publishing

And Then

The Story Thus Far (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Revision hell actually hasn’t been too hellish. Once a few things clicked, I was rolling.

When you think you can breathe a sigh of relief, you have to write a query letter. And a synopsis. Cue young Jamie Lee Curtis scream here.

Jamie Lee Curtis as Laurie Strode, the final girl of Halloween. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For my non-writer fringelings, a query letter is an introductory letter to an agent or editor, giving a very brief snapshot of your book in the hopes of enticing them to request the full manuscript. A synopsis is kind of like a book report on the story, hitting the major conflicts, plot twists, and how the story ends. Some describe it as the way you’d tell the story to a friend. Some agents want a synopsis along with the query letter and sample pages, some want it if they request material, some don’t ask for it at all. But you have to be prepared before you begin the querying process, so you’re ready to send everything requested (hopefully, see? I’m being positive) and not find yourself sitting in a puddle of tears trying to get it together and sent off before the agent decides your story really didn’t sound that interesting after all. Or it’s still interesting, but you took too long, and they just signed two other new authors, their list is full. Or, or, or.

English: Rejection (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have written and rewritten my query letter. Actually, I’ve rewritten it about twelve times, and I think it might work now. Time to work on the synopsis. Shoot me, please. It sounds so easy. Tell the damned story. Mmm hmm. But trying to distill it into 500-1000 words, keep it clear, concise, interesting, not include every last detail but not omit anything that is important to the flow? Here’s the thing, when you write a novel, you’re trying to make sure that every scene, every character, every detail raises the stakes, adds to the story. Now figure out which of those all important and all contributing scenes and characters don’t actually need to be in the synopsis.

Just because you can write poetry doesn’t mean you can write an epic fantasy novel. You might be able to write historical romance but not be able to pull off a picture book. I occasionally have fun writing limericks. Great for giggles, but with an editorial–or a serious reader’s–eye, they suck. I would never try to get them published, or showcase them to illustrate my writing. Query and synopsis writing involve a different skill set than writing a manuscript. Ready for the conflict? Mrs Fringe has a completed manuscript and she’d like to find a literary agent. To do so, she has to send competent, engaging query letters and possibly synopsis (synopsi?) to agents who seem like they might be a good fit for Mrs Fringe and said manuscript.

Today’s attempt at a synopsis left me ready to send a form rejection to myself, and scrawl a big fat YAWN across the top in red pen.

They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Published, Publishable, Crap

Disney Rejection Letter, 1938 (detail) (Photo credit: sim sandwich)

Is publishable equal to published?

In all my non-published, never worked in the publishing industry wisdom, I said no. I believe there are writers out there with work that is publishable that haven’t been published. Bad luck, bad timing, giving up too soon, I can think of quite a few ways and reasons this could come about. This question came up in response to a thread derailment on the writer’s forum.

Another member disagreed with me, and he has valid points (along with better credentials than I). Who’s to say/how can someone say something is publishable if the work hasn’t been published?

Writing, specifically fiction, is so damned subjective. What catches the interest of one agent (or editor, or reader) might be downright distasteful to the next. Frustrating, but in my mind, that’s also the good news. That’s what allows for creativity and interpretation.

Cut the Crap (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Don’t get me wrong, I understand sometimes writing is poor. Not having a good grasp of the rules of the language you’re writing in, a story that doesn’t go anywhere, characters that are flat, etc. But what about the writing and writers who get trashed by critics, but have huge commercial success? Good luck, good timing, perseverance…yes. There’s more to it, though. There’s good storytelling–whether or not the sentences are artfully crafted–and understanding what your audience wants to read, who they can and will identify with.

I’ve said all along, I write to be read, to reach an audience, and hopefully, one day, earn a dollar. If none of my work is ever accepted, never reaches an audience, just how pointless was it? I’m asking in all seriousness, hoping for some discussion, not whining.

Here’s where I start chasing my tail. You don’t know until you’re either published or give up. There is no formula. Most people are unable to publish their first manuscript, some hit with the second, some the tenth, some never do. Everyone’s heard stories of writers whose work was rejected over and over, and eventually were published, a few very successfully, others not so much. But of those who stuck with it, kept writing and submitting, there’s another subset of those who found “homes” and publication for some of their earlier works that had been rejected, considered unpublishable.

How could those earlier works have been a waste? And how do you know? I can’t say “forget the audience, the possibility of publication,” when that is half of my equation. I write because I’m driven to write, I have an overactive imagination, and enough hubris to believe others will identify with my characters and or their feelings, care about them long enough to keep turning the pages to see how the story ends.

If I run with the assumption that unpublished is the same as unpublishable, does unpublished automatically equal crap? Does it matter if what’s on my thumb drive is drivel or golden pearls as long as it’s trapped on the thumb drive? Is it possible for unpubbed work to be anything other than drivel? At what point would you decide that? After 100 rejections? 50? 20? 3? Are all the unpublished writers craptastic hacks, while those who are published are brilliant? If I don’t create the work, polish the work, submit the work (everyone is different, this is the part where I stutter and splutter), it will never have a chance. It’s just a pile of crap taking up room in my brain, as opposed to my hard drive.

Here you have it, the chicken and the egg theory of writing fiction, by Mrs Fringe. If all else fails, I hear chicken shit is excellent fertilizer.

Kindof a visual pun that I’ve illustrated. Which came first? Technically not a photo, but I did have to physically scan it in, so maybe that counts for something. This is a few years old. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And You Will Bow Before Me

Sculpture by Ernemann Sander: Badende in front of Rheinisches Landesmuseum Bonn (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My plan/goal/resolution for 2013 was to write and submit. I’m writing. Submitting, not so much. Ok, not at all. I think my idea was to have at least one submission out each month. No, I’m not going to look back and check, just in case I was even more delusional than one a month. At first I thought, “I have plenty of time, January has 31 days!”

Then I didn’t think about it at all. In the last week, I remembered. Well, no problem. Yanno, in that writing is easy kind of way. I’ll make up for lost time, and send out five submissions this month. The strangest thing happened, though. The more I began researching where I should send my stories, the more I had other, fabulous ideas that needed to be written down right now. And the more I thought of revisions that had to be made, on stories I haven’t looked at in forever, right now. And of course, the more I needed to check in on Facebook, right now. Hard to believe I’ve yet to decide what to submit where.

Submit. Submission. Submissive. Submerge. Not loving these words.

dark water (Photo credit: rafa2010)

I know all about submission, I read Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty series. I even read the Story of O–and what a surprise that was, found by my 15 year old self in the poetry section of a used book store. But what else would I call it? An offering? I don’t know about you, but that still brings the sacrificial lamb to my mind.

But still, I’m going to do it. Why? Because I write, and that’s what people who write, do. We write, revise, delete, bang our heads into the wall, write some more, edit some more, and then submit. It’s funny, the stages you go through as a writer. Not everyone goes through the same ones, or in the same order, but I’ve spoken with a lot of writers in my forty thousand years. Female, male, self taught, MFAs, published or unpublished, the variations of this theme are all sewn with the same thread. As a child you write, and show your work to everyone. Then you begin to hoard it. No one understands me. Absolutely true, no one understands what you don’t share. Then you begin to share again, with those you think will understand your golden thoughts. And then someone doesn’t, or points out the flaws, and it’s crushing. (This stage may now be extinct, the current and more recent generations have the internet, allowing them to learn everyone has to go through this, and someone taking time to point out flaws and errors is a good thing). Then you write again and dream about being a writ-ah. Or a huge commercial success. And you write more and truly begin to learn about editing, revising, rewriting, sharing your work, being critiqued, and the publishing business. And you begin to submit. Some of us stall out and go through these stages several times.

Writing, pursuing publication, it’s a weird thing. You have to have complete and total faith in yourself and your work, but at the same time you have to be open to critique, open to learning more, improving craft, understand that rejection of that work is part of the process. Pride but not hubris.

Will I get five submissions out by the end of this month? Maybe. But I will send my work out. It will be on submission, not me.

Though there may have to be some floggings.

English: A woman flogging a submissive man on a bed (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Jumped the Gun or Getting a Head Start?

Skizze zur Radierung „Sprint“ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I saw Fatigue last night for Friday Night Madness, and we both talked about renewed efforts to pursue our respective arts. We talked about being flexible. Sort of, we talked about me being flexible. I think I can be, fiction, short fiction, romance, essays, blogging–though I’ve got limits. I cannot write erotica. Really, I tried, it didn’t flow. Or moan, or anything else it should do. Fatigue suggested writing reviews as a potential money maker. I’m not sure how that would work, with me never going to the movies, or the theater, and usually reading books looong after their original copyright dates, but I’m not opposed to the idea.

I woke up at 5 am today, and spent the next 6 hours researching e-publishing vs self publishing. Again. I’ve done this many times before. Once Man Child and Nerd Child were awake and in the living room, I forced them to listen to me debate which path to try first. I’m pretty sure Nerd Child slipped his ear buds back in halfway through, but he appeared attentive at appropriate intervals.

And then, I did it. Please, dear Fringelings, don’t think I knocked off query and synopsis inside of an hour, both were already long written, edited, re-written and re-edited, waiting in my files. I submitted my short contemporary romance to an e-publisher, including query, synopsis, and pseudonym, following submission guidelines.

For this first stab at e-publishing, I went with the e-division of one of the big houses. I know, I know, this means less likely acceptance, but it’s a shot.

Do any of you have experience with submitting to/ publishing with any of the e-publishers? Words of wisdom? Voices of experience? Cautionary tales?

I am determined to get back on track with my writing and submitting this year, and take control of whatever I can.

022. (Photo credit: angela larose)

Mrs Fringe Is 50!

Present (Photo credit: ejorpin)

Yup, this is my fiftieth post. Is this a big deal in the world of blogging? Nope, but it means something to me.

There’s something about the number that feels like commitment. When I’m working on a full length manuscript, 50 pages is my magic spot. It means I’ve gone further than just trying an idea, seeing how it flows, can I sustain it? Nope, when I hit 50 pages I’m all in. The characters are fleshed out enough to feel real, I’m thinking about them in the shower, and wake up thinking about what they will do today. The conflicts are getting layered, serious. In the world of submissions, agents and editors will often ask for a partial; usually the first three chapters or 50 pages if they might be interested after seeing a query letter. So all of those 50 pages had better be fan-freakin-tastic. Not that you can stop writing and query at this point, don’t bother until you have a completed, edited, re-edited and re-re-edited manuscript.

Because 50 pages isn’t magical commitment for everyone.

turn page (Photo credit: andy.brandon50)

Much to my initial surprise, I’ve met quite a few writers over the years who have several 50 pages; all starts to manuscripts they never finished. I was a lot more understanding of the “rules” of publishing, warning writers (unless you are WELL established and WELL published) not to send a query if you don’t have a completed full, once I met a few of those writers.

At fifty posts here in Mrs Fringe land, I’m feeling pretty good. I’ve got fringie followers! Not quite 50, but close. I’ve got readers who come by regularly and check out what’s happening, whether they’re official followers or not. I’ve got people who stop by and take the time to comment and join in the conversation; some of whom I know in real life, and a growing number who I’m getting to know through blogging.

And that is what it’s all about. Blogging is writing, it’s a space to share my thoughts and views, and hear the thoughts and views of others. It has introduced me to other blogs and other bloggers. In other words, communicating. Connecting. Growing. The blog is growing–slowly, but steadily. And Mrs Fringe is growing.

My life outside of WordPress is fairly chaotic. Evidenced by weeks when there are only two posts, and other weeks when there are six. So I’m sending a big thank you to my Fringie readers, followers, and likers on Facebook, for hanging on to the fringe with me, finding out where it takes us.

More canoli (Photo credit: diongillard)

Have a canoli, it’s on me.

Hey Artist, Got A Dollar?

Series 1923 U.S. 1$ Silver Certificate, Friedberg #237, S/N R91110043B (Photo credit: LostBob Photos)

I love Rent. The lyrics, the music, the message, the whole package. Me and eleventy billion other people. But this line, the title of today’s post, always resonates.

Why are creative types, artists, writers, musicians, etc, expected to be poor but happy? The scene in my head is old and familiar, a talisman and a warning sign spooning together; the gaunt, pale writer pounding away at a dinged up typewriter in a rat infested garret in Paris, overflowing ashtray on either side of her. Mmm, yeah, that was the romanticized image I had at 15. Not working for me anymore. Never got to France, more broke than I was at 15, a dinged up laptop, but still, I write. What I don’t do is romanticize an unsuccessful creative life. Great if you lived at the turn of the 20th century with a zillion lovers and a wealthy patron who bought your meals, paid your rent, and you didn’t mind dying of syphilis. Today, as a married mother of three who’s never known anyone to have a patron? Not so much.

Poor but happy is bullshit. Wealthy may not mean happy, but no one is happy when they’re hungry, or worried about paying the rent.

Writing, whether it’s fiction, nonfiction, journalism, or blogging, is interactive. I write, you (hopefully) read. More hope, you get on the phone and tell a couple of friends about this fun or moving piece you read, and they read.

PFC Gladys Bellon, Basile, Louisiana, one of the 27 WAC switchboard operators flown from Paris for the Potsdam… – NARA – 199010 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And so on. Until…more hope…I make a dollar. Ah, I’ve changed the equation, made it dirty. Because I’m not supposed to care about how many people want to read what I’ve written, or earning money. Why? My kids get hungry. This may be shocking, but they want to eat multiple times a day. And whether I like all aspects of today’s American society or not, I was raised in it, I live in it. And in our society, money is necessary, and it’s validation. Most published authors don’t earn enough to support themselves through their writing, but it makes a difference in how writers view themselves, and how others view them.

True, there are a few writers, artists, singers, and the like who don’t care about an audience. But the dirty truth is, most of us do. That’s why, for as many books as you’ll find on the shelf about how to write, there are an equal number on how to catch an agent’s attention, how to craft a query letter, how to get published. Lots of opinions on those who are published, and God forbid, successful. He’s a hack. She’s a sell out. She’s a tramp. Oh wait.

A real woman will die a virginal death, and a real writer will die with 6 Pulitzer-worthy manuscripts under the bed. Both, of course, will die at the age of 27 by their own hand, because despair and depression befitting their station in life will have set in. That or consumption. But, they were both pure.

On the other hand, go to a party or a PTA meeting and tell people you’re a writer. Then they ask what you write and where they can find your work. Unpublished. Sneer. You’re a wannabe. Then they tell you about their prize winning 5th grade essay. Which is it? Am I pure or a wannabe? Unsuccessful? Plain old delusional? Trade secret, I’m breaking the rules here. If you are really working on, or going to pursue, publication, don’t blog or write about not having been published, the agents and editors will be scared off. Well, I’m forty thousand and I’m cranky, so I’m breaking the rules.

Yes, there are rules and guidelines. Because the publishing world is a business. A business that likes to make money. Yes, if you’re good enough, or successful enough, you can break those rules. But good and successful are often synonyms for profitable. Because (reputable) agents don’t earn any money if their writers don’t. And editors don’t keep their jobs if they only get behind books that don’t earn out. Those in the publishing world want writers who have talent, dedication, an ability to absorb and apply critiques and edits, and look respectable at writing conferences.

Cocktail Party At The Imperial Hotel: March 13, 1961 (Tokyo, Japan) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Back to that party and the elegantly coiffed woman in the classic little black dress. What you write will effect the curl of her lip. Literary fiction? A delicate raise. Romance, sci fi, or other genre fiction? You’ll get the lip, the nostril, and the eyebrow. Readers, writers, even some who are functionally illiterate, feel free to dis genre fiction. Trash, bodice rippers, pulp fiction. Not only would this lovely lady not admit to reading any of this, she believes her chihuahua could dance across the keys of her laptop, produce one of these manuscripts and have it be publishable. No. Writing is an art, writing is work, and marketable, popular fiction is deceptive in its “simplicity.” There’s a reason genre fiction is also called popular fiction. Quality literary fiction; also an art, also work.

Good writing produces work that people want to read. They want to read it because it has a message that hits home, a universal truth wrapped inside a character you’d like to be, saying the words you wish you’d said. It breaks your heart and performs an angioplasty because it tells the story of a pain you’ve lived, and lets you know others have lived it too. It takes you to another world, lets you be a hero, allows you to experience that first love, again.

Not all good writing gets published, but if it isn’t sold or published, it isn’t because it was too good or too pure.

One day, when a homeless woman calls out to me from her blanket nest on a cold sidewalk, “Got a dollar?” I’d like to say yes, and I earned it from my art.