, truthful representation of life as a seventeen year-0ld, but it didn't try to be more adult than it needed to be, and it also wasn't lemonade stands and hand-holding at the roller rink. It is the PERFECT last book to compare to mine.

Now, I just need to do the comparison and BEG my amazing, supportive, beautiful English friend, Laura, to read the book and offer me her feedback. (Laura reads the blog...you think I'm being too subtle?)

So, to round out this surprisingly, lengthy post I just want to say... WAHOO!! I am stoked I found the last book! I hope Saving Peggy Flemming will be used by someone else to be compared with some day. So long as it's not for the "LOOK AT THE CRAP THEY'LL PUBLISH" comparison.

Have a blessed, happy and safe evening tonight!! 2010 promises to be very exciting!!

INAUGURAL POST...and it's not even January

2009-12-28T12:25:00.000-08:00

In an effort to document things in my life, because it is that exciting, I've started this blog. I can't tell you how often I'm going to blog, I'm busy and...well, nothing interesting may happen in my life. (who wants to read about my thoughts on the latest Bachelor? It's going to be Jake...I can hardly wait for the impending train wreck!) What I can promise you is that my blog will be truthful, honest and genuine...just like me. No fluff, no primping. If you're still interested - keep reading. If not, check out http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com/ . They have some of the most entertaining television reviews I've ever seen.

(For those of you still tuned to my show, please continue)

Mostly, I will blog about being an author. And yes, I am calling myself an author because I have completed my first novel and am now weeding through the b.s., and excessive adjectives, that are my second novel; hoping to polish it into something beautiful, or at the very least, entertaining.

Currently, I'm looking for representation (and patience). I've learned that finding an agent, as a no-named author, is a lot like having toddlers. While you are desperate for them to put their poopies in the potty, you cannot make them do it. That's not to say that literary agents are like poop, though I'm sure some would beg to differ, but you cannot will something to happen. When the time is right, and your child is sick of running around in stinky diapers, they will poop in the toilet.

So, until my toddler (agent) tells me she'd like to be a big girl and get a sticker on her hand (sign me) I will pray, and wait, and ... write.