E-Queries: Quick remark(s)

Since I recently posted a blog on literary agents and queries, I thought I'd say a few more things about that today. I like agents who accept e-queries. Why?

It's green, people. I know that term has been murdered by celebs, politicians, and all the other folks you see on the T.V. or read in a newspaper (do people still do that?).

Anyway, I'm not sure why some agents cling to the old form of querying. Save some friggin' TREES already! Plus, AGENT X (if you happen to be reading this here blog), you can reject us authors way faster! See the lady agent to the right? Although she's suffering from mental pain, reading yet another crappy query, at least she didn't have to risk getting a paper cut . . .

Think about switching to e-queries only, 'k?

Love,
Chastity

Thinking about agents and gazing at slush piles

First of all, I wanna say that most of the agents I've encountered have been superbly polite. For the most part, when I began querying a few months ago, I found that most agents responded. Even if it was a flat "no, I'm gonna pass," at least the agent was acknowledging my existence. (Oh, and even Ms. Snark implored fellow agents to politely decline, and I know for a fact that Nathan Brandsford responds to every query. Literary agents could learn a lesson or two from Mr. Brandsford - he's a super nice guy. I just know it).

Then there are the agents who are apparently too cool for skool, and ignore you. It's bullshit. It's absolute bullshit. Haven't these people heard of friggin' courtesy? Sheesh. Didn't these kids learn anything in skool? Or did they missed the etiquette train in first grade? I mean, perhaps I'm naive, but I just think it's about human decency to correspond. And don't give me that "I-m-just-too-busy-to-even-say-no" line. That's bullshit, too. You're telling me, that you can't click, RESPOND, and type out, "No, I pass - Sincerely, Ms. Polite Lit. Agent?" If you can't do that, you're a lazy you-know-what.

You've dedicated your life to prose, or so you claim, so the least you can do is correspond with frigging writers, and even the ones you reject! Even worse, the agents who themselves are writers and don't respond to your queries! Gimme a break already! OK, this is getting out of hand. I just used three exclamation points in a row. You see, this stuff gets me pretty worked up.

Since we're on the subject of queries, I'm gonna eventually post the one that lands me an agent. As I said earlier, I'm not there quite yet, but my pitch is solid, and has gotten a lot of positive feedback . . . now, if only I can win the heart of an agent with my actual manuscript. That's the biggest hurdle. I'm almost there, and am anxious to hear back from the agents who have the partial piece of my book.

THE SLUSH PILES PICTURE TO THE RIGHT: The one below is an impressive lookin' slush pile. It's neatly organized, compared to the one above it. If you can make it out of a slush pile, you're headin' somewheres . . . at least that's my own delusional thinking, but who knows?

It's Saturday, so this post exalts RANDOMNESS

Since I've tumbled out of the Ivory Tower, I've been slummin' around more on the interwebs. I think after you've been holed up in a library, writing and reading for 12-14 hrs a day at a dumpy carrel, that that's to be expected. Perhaps I am wrong. Of course, I am proud to say that I've written a novel this year, too. And that's coming to an end as well. So, it hasn't been a total loss, and I'm still trying to determine if I should return to my graduate program.

I'm still working on a title for my fantasy novel. And in case you're wondering, I did kill of a child last night. As I wrote it, I cried. You see, my writing is that good. Ha! (I'm not that arrogant, at least not yet). Like I said, my fantasy novel is set in Kansas. It's filled with dragons, demons, crabby skeletons, and ghosts from the original Scooby Doo. Even E.T. is a character. That sounds wacky, just a random list of creatures, spirits, and a few things that typify popular film and TV programs in the '80s for children. But as I mentioned in my previous entry, the novel is pretty scary.

Where am I now? Presently I'm a stone's throw away from the Widener, and can see the lovely cupolas that overlook the Chaaarles river (oh, wow - that reminds me of Brideshead Revisited. If you haven't read the book
or seen the TV series, which includes stupendous parts played by Sir Laurence Olivier and the lovely Claire Bloom, not to mention Jeremy Irons, another one of my all time favorites, go out and buy both versions NOW. I still adore Irons, despite many of the wretched films he's made, but he's gotta pay the bills somehow). In any event, here I am holed up in Cambridge, MA. The point of mentioning this is . . . I'm longing for Kansas at the moment. I miss the wide open skies. You don't see skies like that on the East coast, because the topography is too hilly, filled with enormous trees. Plus, there is tremendous amount of light pollution. My novel has made me experience real heimweh, and that's far more brutal than you're run of the mill homesickness.

Of course, I love Cambridge. I love it's book stores and coffee shops. More than that, I love the conversations you hear in Cambridge. It's always nice to hop on the subway and see one person across from you reading Dostoevsky in Russian, while someone else, who's perhaps sitting right next you, skims Rimbaud in French. The books you see people reading seems random, like the two I just mentioned, but for those reading individuals, it makes absolute sense. I take comfort in knowing that these people, while their reading choices allow my own imagination to meander along the metaphorical path of everyday life's peculiarities, are actually on a set path. I am at the crux of a paradox: my thoughts touch upon all that is random and all that is intentional. It's a lovely place, just like Kansas's topography. See that image to the right? I wanna see that again, and not on the web. I wanna stand in that scene again.

And since I've come back to musing about Kansas, it's high time that I slap a decent title onto this monster-filled piece. The monsters are actual characters. They're not good. Of course not. Publishers don't want any kind of ambivalence like that. Oh, no. Kafka would be so screwed today. But a Kafka wouldn't exist today. I know that from all my years studying history, although I was on my way to earning a Ph.D. in literature. I am, at heart, a historicist. So, I know better than to comment as such. Anyways, the monsters are bad, but the children in the novel have choices, i.e. they are "born" good, but can go bad if they so choose (wow! It's parallel to our own universe, no?).

When I go back and re-read it, certain passages remind me of Alice in Wonderland. The monsters, who are always disguised when their trying to lure the little ones into their murderous dens, offer children cookies and cupcakes. The cookies come in the shape of My Little Pony figures or look like cabbage patch dolls, but the cupcakes are always the same thing -Bugs Bunny from the '40s. If they eat the Bugs Bunny cupcake, they're in for a frightful "trip" that takes them back to World War II. What's worse, they live out their parents' lives. That sends the children over the edge, and if they don't die, they turn black. So, Bugs Bunny cupcakes are pretty bad. When the children die, the monsters, naturally, devour them. But when they turn black, the children change (physically, too) and end up joining armies, aiding the monsters and their insatiable appetite for new children - they become bounty hunters, in search of the flesh of fresh children.

The main thrust: fantasy that's twisted around (false) memory, as the children cannot make sense of the images and emotions they experience once their viewing things through the lens of one of their parents.

I'd spent a lot of time developing the child who died last night. Although she reminded me of how my parents describe the way I was as a kid at the tender age of five, she was a lot funnier. I like how funny she was, so I made a decision early on about her: I wouldn't allow her silliness to wither away. I couldn't allow her to live on and join the monsters and their skeleton led armies. That would've been too difficult to write. That's why she chose the cookie and not the Bugs Bunny cupcake. I didn't want to see her turn black. May she rest in peace with all of her quirkiness.

With that said, I need to conclude this novel. I just have one chapter left, and I already have that sketched out. Now it's just a matter of writing it out from my outlines. As I draw this to an end, I need to get serious about a title. Most of the literary agents who have expressed an interest in the manuscript don't like the present title. (At the risk of exposing myself, I won't list it here).

I'm still anxiously waiting for the actual call(s). Given the amount of interest that I've received, I'm confident that it'll be any day now. Let's keep hoping! OK, back to the book.

Agents, Agents every where, but not a one of 'em will drink!

So, I'm a fantasy writer of sorts, and not yet (big emphasis on 'yet') published. That means I'm not really an author, just a writer at the moment. I'm fine with that. No, wait. That's not true. I'm not fine with that. I want to be a writer more than anything else in this world. I mean, I wouldn't go as far as Faust, but then again, Mephisto hasn't been stomping around my cavernous library lately. One never really knows, unless they're asked by the Prince of Darkness.

Although I'm relatively new to the game, I'm proud to say that I've at least been able to get the attention of about twenty-five literary agents. I am not being boastful either - those 25 have actually written me personal e-mails and asked to look at my stuff. But that's not the real challenge. As you writers know (even those who are published, save for the hacks who just got a deal cuz their last name was Bush, Hilton, or whatever), rejection is just part of the deal. But there's something to be learned. I know, I know, I know. That sounds ueber-cheesy, but it's true. Use it as a device to become humbler. I swear, I'm providing you with some good advice.

It's all very humbling to receive these types of replies: "no, thanks," "I'm afraid you're not the best match for our agency," etc. If these came via mail, I'd be able to redecorate my bathroom with fancy letterhead from literary agents. Instead, it's all boxed up electronically, so I can only stuff it away in a category in my e-mail account called "Agent Rejections." But I digress. Humility can do wonders for you, especially if you're prone to being insane.

At least I can now say that I have another label in my e-mail account called "Bitin' Agents." That's encouraging as hell.

My fanciful book is pretty fantastic. It's set in the Midwest - Kansas to be exact. In an ordinary suburb, a little girl's dreams, as well as her nightmares, turn out to be very real indeed. That's the worst way of putting it, as my pitch is really honed - I'm quite proud of it, and I've managed to at least snag the attention of a bunch of agents momentarily. That's when they move to the next step, request a partial, and then write back with a polite "no." Agents are so overworked, that they wanna be given any reason to say "no." Suffice to say, don't take it personally.

C'est la vie.

OK, back to the drawing board.

In the meantime, you should check out Sarah Disgrace's blog. It's quite funny.
http://sarahdisgrace.blogspot.com/ - I've listed it below, but since I've been trolling around her site lately, I thought I'd list it in this entry, too.

Who knew? She loves Tina Fey as much as I do! Plus, she likes cupcakes, just like Amy Sedaris. Aaaah, isn't that cool?

All right, I gotta murder a child in my book. Being a writer is almost criminal.