Submission Ready
30/08/10 07:34 Filed in: Writing
I finished printing the elements of my novel submission
last night. All that's left is to address the envelope,
affix the stamps and mail it.
I feel a great sense of accomplishment, with a wash of fear lending interesting highlights.
It's an interesting process. The website for the publisher gives you instructions on what they expect you to send. You read books and articles that help you to understand what the website actually means. And friends who have done it before offer their insights as well.
The first step is the cover letter. In that, you include the name of the novel, its length in words, a brief, jacket-blurb-style description, the tiniest bit of information about yourself (to convince the publisher that you are the right person to write the book) and a dignified request that the publisher take your book on for publication. Sounds easy, doesn't it? Well, it's not. It's one of the toughest things you'll ever have to write. You feel like all your hopes for that novel rest on that single page.
Then you have to write a longer synopsis of the novel. But how long? The guides say one page of synopsis for every 25 pages of novel. But the whispers say no publisher wants it that long. Make it short, make it snappy. So you sweat over every word and die a small death every time your word processor moves onto a new page. You want to keep it short but you worry that you have to make it as thorough a summary of the events in the novel as possible. So you suffer.
And last but not least, there's the sample of writing: in this case, 15 to 25 pages from the novel. Some publishers want the first 25 pages of the book, which might be easier. All you'd have to do then is work and rework every word in those 25 pages, recognising that you have to grab this particular reader and convince him or her that your novel will sell better than any other. In my case, however, the website does not ask for the first 25 pages: it asks for any section of the novel, so long as it's between 15 and 25 pages.
That makes it, in my opinion, much, much tougher. The question is: which 25 pages? Do I simply go with the first 25? Do I look for the section that I feel is best written? most exciting? most indicative of my style and approach? What if I choose the wrong section? What if I choose action and the publisher really wants to see character development? What if I choose a section in which I've tried something inventive and the publisher wants to see plain ol' solid writing?
Two different people told me the trial scenes in The Silent Goodbye are excellent and advised me to use one of those. So I quickly narrowed it down to two different parts of the trial. But which one to use? I weighed the pros and cons, carefully reviewed and revised each. Sweated the decision. I went so far as cutting and pasting each into its own file and then formatting both, just to see how they looked. I had hoped that I would find one to be too long or too short and the decision would be made for me. No such luck. They both turned out to be around 20 pages. Perfect.
So I let my gut choose. I picked the one with the stronger opening. Get the publisher interested early. The decision as to whether he or she wants to see more will be made in the first couple of pages, I thought. So, I went with my gut, printed the section and got the rest of the submission package ready.
Today I mail it. Then wait. Worried. Hopeful at times, fearful at others. For how long, I don't know. We'll see.
I feel a great sense of accomplishment, with a wash of fear lending interesting highlights.
It's an interesting process. The website for the publisher gives you instructions on what they expect you to send. You read books and articles that help you to understand what the website actually means. And friends who have done it before offer their insights as well.
The first step is the cover letter. In that, you include the name of the novel, its length in words, a brief, jacket-blurb-style description, the tiniest bit of information about yourself (to convince the publisher that you are the right person to write the book) and a dignified request that the publisher take your book on for publication. Sounds easy, doesn't it? Well, it's not. It's one of the toughest things you'll ever have to write. You feel like all your hopes for that novel rest on that single page.
Then you have to write a longer synopsis of the novel. But how long? The guides say one page of synopsis for every 25 pages of novel. But the whispers say no publisher wants it that long. Make it short, make it snappy. So you sweat over every word and die a small death every time your word processor moves onto a new page. You want to keep it short but you worry that you have to make it as thorough a summary of the events in the novel as possible. So you suffer.
And last but not least, there's the sample of writing: in this case, 15 to 25 pages from the novel. Some publishers want the first 25 pages of the book, which might be easier. All you'd have to do then is work and rework every word in those 25 pages, recognising that you have to grab this particular reader and convince him or her that your novel will sell better than any other. In my case, however, the website does not ask for the first 25 pages: it asks for any section of the novel, so long as it's between 15 and 25 pages.
That makes it, in my opinion, much, much tougher. The question is: which 25 pages? Do I simply go with the first 25? Do I look for the section that I feel is best written? most exciting? most indicative of my style and approach? What if I choose the wrong section? What if I choose action and the publisher really wants to see character development? What if I choose a section in which I've tried something inventive and the publisher wants to see plain ol' solid writing?
Two different people told me the trial scenes in The Silent Goodbye are excellent and advised me to use one of those. So I quickly narrowed it down to two different parts of the trial. But which one to use? I weighed the pros and cons, carefully reviewed and revised each. Sweated the decision. I went so far as cutting and pasting each into its own file and then formatting both, just to see how they looked. I had hoped that I would find one to be too long or too short and the decision would be made for me. No such luck. They both turned out to be around 20 pages. Perfect.
So I let my gut choose. I picked the one with the stronger opening. Get the publisher interested early. The decision as to whether he or she wants to see more will be made in the first couple of pages, I thought. So, I went with my gut, printed the section and got the rest of the submission package ready.
Today I mail it. Then wait. Worried. Hopeful at times, fearful at others. For how long, I don't know. We'll see.
An Inside Look
A busy week for me, with work heating up and the sudden
but welcomed exertion of pressure on me to complete my
manuscript submission package for The Silent
Goodbye and send it to the publisher. I am now
absolutely determined to have it on its way to the
publisher by the end of the day Sunday.
First, a word on Dick Francis. I finished reading Come to Grief yesterday and very much enjoyed it. After the brief dip in the quality of writing in Wild Horses, Come to Grief represents Francis at somewhere close to his best. It seems Sid Halley demands as high standards of his writer as he does of himself as investigator.
What is really special about Come to Grief, however, is that you get the feeling that, in a way he's never done before, Francis is writing about himself, at least that part of him that was a champion jockey. Come to Grief pits Halley, a former champion as a professional, against Ellis Quint, his arch-rival, the champion amateur jockey against whom Halley rode aggressively and often. Despite the fact that they are on opposite sides of a vicious crime, there is a mutual respect between the characters and Francis draws back the curtain on some of the raw, primitive drives that make a jockey a champion. It's quite amazing to read.
Now I'v taken up To The Hilt, a late 1990s book featuring an artist as the protagonist. The nice things about these later books is that I've only read them once or twice over the last fifteen years, meaning I can come at them almost new. I remember very little about them, even less than I do about the earlier books that I have read any number of times.
As for my own deadline, my friend Ross has informed me that he has spoken to his publisher and told him to expect my submission. This is a massively huge favour and one for which I am extremely grateful. Publishers receive thousands of unsolicited submissions each year (many from agents, which is already an advantage I do not enjoy) and it is a minor miracle for such a submission to make it off the slush pile for serious consideration. Ross has provided me at least a step toward that miracle. I will now be an unsolicited manuscript from an unknown writer that might actually be lifted from the pile and given a good read.
No guarantees, of course. The odds are against me. But at least now it's the quality of the writing that will make or break me, not the stuff of miracles. Thanks Ross. I hope to do you proud.
First, a word on Dick Francis. I finished reading Come to Grief yesterday and very much enjoyed it. After the brief dip in the quality of writing in Wild Horses, Come to Grief represents Francis at somewhere close to his best. It seems Sid Halley demands as high standards of his writer as he does of himself as investigator.
What is really special about Come to Grief, however, is that you get the feeling that, in a way he's never done before, Francis is writing about himself, at least that part of him that was a champion jockey. Come to Grief pits Halley, a former champion as a professional, against Ellis Quint, his arch-rival, the champion amateur jockey against whom Halley rode aggressively and often. Despite the fact that they are on opposite sides of a vicious crime, there is a mutual respect between the characters and Francis draws back the curtain on some of the raw, primitive drives that make a jockey a champion. It's quite amazing to read.
Now I'v taken up To The Hilt, a late 1990s book featuring an artist as the protagonist. The nice things about these later books is that I've only read them once or twice over the last fifteen years, meaning I can come at them almost new. I remember very little about them, even less than I do about the earlier books that I have read any number of times.
As for my own deadline, my friend Ross has informed me that he has spoken to his publisher and told him to expect my submission. This is a massively huge favour and one for which I am extremely grateful. Publishers receive thousands of unsolicited submissions each year (many from agents, which is already an advantage I do not enjoy) and it is a minor miracle for such a submission to make it off the slush pile for serious consideration. Ross has provided me at least a step toward that miracle. I will now be an unsolicited manuscript from an unknown writer that might actually be lifted from the pile and given a good read.
No guarantees, of course. The odds are against me. But at least now it's the quality of the writing that will make or break me, not the stuff of miracles. Thanks Ross. I hope to do you proud.
Spoke Too Soon
22/08/10 21:39 Filed in: Reading
So maybe, just maybe, I wrote too soon. After reading
about 40 pages of Dick Francis' 33rd mystery, Wild
Horses, I wrote him off. He's tapering off, I
thought. Lost his mojo.
Well, Dick, I apologise. Wild Horses finally found its feet and turned out to be pretty good. And the next novel, Come To Grief, is a cracker. From the first line.
Of course, Sid Halley helps. Halley is probably Francis' best known protagonist and Come To Grief is his third appearance as the centre of attention. Perhaps to shake the lethargy, Francis writes much of his novel as an extended flashback and it works very well. He tells us who the bad guy is from the first page and we're lured into caring deeply about how Halley fingered him as the evil doer and what the consequences will be for Halley himself of pointing the finger at such a well-loved public figure as being responsible for such heinous crimes.
Francis adds a very sympathetic young client and a rebellious teen and he's got a novel that works on many levels.
I wish I could write like that. I wish I could find the time (and the energy) to write at all. I spent today golfing (an up-and-down 18 holes) and finishing up the branch trimming exercise so I'm exhausted heading into a week when work will be just revving up for the new school year.
Well, Dick, I apologise. Wild Horses finally found its feet and turned out to be pretty good. And the next novel, Come To Grief, is a cracker. From the first line.
Of course, Sid Halley helps. Halley is probably Francis' best known protagonist and Come To Grief is his third appearance as the centre of attention. Perhaps to shake the lethargy, Francis writes much of his novel as an extended flashback and it works very well. He tells us who the bad guy is from the first page and we're lured into caring deeply about how Halley fingered him as the evil doer and what the consequences will be for Halley himself of pointing the finger at such a well-loved public figure as being responsible for such heinous crimes.
Francis adds a very sympathetic young client and a rebellious teen and he's got a novel that works on many levels.
I wish I could write like that. I wish I could find the time (and the energy) to write at all. I spent today golfing (an up-and-down 18 holes) and finishing up the branch trimming exercise so I'm exhausted heading into a week when work will be just revving up for the new school year.
Lost and Found
18/08/10 21:34 Filed in: Reading
It was on the microwave, behind a thank-you card.
Hidden, sure, but not lost forever. Hooray.
I am amazed at just how relieved and happy I felt when I finally spotted my copy of Dick Francis' Wild Horses late yesterday afternoon, after having missed it for almost a week. I am nearing the end of a journey through Francis and I felt totally at sea when the 1994 novel went missing.
I even went to a used book store and a campus book store, looking to buy a replacement. I'm so used to having something to read (and for the last three months that something has been Dick Francis) that I was entirely thrown off by not having the book around. And I didn't feel like I could move on to Francis' next novel: I'm committed to reading them all in order and I was NOT going to break the string, no matter how desperate I felt.
The only problem is, Wild Horses is not a great novel. I have now arrived at the stage of Francis' career where, in my opinion at least, he started to wind it down. The ideas grew stale, the writing more lazy and stilted, the characters flatter and less interesting.
Oh well, I think Wild Horses is number 33 in his collected works so I guess I should cut him some slack. It's not awful. It's just not great.
But I found it! I'm going to glory in the delight of that moment for a while.
I am amazed at just how relieved and happy I felt when I finally spotted my copy of Dick Francis' Wild Horses late yesterday afternoon, after having missed it for almost a week. I am nearing the end of a journey through Francis and I felt totally at sea when the 1994 novel went missing.
I even went to a used book store and a campus book store, looking to buy a replacement. I'm so used to having something to read (and for the last three months that something has been Dick Francis) that I was entirely thrown off by not having the book around. And I didn't feel like I could move on to Francis' next novel: I'm committed to reading them all in order and I was NOT going to break the string, no matter how desperate I felt.
The only problem is, Wild Horses is not a great novel. I have now arrived at the stage of Francis' career where, in my opinion at least, he started to wind it down. The ideas grew stale, the writing more lazy and stilted, the characters flatter and less interesting.
Oh well, I think Wild Horses is number 33 in his collected works so I guess I should cut him some slack. It's not awful. It's just not great.
But I found it! I'm going to glory in the delight of that moment for a while.
Lots of Developments
Friday night and we've just come back from walking the
dog. We're debating cancelling our satellite TV
subscription since we are currently paying about $45
per month for practically nothing. I watched for four
hours the other night and couldn't find one show I
wanted to watch. So I open up Safari and find out both
the PGA golf championship and tonight's CFL football
game between Winnipeg and Hamilton are available live
on-line for free.
Hmmm... What are we paying $45 a month for anyway?
But that's not what I was planning to write about today. I was planning to write about writing.
Why? Because, after a long drought, I can feel the creative juices start to flow again.
Why? Several reasons: first, because my conversations with my nieces got me started on what seems to be a fantastic new Phillip Gold novel, one that is constantly running across my mind, even as I spend a day trimming tree branches; second, because a friend at work mentioned, out of the blue, that she had come across my website some time ago and had really enjoyed reading my new Rowling-world novel, The Way Forward ("It's like the seventh book never ended," she said); and third, because my chat with that same friend, which touched on our mutual love for the old Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books, reminded me of my own Abigail Massey stories and I feel like I want to get back to them as well.
It helps as well that I finally got around to starting the much-abbreviated synopsis of The Silent Goodbye in preparation for my submission of that novel to a publisher.
So things are percolating on the writing side.
On the reading side, things are not so good. I started Dick Francis' Wild Horses on the weekend, only to lose the darn thing. I'm worried that someone accidentally packed the book up and took it back to Ontario with them when my in-laws left on Monday. I might have to go and buy another copy, since losing my original copy stalls my reading plans completely.
And if I could just manage to catch my sister on Skype, life would be even better!
Hmmm... What are we paying $45 a month for anyway?
But that's not what I was planning to write about today. I was planning to write about writing.
Why? Because, after a long drought, I can feel the creative juices start to flow again.
Why? Several reasons: first, because my conversations with my nieces got me started on what seems to be a fantastic new Phillip Gold novel, one that is constantly running across my mind, even as I spend a day trimming tree branches; second, because a friend at work mentioned, out of the blue, that she had come across my website some time ago and had really enjoyed reading my new Rowling-world novel, The Way Forward ("It's like the seventh book never ended," she said); and third, because my chat with that same friend, which touched on our mutual love for the old Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books, reminded me of my own Abigail Massey stories and I feel like I want to get back to them as well.
It helps as well that I finally got around to starting the much-abbreviated synopsis of The Silent Goodbye in preparation for my submission of that novel to a publisher.
So things are percolating on the writing side.
On the reading side, things are not so good. I started Dick Francis' Wild Horses on the weekend, only to lose the darn thing. I'm worried that someone accidentally packed the book up and took it back to Ontario with them when my in-laws left on Monday. I might have to go and buy another copy, since losing my original copy stalls my reading plans completely.
And if I could just manage to catch my sister on Skype, life would be even better!
Not So Plane a Tree
10/08/10 06:37 Filed in: Personal
I am grateful to my aunt, uncle and cousin for sending
along, via my sister, the photos that accompany this
post. As anyone who has read this blog knows, my sister
and I spent some time this spring trying to arrange a
suitable memorial for our beloved mother in the Royal
Botanical Gardens in Burlington, Ontario.
Unfortunately, since I live about 1500 kilometres away,
I haven't been able to monitor progress nor, now that
the tree and plaque have been installed, to visit the
site.
As a result, I was pleased to learn about a month
ago that the tree had been acquired and planted; I was
even more pleased when I received these photos (and
others), my first views of the memorial. I think it
looks great. Apparently, the tree is already quite tall
(close to 15 feet maybe) and is located close to the
access road but in a relatively quiet, secluded place.
I miss my mother very much and still think about her every day (as the plaque says). I am having a hard time believing that it is now about 17 months since I last talked to her, heard her laugh. We watched our wedding video the other day and I was surprised and moved to see her on it, very much alive and vibrant, enjoying the day. I had forgotten she was on there and am grateful to have that video, to have those brief glimpses of her at least.
We spent much of our time together over her last
few years wandering the parks and trails in and around
the City of Hamilton and, most particularly, the RBG.
Mom loved those natural wonders and enjoyed bird
watching and people watching as we puttered along. I
think our tribute is a wonderfully fitting one and I
hope to visit it one day soon. I agree with Patti,
though: while the sentiment we chose to place on the
plaque is both true and lovely, Patti's own suggestion
("This tree is for the birds, people") would also have
been perfectly fitting and so very much my mom.
I miss my mother very much and still think about her every day (as the plaque says). I am having a hard time believing that it is now about 17 months since I last talked to her, heard her laugh. We watched our wedding video the other day and I was surprised and moved to see her on it, very much alive and vibrant, enjoying the day. I had forgotten she was on there and am grateful to have that video, to have those brief glimpses of her at least.
The Speed of the Read
08/08/10 19:07 Filed in: Reading
It took me more than a week to read Dick Francis'
Driving Force. It took me less than a day to
read Dick Francis' Decider. The speed of the
read gives a clear indication of how much I enjoyed
each novel.
In my humble opinion, Driving Force is a mess. It is quite possibly (quite probably) Francis' worst book. It lacks excitement and its main character, Freddie Croft, is a real dud. My best guess is that Francis got wind of a cunning crime, then tried to build a story around it. Unfortunately, the crime, importing a horse illness from France on rabbits and then infecting certain race horses with it so as to make particular races more winnable, does not lend itself to the building of suspense, the creation of interesting characters, or the development of a useful plot. That's not to say Francis doesn't try hard to make it work but even the addition of a faintly sketched romance and a new family twist can't save this one.
Wow, is this a bad book!
That makes Decider even more of a surprise. Written immediately following Driving Force, Decider is a wonderful book, with a winning main character and a heart-stopping story. Picking up on the theme of the extended family so well drawn in Hot Money, Decider follows Lee Morris, architect, builder and father of six young boys, as he finds himself drawn unwillingly into the murderous Stratton family, which is being torn apart after the death of its patriarch.
Where Driving Force plods, Decider sprints. Francis handles the large cast with impressive finesse and brings Morris' five older sons to vivid, memorable life. It's hard to make small children central to the plot of any mystery but Francis does it beautifully.
In reading all of his novels in order, I am attempting to understand how Francis developed and grew as a writer. I'm still not sure how to deal with the failure that is Driving Force, especially when Decider, the next book in the series, is so good. My working theory is that Francis loved the crime so much he thought he could weave the novel around it. Maybe he actually believed, after penning more than thirty successful books, he was capable of this miracle.
And maybe he learned his lesson and went back to his proven strengths in Decider. I'm not completely convinced but at least it's a theory.
In my humble opinion, Driving Force is a mess. It is quite possibly (quite probably) Francis' worst book. It lacks excitement and its main character, Freddie Croft, is a real dud. My best guess is that Francis got wind of a cunning crime, then tried to build a story around it. Unfortunately, the crime, importing a horse illness from France on rabbits and then infecting certain race horses with it so as to make particular races more winnable, does not lend itself to the building of suspense, the creation of interesting characters, or the development of a useful plot. That's not to say Francis doesn't try hard to make it work but even the addition of a faintly sketched romance and a new family twist can't save this one.
Wow, is this a bad book!
That makes Decider even more of a surprise. Written immediately following Driving Force, Decider is a wonderful book, with a winning main character and a heart-stopping story. Picking up on the theme of the extended family so well drawn in Hot Money, Decider follows Lee Morris, architect, builder and father of six young boys, as he finds himself drawn unwillingly into the murderous Stratton family, which is being torn apart after the death of its patriarch.
Where Driving Force plods, Decider sprints. Francis handles the large cast with impressive finesse and brings Morris' five older sons to vivid, memorable life. It's hard to make small children central to the plot of any mystery but Francis does it beautifully.
In reading all of his novels in order, I am attempting to understand how Francis developed and grew as a writer. I'm still not sure how to deal with the failure that is Driving Force, especially when Decider, the next book in the series, is so good. My working theory is that Francis loved the crime so much he thought he could weave the novel around it. Maybe he actually believed, after penning more than thirty successful books, he was capable of this miracle.
And maybe he learned his lesson and went back to his proven strengths in Decider. I'm not completely convinced but at least it's a theory.
Chopping Trees and Seeing NB
On Saturday, a whole slew of us made the trip to see the Hopewell Rocks, located on the Bay of Fundy just south of Moncton. What an amazing place. With tides of up to 15 metres, you can actually walk on the ocean floor (at low tide, of course) and see what the eroding action of the waves can do to the land over the course of the centuries. We met up with my brother-in-law's aunt and cousin (who live in Moncton) while we were there so it was a really great visit. In the photos below, you can see the difference between the low tide and the water levels just an hour later as the water starts to move back in: in the first photo, people are walking around the rock; in the second, no people, just water.
On the way back to Fredericton, we stopped in at Alma, NB (Patti and I have been there before and there's a video of Marlee at Alma available on the "Video" page of this site) so that my brother-in-law could have a fresh seafood dinner before flying back to Ontario the following day. Alma is a lovely little town just outside Fundy National Park, with a thriving fishing and lobster industry to boot.
On the home front, I've jumped headfirst into the tree-clearing operation. After our friend Rob and I battled the front-lawn cedars into submission, my nieces and nephew have joined me in the war against the trees in the back yard. With Alex climbing and cutting, Katie clipping away and Matthew showing off his muscle on the big trees, we're gotten most of the clearing done.
The most challenging were a pair of mostly dead hawthorn trees, buried behind a stand of other stuff. Their branches had intertwined with every other tree in the area and their sharp little thorns like to grip and scratch anything that comes near. I'm covered from head to toe with scratches and I'm not yet finished with them. I did, however, get about a third of the cedar branches cleaned and bagged, so that's a real plus.
Writing? Hmm. Well, Alex did do some more work on The Final Curtain. That's good.