It’s been some time since I’ve updated my writer’s blog. Last post I was traveling in Thailand and Cambodia, gathering information and inspiration for a new Sammy novel. Since I returned, over a year ago, I’ve been busy publishing the first in the Sammy and the San Juan Express series—Seals the Deal. I thought writing was a challenge until I waded into the world of publishing. Little did I know the work that would be involved in contacting agents, talking with publishers, and ultimately learning publishing and the world of marketing books. I’m happy to say, the novel is now available at www.sanjuanexpress.com, Amazon.com, and at Barnes & Noble online. in both paperback and Kindle.
Do first time writers have a chance in the world of publishing if they don’t know anyone in the industry? Little, I would say. I contacted almost one hundred agents, only to receive almost one hundred rejections, some, I should say, with nice compliments, but no takers. I gave up after that and want directly to online publishing.
I’m now finishing book two in the Sammy series and may try again with traditional publishing. I’ll keep you posted.
I’ve been delinquent, blissfully delinquent. Three weeks ago I flew to Australia for a visit with some dear friends I hadn’t seen in six years. A week ago I flew to Thailand, to visit a country I hadn’t seen in nine years. Both have exceeded my every expectation. My delinquency? I promosed myself I’d outline two new stories while I was traveling and finish my latest book. Neither has happened. I’m actually forcing myself to start posting in the hope it will lead to some form of creativity.
In my defense, I’ve included a few pictures as an exclamation point on why I haven’t had the writer’s motivation. It’s not writer’s block, it’s writer’s insatiable appetite for ninety degree weather, eighty degree water, and the simple beauty of Thailand.
An update: March 14, 2015 – Thinking ahead, I’d made a reservation at a small hotel about one half mile away from the small, yet efficient airport. A crowd of languages pushed past three immigration stands where handsome Thai officers inspected passports and waved us through. A baggage belt sent children scurrying when it kicked into action only minutes later. This isn’t, I thought, anything like my first visit to Thailand, nine years ago, when porters pulled huge carts of bags into the terminal, some thirty minutes after arrival, if at all. I followed the green sign reading, Nothing To Declare, to outside the airport. A wave of sauna like heat pushed over me, some things don’t change. I expected to be assaulted by a throng of tuk-tuk drivers, but instead a small man in a white cap, inside a kiosk, called to me. I showed him the name of the hotel, and within seconds my bag and I were inside a new Toyota, speeding toward my nights sleep. Along a dusty road, blocks off the newly paved highway, the cabbie delivered me to the three story stucco building. He banged on the office door. A young man sleeping in the lobby hopped out, and carrying my bag, led me to my air conditioned room. Thailand, it seemed, had evolved.
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.”
My writing partner gave me a wonderful holiday card that’s worth sharing.
I made myself a snowball
As perfect as could be.
I thought I’d keep it as a pet
And let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas
And a pillow for its head.
Then last night it ran away,
But first it wet the bed.
BY: Shel Silverstein
Laugh through the holidays.
WIND OF THE WILD
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.