Nickolai Vasilieff is a freelance writer and author. He can be found writing in a cabin, on the banks of the Necanicum River in Northwest Oregon. In addition to small business consulting and freelance writing, he is currently finishing a Y.A. novel - The San Juan Express - to be released in 2014.
Over the past forty years he has built and managed eleven companies including drafting/engineering, import/export, retail, international distribution, and business and market development for high-tech applications in the USA, Europe and Asia. Nick has also traveled to over thirty countries including a one-year around-the-world trip living out of a backpack. He draws on this experience as a consultant and an author. He currently is Managing Partner in Vasilieff Consulting Group and spends most of his time traveling and writing.
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Phyllis Mannan just published her new book. It’s worth a read. In her words:
“Based on experiences with my 43-year-old son David, Torn Fish invites you to see how David’s mind works and how his limited ability to communicate and to understand feelings impacts his daily life and that of our family. I also offer insight from my years of struggling to make good decisions for him, all the while trying to make, and keep, a connection with him.” Torn Fish: A Mother, Her Autistic Son, and Their Shared Humanity, is available now as both a print book and an e-book on Amazon. Please click on this link to learn about it: http://www..com/dp/0986402206
A mauve light stretches across my Necanicum this morning. Silver-green reflections ripple on the river and kiss a blue horizon under a waking pink sky. It is a new year, a new life.
A seagull swoops, another chasing, then twenty and more. Farther out, a cormorant glides, black wings spread wide. Two mallard ducks, flap wildly, skimming the water’s surface, and the glory of life breaks wide open, spilling across the breadth of my river’s yawn, as a string of glorious Canada Geese glide past—I catch my breath.
Stuck in time for the past two weeks, my writing stagnated, bogged down—rubber boots in mud—I am filled with renewed energy. This river, flowing for eons from mountain to sea and giving life to so many creatures, now extends a finger and touches my forehead as a monk might christen a new born—the promise of new creativity.
A small V shaped armada of geese swim their way up river, churning the silence of this brightening morning. My sight adjusts, from their beauty beyond, to a tree on the near bank, only fifteen feet away. My friend, a large blue heron, nearly as old as I, sits on a branch, surveying this morning’s majesty. “Good morning,” I whisper and bow my head, “and happy new year.”
It’s a wonderful day to be at the beach. Driving rain, steady winds of thirty to forty mph, with projected sixty to seventy mph gusts. I’m happy to be sitting inside our little cabin, writing book two of Sammy and The San Juan Express, and watching the world blow by.
I’m sendin out an average of five agent queries a day. As I do the research and prepare each letter, I’m also watching the emotional roller coaster ride I’m taking. Emotions are important to me, partially because of my training as a counselor, and mostly because my protagonist in, Sammy and The San Juan Express, is a highly emotional being.
This morning, I noticed that for some agents I’m positive and feel good about sending my query. I can hardly wait to hit the send button. I know they will respond soon with a request for my manuscript. Then, I bump into someone who represents the best writers I’ve ever known, or their credentials include a doctorate in English Lit, and my self confidence falls through the floor. I can barely type their email address let alone include the first fifty pages, which I’m sure should be thrown in the dumpster or deleted immediately.
Reality check— take a deep breath, stand, stretch, downward dog or a short walk. I have to remind myself that agents, as my daughter said, “put their pants on one leg at a time.” The truth is, agents need good writers. They’re looking for the next Harry Potter or The Book Thief, and every query holds the promise of being just that—even mine (or yours). So back at it you bad-boy or girl. Click those keys, search those agents, and with the confidence of J. K. Rolling, get those queries out—now.
In summer, and some holidays, we let our cabin, on the Necanicum River, out as a vacation rental. Often guests will leave us with comments expressing amazement at the profusion of wildlife they’ve seen from the front windows. It’s unusual, however, to see images. Our last guest was kind enough to send an image of the elk herd that, one evening over Thanksgiving week, left them awestruck. It must have been quite a scene to watch over sixty elk meander through the yard and swim across the river. A good time for Thanksgiving.