The Five Stages of Having Your Manuscript Requested

Let's hope he's just sleeping.

I've discovered there is a lot more to having your manuscript requested than popping open champagne bottles and high-fiving yourself.  For those of you on the cusp of experiencing this phenomenon, here is a brief review of the stages you can expect to endure during the process.

Stage One – Shock

Short, personal responses in your inbox from agents whose taste you admire and whose opinions you value indicating that your query and sample pages were satisfactory enough to request a full can have an unsteadying effect on an already fragile nervous system.  It is recommended you have all windows closed and possibly accessorize your outfits with a mosquito net over your face (Lady Gaga has probably done this) during this stage as your mouth will be hanging open unattractively for a time.

 

Stage Two – Euphoria

During this stage, your mind will jump forward in time, to a point where you have already signed with one of the agents who requested your full, have sold your manuscript to a large publisher, had your work received with admiration on a global scale by critics and readers alike, and you are being spoken of in the same breath as Poe, Austin, and King. This stage lasts approximately four minutes.

 

Stage Three – Hives and Cold Sweats

This stage is relatively self explanatory.  As you wait for any of the agents with your full to respond, you experience the physical suffering usually associated with victims of exotic, air-borne jungle diseases, most of which will have been irradiated by Bill Gates by 2023.  These symptoms strangely will give you the uncanny ability to find every typo in your manuscript that was overlooked in the past nine hundred and seventy-two edits, resigning you to the fact that you've ruined any chance you may have had of getting an agent.

 

Stage Four – Self-Inflicted Delusion

After a month or so of waiting for replies, the highs of stage two and the lows of stage three will give way to a questioning of your own mental sanity and all things which you once believed you knew and understood.  The first thing to be questioned will be whether your manuscript was ever actually requested at all.  You will double check the emails asking for the full, rereading lines such as “I would like to see more” for an overlooked word that could drastically change the line's meaning, such as “I would like NOT to see more.”  This stage is a decent into madness and depression probably much like that experienced by Hemingway on a daily basis. 

 

Stage Five – Ambiguously Alive Cat

Well, I’m not actually to stage five yet.  It seems like it could go one of two ways.  I get an agent or I don’t.  Right now, stage five is the Schrödinger's cat of stages.  Until I open emails from all of the agents with my manuscript, my dream of securing an agent and getting my work published is both alive and dead.  Here’s hoping one of those excellent agents is a cat person.        

Missed Opportunities

There's no crying in working out!

 

Have you ever looked at a situation, thrown your hands up in the air and said, “Whatever!  Fine!  Not meant to be.  I get it.”

I went to the gym Wednesday night, and basically did this in my head.  Had I done it literally, I’m pretty sure I’d have been wedgied, and justifiably so.  Monday’s are the worst night to go to the gym, and I’ve learned Wednesday is clearly a close second.  I went up hoping to find a few people (preferably the older members who don’t use the same equipment or weights I do) milling around and basically staying out of my way so I could have an awesome workout session without awkward  waiting, without an audience, and without much wasted time.  Instead, I walk inside and discover other people (gasp!) having the audacity to use the facilities for which they pay dearly every month at the same time I wanted to use them.  “Whatever!  Fine!  Not meant to be.  I get.”

I walked around a little, observing that the stations I wanted to use were being used by guys who, while in less need of them than myself, had every right to be using them when I happened to want to be.  I sulked a little, I pouted, and I considered going home.  But after weighing my options, I recognized my whole schedule would be blow if I took off, so instead, I got to work. 

I picked less popular machines and did some different exercises on them.  My body was challenged and responded.   I also discovered ‘dips’, which were something I hadn’t really done to date.  My shoulders let me know I really need to be doing them.  I no longer felt like having a hissy fit.  After the first thirty minutes, the place was clearing out and I was able to get to some of things I couldn’t before.  Being appreciative to finally get to the equipment, I upped my weights.  By the end of the night, I had a better workout than I ever would have if things had been the way I imagined they should be when I first arrived.

When things go just the way we think they should, that can be nice.  But other times, what looks like a challenge or an obstacle is actually the stimulus we need to break through a wall or surpass a plateau we’ve been stuck on.

Not every problem you encounter is an opportunity waiting to be discovered, but rarely does the status quo contain any such potential.  Embrace a challenge and reap the rewards.  Shrink from one, and be left to wonder what you could have accomplished.

Gimmicks and Being Manipulated

How much more obnoxious is a smirk in 3-D?

I’ve decided, in general and with only a few exceptions, I’m not a big fan of 3-D movies.  Avatar was really special and I can’t imagine seeing it any other way, and I recently watched the new Star Trek and thought it was quite good in that format.  Other than those two examples though, I haven’t been impressed with the gimmick of 3-D in movies.

It’s kind of weird, because I really like 3-D in real life.  Helps me not bump into things or accidentally touch people’s faces when gesturing.  But so far in movies, the effect feels forced, out of place, and even manipulative.  It’s like a big, bright, pop-up book where one layer of scenery is connected by the next with a little cardboard tab between them, spelling out for me what I should be paying attention to and what is only marginally important in the scene.  And of course, you have to wear those funny glasses.

When watching Oz the Great and Powerful this weekend without the benefit of 3-D, I was drawn out of the story at various points when I could see a scene had been shot or an effect added specifically to maximize the third dimension.  I’m sure in the theater people ooohed and ahhhed, but in my bedroom, I just shrugged and thought about the technical aspects of how movies are made instead of the story unfolding before me.  Why do we need so many butterflies flying around right now?  Why is this air balloon ride taking so long?   

So, have you ever felt like you were being manipulated in a story you were reading?  Gotten to a spot where you stop, reread, and thought, “Where did that come from?”

Here’s the first example that came to mind for me.  If you haven’t read The Hunger Games series yet, spoiler alert issued now.  You may want to continue this article another time.

The impetuous for Katniss to volunteer for the games in the first place, the whole purpose behind her getting into a situation that became the whole story of this three book series, was to save her little sister, Prim.  As long as Prim was spared, the hardships Katniss endured for three slightly similar books were bearable because her sacrifice was noble and with purpose. 

Then we get to the end of the third book. 

And Prim dies.

 “Where did that come from?” I heard myself saying.  Feeling a little manipulated are we?  The author had a dilemma she had to solve and I wasn’t pleased with the technique she used to solve it.  She had painted herself into a corner with a love triangle that had developed rather lopsidedly, one that really should have Peetaed out in the second book, and now she needed an excuse for everybody to turn their back on Gale (including Katniss) and begrudgingly accept Peeta (like Katniss does).  How about having Gale complicit in the death of Prim?  We haven’t used Prim much since the opening of the first book.  The readers care about her but don’t need her, and they seemed to take Prim’s stand in Rue’s death pretty well.  That’ll work.  Sure, why not?

I’ll tell you why not!  It destroyed the noble purpose of Katniss’ sacrifice.  I could have stomached Katniss’ depressing fate a little more easily if her efforts could have been seen bearing fruit for her little sister.  Prim dying was a gimmick and a quick fix that didn’t fit in the overall story arc.  It was a weak link in an otherwise stellar story.

So, have you read a book where you felt a little manipulated or even downright cheated by a gimmick?  Let’s hear about.  And no need to make it pop out at us.  A good story sells itself.    

 

 

Too Much Viagra in Your Dialogue

You're not going to like what I have to say ... because it's poorly written.

I swear I was thinking about something productive when I derailed and started rewriting Return of the Jedi!  Star Wars has been on my mind lately with the announcement that a new edition to the saga is coming out in 2015.  And that got me thinking in particular about the original trilogy (truthfully, I try to think of the prequel trilogy as infrequently as possible.)

                Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back were completely awesome movies in all respects.  The action, the story, the characters, the dialogue, all just what it needed to be for those movies.  Then came Jedi.  I’ve actually grown more fond of the third movie as time goes on and after experiencing Jar Jar Binks, I’ve come to realize Ewoks are just not the worst thing that can happen to a movie.  Jabba’s great, the Emperor is great, and the Ewoks are at least tolerable.  So what keeps this movie out of the same league as its two predecessors? 

                It’s the dialogue. 

                Something happened between Empire and Jedi that caused Luke and Leia to start speaking formally, especially to one another.  I’ve checked and it was written into the script that way, but shame on Mark and Carrie for not speaking up and saying, “Our characters don’t sound like this."  And "It’s Han, not HAAN!, Billy D.!”

                Anyway, that got me thinking (a little back on track at this point), what could some of the more wooden scenes been like with better dialogue?  The grossest offender in my opinion (the only one that counts in my own blog) is the scene where Luke tells Leia they’re siblings and Darth is their daddy.   This should have been a great, amazing scene, but it fell flat because of the stilted dialogue.  Could I have done any better?  Questionable, but let’s give it a try anyway. 

                Below is my version of the scene.  See what you think and then call J.J. Abrams if I need to be writing the next three.    

                The glow of primitive illumination flickers in the tiny windows of the huts hung from trees high above the forest floor of the planet moon of Endor.  Small creatures skitter below and leap from tree to tree in the canopy above.  Standing alone on a walkway connecting the huts, Luke Skywalker stares up at the night sky, his gaze fixed on the monstrous, skeletal satellite hanging against the starry canvas.

                From the dark, Leia approaches, cautious, as though a sudden movement could startle Luke away. 

                She speaks gently.

                “Luke, what’s wrong?  Something’s been bothering you since you rejoined the fleet.  Is it this mission?”

                Luke brings his gaze down to her, his face tight.  “My mission is a little different than what they’re planning inside.”  He hesitates and his expression softens.  “Do you remember your mother?  Your birth mother?”

                Leia looks taken aback, but she allows herself to remember.  “Just impressions, feelings.  I can’t be sure what parts are real and what I just imagined anymore.”

                “Describe her,” Luke presses, with a strange intensity.

                  “She … she was beautiful, at least the way I remember her.  But … always sad.”

                Luke nods.  “I’ve never been able to remember my mother.  Only my aunt and uncle.  And they wouldn’t talk about her, if they knew her at all.”

                Leia puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder.  “Luke, I’m sorry.”

                “Or my father.” 

                Something causes Leia to withdraw her hand from Luke’s shoulder.  He looks to where her hand was then away again.

                “Vader’s here.  On this moon.”

                An uncontrollable wave of nausea overtakes the princess at the mention of her tormentor, the monster who stood by as her world and everyone she loved was destroyed in the black emptiness of space.

                “He knows I’m here.  The force is drawing us together.  I have to face him.”

                “Why?”  Leia’s eyes are tight with concern.  “Why does it have to be you?”

                Luke stares into Leia’s eyes, trying to brace her.

                “Because he’s my father.”

                Leia takes an involuntary step back, the repercussion of what she’s just heard hitting her in the chest like a blow.  She reaches out for the roughhewn railing beside her.

                “No,” she whispers harshly.

                “There’s more, Leia.  You have to be strong to hear this, the way you always are.”

                “I can’t hear this,” she says, her nails digging into the railing.  She can sense something coming, something worse than she's already learned. 

                “You have to.  If I fail, it all falls on your shoulders.”

                 “I’m a rebel, Luke, not a Jedi.  I'll never be able to do what you do.”

                Luke shakes his head gently, like a patient parent.  “The Skywalkers are strong in the force.  My father passed down the gift to me … and my sister.”

                Luke waits and watches as Leia’s eyes widen, understanding dawning on her face.

                “To me.”

                “Yes.”  Luke smiles gently.  “My twin.  To you, Leia.”

                “Our connection, it’s always been there.  It’s like I’ve always known.”

                “Then you understand why I have to try to save him.”

                “No!” Leia steps back toward Luke.  “There’s nothing to save, Luke.  He can’t wash away the blood on his hands.  He’s not my father.  My father died on Alderaan.” 

                Luke looks up again to the sky.  “I can’t undo what he’s done, but if I can bring him back from the dark side, Vader will be destroyed forever.  My destiny is not to kill Vader, it's to save our father.”

                Leia lets her head fall.  The connection is strong.  She can feel Luke's determination, his need for this to be possible.  “No one else will try to save him.  You are his only hope.”  

                Turning, Luke puts a hand on Leia’s shoulder.  She reaches up and locks her hand on his, closing her eyes.

                “The force goes with you, Luke.”

                Luke squeezes Leia’s shoulder and steps quietly into the darkness, out of the Ewok village toward a waiting speeder.

                As Luke slips into the night, Han emerges from the hut where much preparation is going on for the attack on the shield generator the next day.

                “Hey, is the Jedi going to take out the generator on his own?” he says with a lopsided grin.  “Kid might be getting a little cocky.”

                Leia’s cheeks are wet and only after turning into the flickering light of the hut windows does Han see that she’s been crying.

                “Whoa, what’s going on?”

                “I…” Leia’s voice is quivering.  “I can’t say.”

                “You can't say or won't?  It sure looks like Luke knows,” Han says, pointing a finger into the darkness.  “You can tell him about it but not me?”

                “It’s not like that,” she says.

                “Ahh…” Han waves it off and starts to walk away but stops short.  He’s not the man he used to be.  He can’t walk away so easily anymore.

                “I’m sorry.  Is Luke in trouble?”

                Leia moves quickly and is in Han’s arms, her head buried against his chest.  Nothing will ever be the same. 

               

  

Drama ensues, teddy bears beat white clad, cross-eyed soldiers to death, wrinkly old dude is flushed down giant electric toilet, Lando does more than just scratch Han’s ship, Luke wonders who the hell the kid next to ghost Yoda and Ben is, and John Williams theme blares!

Bring on Episode VII!

99 Problems But A Query Ain't One



Jay looks like he's just gotten back a few form rejections.

I’m pleased to report, after the borderline whiny tone of my last post, that querying has gone very well this go around.  I currently have a whopping five full manuscripts and two partials out with some of the best agents in the biz.  I’ve actually become accustomed to positive responses to my queries, which is an all together unnerving change of circumstance.  When I received a polite decline last week I actually thought to myself, “Oh well, your loss.”  How’s that for letting a few “Not no’s” go to your head?  Occasional grounding rejection aside, I’m very hopeful that things are on the right path with this one.    

So, I feel like I’m at a bit of a crossroads.  I’m very hopeful this book will connect with a great agent.  I’m not quite so bold as to think it might connect with more than one agent and what a dilemma that will create for me.  (Ok, I lied, I have thought of that.  My secret ego knows no bounds.  It’s like Doctors Without Borders only exponentially less usefully to mankind in general).  In the meantime, I’m trying to brainstorm my next book’s premise, and that’s where I’m having a little difficulty.  I’ve written two books before this current one, and while I think they both have merit and could even become great reads with some guidance from an experienced agent who could show me where the tweaks are needed, there was something about them that didn’t catch an agent’s eye the last go round.  Without a firm understanding of what those shortcomings were, or, better yet, some feedback on what made my current work so appealing, I’m gun shy about committing close to a year of my life to a story that might not have the market appeal it could if I just had a little powwow with my (future) agent beforehand. 

What a great problem to have, huh?  So sure that I’ll have an agent in a few months that I don’t want to start on my next project without their feedback first.  Have you ever seen someone else jinx something so completely or effectively?   

While I wait patiently for the first response to my full manuscript read through, I will continue to let my mind wander, attempting to let an infectious story take hold in my brain and fire up a passion in me for it that just won’t allow it not to be written.  Because, truly, with or without expert advice, if I can’t come up with a story that I’m absolutely in love with, no one else will ever fall in love with it either.  And those are the kinds of books I’d like to write.

Do I Know You?

Well, folks, it’s that time of year again.  It’s the season of querying! 

If you are a published author or one of the millions of aspiring to-be-published authors, you know of which I speak.  It’s the process where you take over a year’s worth of work, struggle, pain, joy, and basically birthing-out-your-brain-hole and try to condense it down to three short paragraphs.

Along with your three paragraphs, you also need to connect emotionally and spiritually with the target of your query letter, knowing all about that person’s personal tastes and sense of humor, but without seeming stalkerish or full of yourself.  It’s great if you can reference how that person’s favorite books are like what you’ve written, name drop one of their clients, and squeeze in mention of a few of the prestigious literary awards you’ve won in the past three months.  Don’t forget to explain how you’re the only one who could have written what you’ve written, include a brief bio, and remember to thank everyone for their valuable time, but don’t waste too much of their time including a line about that.  And keep it to about two hundred and fifty words.

Ok, type that up everybody.

Writing a query letter that succinctly describes your work is a difficult task.  Tailoring that letter to the personal tastes of a complete stranger is a bizarre hazing ritual literary agents have honed to perfection.

Now, if you happen to be an agent reading this (Hey!  How you doin?)  please understand I’m just letting off a little steam.  Many agents share some of the hundreds and hundreds of query letters they get a day and I am flabbergasted by what you have to dig through just to find even one possibly sane author who has contacting you for representation.  I don’t envy your job at all.  I just envy the authors that got through to you.  If I could build some kind of reliable filter that would keep out the complete junk from an agent’s email box, I’m pretty sure I could write my own ticket in New York City. 

Querying my third manuscript, I’m getting a nice response so far.  I know how to write a query letter.  I know what not to say and I know mostly what needs to be said, but I still find it extremely difficult to connect on a personal level with someone I just don’t know.  If my query to you, dear agent, feels slightly impersonal, it’s because it is.  I’m not, but it is, because we still are.  My hope is, if you love my concept and love my writing, we can work together, and then we’ll get to know each other. 

And that’s when the fun will really begin.

Writing Problem With a Silver Lining?

To read or not to read, that is the question.

Have you ever watched a movie and wondered, “Could the book have been this good?”

That’s not how it usually works.  Traditionally, the book, or source material for a movie, is the superior product and the movie does a decent job translating that to the big screen.  That’s if the movie is any good.  Watching Silver Linings Playbook, I was left thinking about the source material this movie is based on.  For me, the movie was just perfect.  So much of the strength of the whole thing was in the incredible actors involved and the performances they gave.  And of course, credit is due to the director and screenwriter and all the other talented people involved in the creation of something as big and ambitious as a feature length movie.

So how could the original book have conveyed what those actors did in the movie?  I was one of the people who saw the first Harry Potter movie before reading the book.  I enjoyed the movie (little did I know how much better they would get with each installment) and decided to go back and read the book.  I thought the book was fantastic.  Much better than the movie, and the experience of reading the book is what drew me into the franchise.  I also saw Twilight before reading the book.  The movie was unique and stood well on its own, but the source material was more engrossing and a more complete expression of the author’s intent than the movie could ever be (and yes, those just got worse as they went on).

I’m tempted to read The Silver Linings Playbook, but I’m afraid.  How could someone have expressed on a page what was shown so expertly through the amazing acting, facial expressions, and tone of voice of Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Lawrence, and Robert DeNiro, when they embodied those characters so perfectly?

I think reverse engineering performances like that into our writing is the real challenge.  I’ve never thought about it that way before, but characters in books need to be just as vibrant, just as quirky, and as visually fascinating as actors on a screen.  If your reader can’t see the scenes unfolding in front of their mind’s eye with the realism, grit, and humanity that a real, live actor can bring to a role, then we haven’t created a character worthy of being read about.

I may still read Silver Linings Playbook.  And maybe I’ll be surprised to find what the author was able to create on the page after all.