Just listening to various tunes on the iPod this morning and thinking about the fact that at least one of these artists I listen to, Isaac Guillory, is no longer with us. On this, his birthday, I said a prayer for the repose of his soul...and hoped that, as he made his musical way through life, he found peace with God as well.
(Ditto for Dan Fogelberg, whose birthday it is not...but whom I'm thinking about in the same vein.)
Many of us who trust Christ as our salvation live, to one degree or another, in a shadow of sadness for loved ones--and let's face it, these guys are "loved ones" to fans, even if we never met--whose salvation we're not sure of. Especially in the case of famous people, if we're not in their inner circle, we really have no way of knowing what the states of their souls are. And for those of us who want every decent musician in heaven that we can get :-), this can cause us a small pang of wishing, hoping...yet fearing the worst.
But if it's any comfort, maybe we don't have to fear that worst quite as much as we think. Because one of the things that Our Lord said to St. Faustina during His many talks with her was that, at the moment of each of our deaths, He reaches out His mercy to us. Not once. Not twice. But three separate times. He gives souls three separate appeals, three offerings, three chances, to take His mercy onto themselves and be covered in His glorious grace.
So if that is, in fact, true...and some of these souls desired that approach...we can rest assured, Jesus made it. He said so, and He cannot lie.
If this isn't reason for hope and rejoicing, maybe nothing else will ever be. But it's a heck of a good thing to think about, whenever we're saying prayers for those loved ones about whom we won't be sure until eternity.
We have every reason to hope that these beloved musicians--and many more of our loved ones with them--recognized that wonderful face of Jesus, that smiling mercy, and appropriated it all the way to glory. And that He welcomed them with open arms.
How merciful is our God!
Hope always,
Janny
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Enough spamming, already!
To all the "Anonymouses" out there who want to sell me something, advise me that they have a great offshore pharmacy that can get "drugs I need" at cost, tell me about the Next Big Home Business, or pitch any other product, service, or obscene suggestion...
BUG OFF!
I don't know WHY, precisely, I'm getting these spam comments in the box. I've had blogs for something like four years now, and until a few months ago, I NEVER got Spam in my combox.
Now, the only comments I GET anymore are Spam.
I could, of course, turn commenting OFF for awhile. That might deter 'em. But who wants to do that?
Who wants to be held hostage at the point of malicious e-mail pens?
Just remember this, all you abovementioned pests:
You're being reported, every single last one of you, to your ISPs.
Yeah, I know, that doesn't scare anyone anymore. But it might keep you busy finding new URLs to spam from, and in that case, at least it'll keep you off MY blog for the time it takes you to find more aliases. Hey, anything that works...right?
The rest of you? Yanno, those five people who actually read this?
Start commenting, already. If we fill up the box, those pests can't get in. :-)
Janny
BUG OFF!
I don't know WHY, precisely, I'm getting these spam comments in the box. I've had blogs for something like four years now, and until a few months ago, I NEVER got Spam in my combox.
Now, the only comments I GET anymore are Spam.
I could, of course, turn commenting OFF for awhile. That might deter 'em. But who wants to do that?
Who wants to be held hostage at the point of malicious e-mail pens?
Just remember this, all you abovementioned pests:
You're being reported, every single last one of you, to your ISPs.
Yeah, I know, that doesn't scare anyone anymore. But it might keep you busy finding new URLs to spam from, and in that case, at least it'll keep you off MY blog for the time it takes you to find more aliases. Hey, anything that works...right?
The rest of you? Yanno, those five people who actually read this?
Start commenting, already. If we fill up the box, those pests can't get in. :-)
Janny
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Rejection Sucks.
There. You have it in a nutshell!
The book of my heart has been turned down by yet another agent. Dare I say this guy was a dream agent? Yup. I dare say that. And I will. I will not mention him by name--those of you who know me, know who it was. And I will continue to read his blog and think highly of him. I honestly, truly thought this'd be his kind of book. Apparently, I was wrong.
So rejection still sucks.
HOWEVER...
This is my first foray back into the marketplace in a long, loooooong time.
And while it's not the first foray for this book, in all its forms, in a long time...still, it's maybe the fifteenth rejection I've had on it. Maybe the 20th. Something along those lines. If I really, really push it and include all the versions that have been written between 1990 and now...maybe it's 35 or so rejections it's gotten.
Some of those have been on previous plots that bore no resemblance to this version, even though it's the same characters and the same basic relationship.
Some of those have been on stuff I thought--and, apparently, some editors also thought--was VERY CLOSE. This is, after all, the book for which I have received by far the most detailed and thoughtful rejections.
And then there was the one today. Three lines by e-mail.
And it sucks.
But it's not nearly scratching the surface of how many more times I can try to get this into just the right person's hands. And I believe that right person is out there.
What does that right person look like?
The right person for this book is, ideally, an agent who can get me a good deal with a brick-and-mortar, real-old-fashioned-book publisher. One whose books you can take in the bathtub without worrying about shorting the book out. :-)
Ideally, that agent will love my particular style enough that s/he will ask me, "How much more of this you got?" Or, at least, "Is all your stuff like this?"
(Now, I'm aware that that question can be equally bad and good...and this could be either. I wouldn't care. Because if the agent's interested in how I write, even if s/he doesn't like THAT BOOK...or wants something else of a slightly different character...that could still very well be the agent for me.)
The right person for this book is, then, an editor who will champion it.
And who will work with my agent to give me a respectable advance and respectable contract.
And by "respectable," I'm talking market average. There is such a thing, and I haven't gotten it yet. But a good agent, and an editor on fire for my material, will be able to arrive at that for me.
The right person, next in line, is the marketing person who gets a hold of the blurb, maybe even a synop or a capsule of it, and says, "Whoa. I know just the stores where this'll sell like hotcakes."
Then the next right person is a distributor who's been sold on the book from someone--either me, or my publisher, or my agent, or someone--whom they trust.
The next right person is the reader who'll pick it up and not be able to stop turning the pages.
And then...we'll see who all the rest of the right people will be.
But to get to those other right people, I've got to find the right agent or editor FIRST.
And that is a process that's going to take a LOT more submissions than I've already done.
Even though the submission process is grueling.
Even though the rejections suck.
Even though sometimes, one wonders if you're the only person in the world who loves your story.
Recently, I read a candid Q&A on an agent blog between a discouraged writer who had a book, much like this one...that had, shall we say, been through the mill a time or two.
They'd picked up something like 35-40 rejections, and they'd started to wonder if maybe they should just put this one in a drawer and forget about the whole exercise.
Now, while there's nothing to prevent this writer from writing other things, that's not exactly what they were talking about, or coming from. They were wondering if they'd reached the point yet where it was clear that they just "didn't have it." That their writing wasn't up to snuff, whatever that was, for whatever reason.
And were they just fooling themselves about whether they could actually do this writing thing.
The agent's response absolutely knocked me out of my chair.
She said something along the lines of, "35 to 40 rejections is NOTHING. You haven't even begun to pitch this work yet. If you haven't gotten 200 rejections, there's no sense giving up yet, and you're nowhere near that stage. Get back on the horse, polish, revise if you need to, but get it out there again. You're on the tip of the iceberg. It's way too soon to pull in anchor now."
I sat there at my computer and mouthed, "200 REJECTIONS?"
And then I grinned.
Because, you see, all editors and agents always tell you, "Keep trying, keep submitting, what doesn't work for one might work for another of us..."
But I've never before heard one put a number on it.
And even if that number was a little exaggerated...I have a feeling it wasn't by much.
Nor was the agent being sarcastic. She was being perfectly, bluntly honest.
As she put it, in so many words, this is a numbers game. You have to keep at those numbers. You have to keep trying, and trying, and trying. Because 35-40, even out of the small world of publishing, is still only barely scratching the surface of the possible people who could take your work on, love it, and pay you for it...or make sure you get paid very well for it, and several more to follow.
So it's one thing to say, "Persistence is the key." It's another thing entirely to look at a number like that and say, "Damn, I ain't even begun yet. I'm getting back out there." And when you really think about it, what's an agent do every day but write submission letters for stuff that she hopes someone will like as much as she does?
And she has to read a lot of those "sucky" notes, too. Multiplied by however many authors she's chosen to take on.
I do admit, this isn't a new concept to me, although the number in black and white was. Anytime you ever try to sell ANYTHING, you invariably are trained by one of those chirpy types who says, "You gotta love the 'no's, because with every 'no,' you're getting that much closer to 'yes.'"
Most of us know that's not REALLY true. You can have 10,000 noes and not get a yes.
And most of us know you don't REALLY "love" the "noes." You hate them. After awhile, you just want someone, somewhere, to extend a "maybe."
Most of us won't have either the intestinal fortitude or the patience for 10,000 noes. Which means that only the true hardheaded masochists will keep at it, will keep learning, will keep refining themselves...until the yeses come a tad more often. In the meantime, sometimes that can extort a terrific cost.
So this isn't that kind of thinking, either.
Clearly, you don't want to keep doing the same thing and hoping for a different result.
But submitting ISN'T doing the same thing over and over.
With every new pitch, you're talking to a new person.
You're selling the book a little differently.
You're trying to get a handle on how they tick, what about your work is gonna turn them on, and how you can persuade them that you're their dream author, just waiting to be plucked from the tangled vines of wannabes.
And that, my dears, is what pitching is about.
Not about tossing a few names in the air out of a few hats and saying, "Well, my market is ____ number of potential publishers. So once they all turn it down, I'm toast."
That's not true. It's never been true. It never will be true.
Not before you hit that 200 mark or so.
Then you can think about finding some other venue by which to get it out in the marketplace.
Then you can think about giving it away for free.
Then you can think about self-publishing or the like.
But until then? Heck, it might suck...but it's a game you can play to win, if you set your mind to it.
And yeah, you probably need a little touch of hardheaded masochist to keep at it.
And you need a boatload of patience.
And a truckload of belief in your own ability to DO this thing.
And that's not easy to maintain.
But before I will send this book to an e-publisher, to a small press, to anyone who doesn't pay an advance, or to a self-pub venture, I'm gonna give this baby WAY more chances.
It's just started to walk. I ain't putting it in a motorized wheelchair yet.
Nor is my career there.
But rejection still sucks. So let's see if I can find a way to END it...soon.
Thoughts?
Janny
The book of my heart has been turned down by yet another agent. Dare I say this guy was a dream agent? Yup. I dare say that. And I will. I will not mention him by name--those of you who know me, know who it was. And I will continue to read his blog and think highly of him. I honestly, truly thought this'd be his kind of book. Apparently, I was wrong.
So rejection still sucks.
HOWEVER...
This is my first foray back into the marketplace in a long, loooooong time.
And while it's not the first foray for this book, in all its forms, in a long time...still, it's maybe the fifteenth rejection I've had on it. Maybe the 20th. Something along those lines. If I really, really push it and include all the versions that have been written between 1990 and now...maybe it's 35 or so rejections it's gotten.
Some of those have been on previous plots that bore no resemblance to this version, even though it's the same characters and the same basic relationship.
Some of those have been on stuff I thought--and, apparently, some editors also thought--was VERY CLOSE. This is, after all, the book for which I have received by far the most detailed and thoughtful rejections.
And then there was the one today. Three lines by e-mail.
And it sucks.
But it's not nearly scratching the surface of how many more times I can try to get this into just the right person's hands. And I believe that right person is out there.
What does that right person look like?
The right person for this book is, ideally, an agent who can get me a good deal with a brick-and-mortar, real-old-fashioned-book publisher. One whose books you can take in the bathtub without worrying about shorting the book out. :-)
Ideally, that agent will love my particular style enough that s/he will ask me, "How much more of this you got?" Or, at least, "Is all your stuff like this?"
(Now, I'm aware that that question can be equally bad and good...and this could be either. I wouldn't care. Because if the agent's interested in how I write, even if s/he doesn't like THAT BOOK...or wants something else of a slightly different character...that could still very well be the agent for me.)
The right person for this book is, then, an editor who will champion it.
And who will work with my agent to give me a respectable advance and respectable contract.
And by "respectable," I'm talking market average. There is such a thing, and I haven't gotten it yet. But a good agent, and an editor on fire for my material, will be able to arrive at that for me.
The right person, next in line, is the marketing person who gets a hold of the blurb, maybe even a synop or a capsule of it, and says, "Whoa. I know just the stores where this'll sell like hotcakes."
Then the next right person is a distributor who's been sold on the book from someone--either me, or my publisher, or my agent, or someone--whom they trust.
The next right person is the reader who'll pick it up and not be able to stop turning the pages.
And then...we'll see who all the rest of the right people will be.
But to get to those other right people, I've got to find the right agent or editor FIRST.
And that is a process that's going to take a LOT more submissions than I've already done.
Even though the submission process is grueling.
Even though the rejections suck.
Even though sometimes, one wonders if you're the only person in the world who loves your story.
Recently, I read a candid Q&A on an agent blog between a discouraged writer who had a book, much like this one...that had, shall we say, been through the mill a time or two.
They'd picked up something like 35-40 rejections, and they'd started to wonder if maybe they should just put this one in a drawer and forget about the whole exercise.
Now, while there's nothing to prevent this writer from writing other things, that's not exactly what they were talking about, or coming from. They were wondering if they'd reached the point yet where it was clear that they just "didn't have it." That their writing wasn't up to snuff, whatever that was, for whatever reason.
And were they just fooling themselves about whether they could actually do this writing thing.
The agent's response absolutely knocked me out of my chair.
She said something along the lines of, "35 to 40 rejections is NOTHING. You haven't even begun to pitch this work yet. If you haven't gotten 200 rejections, there's no sense giving up yet, and you're nowhere near that stage. Get back on the horse, polish, revise if you need to, but get it out there again. You're on the tip of the iceberg. It's way too soon to pull in anchor now."
I sat there at my computer and mouthed, "200 REJECTIONS?"
And then I grinned.
Because, you see, all editors and agents always tell you, "Keep trying, keep submitting, what doesn't work for one might work for another of us..."
But I've never before heard one put a number on it.
And even if that number was a little exaggerated...I have a feeling it wasn't by much.
Nor was the agent being sarcastic. She was being perfectly, bluntly honest.
As she put it, in so many words, this is a numbers game. You have to keep at those numbers. You have to keep trying, and trying, and trying. Because 35-40, even out of the small world of publishing, is still only barely scratching the surface of the possible people who could take your work on, love it, and pay you for it...or make sure you get paid very well for it, and several more to follow.
So it's one thing to say, "Persistence is the key." It's another thing entirely to look at a number like that and say, "Damn, I ain't even begun yet. I'm getting back out there." And when you really think about it, what's an agent do every day but write submission letters for stuff that she hopes someone will like as much as she does?
And she has to read a lot of those "sucky" notes, too. Multiplied by however many authors she's chosen to take on.
I do admit, this isn't a new concept to me, although the number in black and white was. Anytime you ever try to sell ANYTHING, you invariably are trained by one of those chirpy types who says, "You gotta love the 'no's, because with every 'no,' you're getting that much closer to 'yes.'"
Most of us know that's not REALLY true. You can have 10,000 noes and not get a yes.
And most of us know you don't REALLY "love" the "noes." You hate them. After awhile, you just want someone, somewhere, to extend a "maybe."
Most of us won't have either the intestinal fortitude or the patience for 10,000 noes. Which means that only the true hardheaded masochists will keep at it, will keep learning, will keep refining themselves...until the yeses come a tad more often. In the meantime, sometimes that can extort a terrific cost.
So this isn't that kind of thinking, either.
Clearly, you don't want to keep doing the same thing and hoping for a different result.
But submitting ISN'T doing the same thing over and over.
With every new pitch, you're talking to a new person.
You're selling the book a little differently.
You're trying to get a handle on how they tick, what about your work is gonna turn them on, and how you can persuade them that you're their dream author, just waiting to be plucked from the tangled vines of wannabes.
And that, my dears, is what pitching is about.
Not about tossing a few names in the air out of a few hats and saying, "Well, my market is ____ number of potential publishers. So once they all turn it down, I'm toast."
That's not true. It's never been true. It never will be true.
Not before you hit that 200 mark or so.
Then you can think about finding some other venue by which to get it out in the marketplace.
Then you can think about giving it away for free.
Then you can think about self-publishing or the like.
But until then? Heck, it might suck...but it's a game you can play to win, if you set your mind to it.
And yeah, you probably need a little touch of hardheaded masochist to keep at it.
And you need a boatload of patience.
And a truckload of belief in your own ability to DO this thing.
And that's not easy to maintain.
But before I will send this book to an e-publisher, to a small press, to anyone who doesn't pay an advance, or to a self-pub venture, I'm gonna give this baby WAY more chances.
It's just started to walk. I ain't putting it in a motorized wheelchair yet.
Nor is my career there.
But rejection still sucks. So let's see if I can find a way to END it...soon.
Thoughts?
Janny
Thursday, January 21, 2010
In the Throes....
...of finally getting back "in the saddle" of writing again. Yes, I'm working to polish a submission for an agent, and yes, technically it's old work.
Only not really.
Recently, I read a tale of persistence about a writer who worked on a book for years. Apparently MANY years. She wrote, and submitted, and got rejected, and revised, and sent to contests, and had critques, and submitted, and got more rejections...and so on and so forth. During this time period, many, many people told her to give up the dream entirely. She clearly wasn't making it, so why keep banging her head against the wall? Others told her she didn't have to give up on the dream of writing, just try on a more "realistic" one; she needed to put away the book with so many miles on it, and write something else entirely.
But this advice, she ignored.
She kept working on this book of her heart. The story she needed to tell. The book only she could write.
And eventually, it did sell. I wish I could remember if it sold for some fabulous sum of money, or got her fame and fortune, or put her on Oprah, or any of the rest. But it doesn't matter that I didn't remember that, because the kind, or degree, of success truly wasn't the point of this particular story. This particular story was about whom you listen to in your creative ventures. What advice you take, which you ignore. What you keep on with, despite all the rejections and the "realistic" suggestions that could make you successful...but not bring the fullness of your heart to the printed page. And deep inside, you realize that the fullness of your heart on the printed page is the only thing that makes it worth being a writer at all.
This story is that book for me. Unlike this woman in the account I've read, I've wavered from my story's path. I've taken some of that well-meaning advice. I've tried writing other things. I've written whole books' worth of other things. I've even had some success with those other things...to a point.
But this is the book that's written from my blood on the page.
This is the book that only I can write.
This is the story that only I can tell in this particular way.
This is the story I HAVE to write. And write. And keep writing...until it's out there.
It is the book that has reignited the Muse.
And I'm not letting go of it until it blesses me.
God help me, I can do no other.
And I am having more fun than anyone has a right to. :-)
Thoughts?
Janny
Only not really.
Recently, I read a tale of persistence about a writer who worked on a book for years. Apparently MANY years. She wrote, and submitted, and got rejected, and revised, and sent to contests, and had critques, and submitted, and got more rejections...and so on and so forth. During this time period, many, many people told her to give up the dream entirely. She clearly wasn't making it, so why keep banging her head against the wall? Others told her she didn't have to give up on the dream of writing, just try on a more "realistic" one; she needed to put away the book with so many miles on it, and write something else entirely.
But this advice, she ignored.
She kept working on this book of her heart. The story she needed to tell. The book only she could write.
And eventually, it did sell. I wish I could remember if it sold for some fabulous sum of money, or got her fame and fortune, or put her on Oprah, or any of the rest. But it doesn't matter that I didn't remember that, because the kind, or degree, of success truly wasn't the point of this particular story. This particular story was about whom you listen to in your creative ventures. What advice you take, which you ignore. What you keep on with, despite all the rejections and the "realistic" suggestions that could make you successful...but not bring the fullness of your heart to the printed page. And deep inside, you realize that the fullness of your heart on the printed page is the only thing that makes it worth being a writer at all.
This story is that book for me. Unlike this woman in the account I've read, I've wavered from my story's path. I've taken some of that well-meaning advice. I've tried writing other things. I've written whole books' worth of other things. I've even had some success with those other things...to a point.
But this is the book that's written from my blood on the page.
This is the book that only I can write.
This is the story that only I can tell in this particular way.
This is the story I HAVE to write. And write. And keep writing...until it's out there.
It is the book that has reignited the Muse.
And I'm not letting go of it until it blesses me.
God help me, I can do no other.
And I am having more fun than anyone has a right to. :-)
Thoughts?
Janny
Monday, January 18, 2010
Fake Holidays
Yanno, if they're gonna make up fake holidays, the least they can do is decide to give us ALL the day off.
As it stands now, I just want the holidays that my bank, school system, and post office have. That means I ought to be working, oh, say, about three out of every four weeks, right?
Don't get me started on whether it's important to observe this particular fake holiday, either. Suffice to say that better we should celebrate Jackie Robinson's birthday, or Rosa Parks', than this one.
'nuff said. On to real work which is, of course...the writing.
Thoughts?
Janny
As it stands now, I just want the holidays that my bank, school system, and post office have. That means I ought to be working, oh, say, about three out of every four weeks, right?
Don't get me started on whether it's important to observe this particular fake holiday, either. Suffice to say that better we should celebrate Jackie Robinson's birthday, or Rosa Parks', than this one.
'nuff said. On to real work which is, of course...the writing.
Thoughts?
Janny
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Sunday, January 03, 2010
The New Start
Anyone who loves college football as much as I do loves January 1...as she loves many of the games leading up to January 1, and occasionally, even some of the ones after it. (Don't get me started on the BCS-let's-extend-the-Bowl-season-from October-to-March stuff they have going now. Just don't. :-)) Even though the BCS's way to pick who goes to the National Championship game is mystical, mythical, and largely stupid, the fact remains that those of us who love to spend our Christmas aftermath watching a bunch of young, strapping men beat up on each other on a football field have more than ample opportunities to do so, especially on New Year's Day. So there's one reason to love January 1.
But there are others. They're called resolutions.
Yeah, I know. It's become quite out of style to make New Year's resolutions anymore...because "we all just break them anyway." And I freely admit that in years past, once New Year's and Epiphany were behind us, I generally considered the rest of the month a colossal wasteland. I've even nicknamed the way I feel in January the "Janny-weary doldrums," because I generally fall into a funk in which I don't wanna do nothin', I don't wanna talk to nobody, and I would just prefer to curl up on my bed with a pile of novels and ignore all those dutiful things like going to school/work or other responsible stuff. (Yes, this has been going on for a long time. Trust me.) There's baggage that goes with January, mostly relationship stuff...and then, too, there's always the cold, cold weather. And I'm even a person who likes winter, so that should tell you how far down into the well I truly fall come the aftermath of the festivities that precede it.
But this year is different.
There's a certain fatalistic sensation to pulling out that final stop and realizing that the thing you feared so terribly will probably not kill you after all; you start feeling suddenly relieved. Like you have nothing to lose. And, in a way, a little giddy.
And this is a good thing. Because this will nudge you to do other good things.
Like starting to truly weed out the paper monster in the basement.
Like starting to frame the way you communicate with others in a totally different way.
Like blogging more often. :-)
And, in my case, like seriously looking at the last five years of my life, knowing that on some deep, fundamental levels, they didn't work like they were supposed to, and deciding to do things differently.
I don't know exactly how I'm going to change things, yet. But there's even a nice sort of anticipation to that not knowing--because whatever I do, I'm not hidebound or forced to do things the same way I did them before. Yes, I am terribly virtuous to get up at 5:45 to walk--but I'm also exhausted by it. Yes, I'm terribly organized to have a housekeeping routine--but it has to change, or all I'll get done are the very basics, and the creeping disorder of bigger tasks that need to be tackled among the routine things will cripple and depress me. Yes, I'm receiving kudos and praise for how I do the day job--but I know in my heart of hearts that that's not all there is for me. I'll need more--or, maybe, less.
Because, quite frankly, trying to do ever and ever more is just plain impossible. I'm at a time and point in my life where things are supposed to have been getting easier. The fact that I've never spent a harder time in my life than these past couple of years...says to me that somewhere, I got off track.
But the good news is, there's no time like the present to change tracks. Change trains. Or even hop on a boat and leave the old track behind entirely.
I don't know exactly where to start yet, which bugs me. I like synopses. I like outlines. I like plans. I like to know what's happening next. And I don't. I just know that I can't keep doing what has been happening for the past few years. That way lies madness, illness, or at least heartbreak.
And I don't want to be responsible for that kind of damage anymore. After all, it's January...and we all know how I feel about responsibility in "Janny-weary."
Stay tuned. I have no idea what's coming next.
Janny
But there are others. They're called resolutions.
Yeah, I know. It's become quite out of style to make New Year's resolutions anymore...because "we all just break them anyway." And I freely admit that in years past, once New Year's and Epiphany were behind us, I generally considered the rest of the month a colossal wasteland. I've even nicknamed the way I feel in January the "Janny-weary doldrums," because I generally fall into a funk in which I don't wanna do nothin', I don't wanna talk to nobody, and I would just prefer to curl up on my bed with a pile of novels and ignore all those dutiful things like going to school/work or other responsible stuff. (Yes, this has been going on for a long time. Trust me.) There's baggage that goes with January, mostly relationship stuff...and then, too, there's always the cold, cold weather. And I'm even a person who likes winter, so that should tell you how far down into the well I truly fall come the aftermath of the festivities that precede it.
But this year is different.
There's a certain fatalistic sensation to pulling out that final stop and realizing that the thing you feared so terribly will probably not kill you after all; you start feeling suddenly relieved. Like you have nothing to lose. And, in a way, a little giddy.
And this is a good thing. Because this will nudge you to do other good things.
Like starting to truly weed out the paper monster in the basement.
Like starting to frame the way you communicate with others in a totally different way.
Like blogging more often. :-)
And, in my case, like seriously looking at the last five years of my life, knowing that on some deep, fundamental levels, they didn't work like they were supposed to, and deciding to do things differently.
I don't know exactly how I'm going to change things, yet. But there's even a nice sort of anticipation to that not knowing--because whatever I do, I'm not hidebound or forced to do things the same way I did them before. Yes, I am terribly virtuous to get up at 5:45 to walk--but I'm also exhausted by it. Yes, I'm terribly organized to have a housekeeping routine--but it has to change, or all I'll get done are the very basics, and the creeping disorder of bigger tasks that need to be tackled among the routine things will cripple and depress me. Yes, I'm receiving kudos and praise for how I do the day job--but I know in my heart of hearts that that's not all there is for me. I'll need more--or, maybe, less.
Because, quite frankly, trying to do ever and ever more is just plain impossible. I'm at a time and point in my life where things are supposed to have been getting easier. The fact that I've never spent a harder time in my life than these past couple of years...says to me that somewhere, I got off track.
But the good news is, there's no time like the present to change tracks. Change trains. Or even hop on a boat and leave the old track behind entirely.
I don't know exactly where to start yet, which bugs me. I like synopses. I like outlines. I like plans. I like to know what's happening next. And I don't. I just know that I can't keep doing what has been happening for the past few years. That way lies madness, illness, or at least heartbreak.
And I don't want to be responsible for that kind of damage anymore. After all, it's January...and we all know how I feel about responsibility in "Janny-weary."
Stay tuned. I have no idea what's coming next.
Janny
Friday, January 01, 2010
After Seeing JULIE AND JULIA...
...a movie I really did want to see, I have two lingering impressions:
1) Okay, Hollywood. I get it. You thought Senator McCarthy was the Antichrist (or you would think so, if you believed in Christ in the first place), and you think much the same of conservatives, especially Republicans. I GET IT. You can stop slapping me across the face and telling me what a godless, unenlightened pig I am for being one.
Oh, wait a minute. That's right. You're the godless ones. Never mind.
On second thought...I've got an even better idea. In the true spirit of making amends to victims of arrogance and thoughtless discrimination, just give me a rebate of a dollar or two on my ticket price or movie rental fee for every line you insist on shoehorning into an otherwise delightful story in order to perpetuate your own little agenda. Imagine...making reparations to real victims (people who think they're getting entertainment and instead get insults and propaganda), and putting your actual cash money where your (smart aleck) mouths are, for a change.
Yeah, I ain't holding my breath on that one.
2) I'm going to blog way more often, way more regularly. :-)
Bottom line: great movie, despite the needless politicizing. So see the movie--but see it for as close to free as you can. :-) Mustn't dirty the hands of these ideological purists with any more filthy American dollars than we have to. I know they just hate when that happens.
Janny
1) Okay, Hollywood. I get it. You thought Senator McCarthy was the Antichrist (or you would think so, if you believed in Christ in the first place), and you think much the same of conservatives, especially Republicans. I GET IT. You can stop slapping me across the face and telling me what a godless, unenlightened pig I am for being one.
Oh, wait a minute. That's right. You're the godless ones. Never mind.
On second thought...I've got an even better idea. In the true spirit of making amends to victims of arrogance and thoughtless discrimination, just give me a rebate of a dollar or two on my ticket price or movie rental fee for every line you insist on shoehorning into an otherwise delightful story in order to perpetuate your own little agenda. Imagine...making reparations to real victims (people who think they're getting entertainment and instead get insults and propaganda), and putting your actual cash money where your (smart aleck) mouths are, for a change.
Yeah, I ain't holding my breath on that one.
2) I'm going to blog way more often, way more regularly. :-)
Bottom line: great movie, despite the needless politicizing. So see the movie--but see it for as close to free as you can. :-) Mustn't dirty the hands of these ideological purists with any more filthy American dollars than we have to. I know they just hate when that happens.
Janny
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
What Is It About Groups of Three?
...Just an observation.
I've been editing a lot of work recently in which authors have an absolute obsession with series of three. Case in point: ". . . family structure, societal factors, and economic circumstances made us gravitate toward the positive side of an arduous situation."
This is just one of many, many, MANY (now they've got me doing it) lists like this. What I don't understand is WHY? Do authors not realize that endless series of threes like this produce their own rhythm when read? Do they not realize that, after endless paragraphs with endless series, the rhythm they've produced is soporific? Do they not realize that this will, in fact, induce their readers to read and forget the text almost immediately--if they don't fall asleep first?
I suppose I should count my blessings. I just finished editing one book where the author not only indulged in endless lists of three, but also branched out into other varieties of lists with many MORE parts to them, lists that were in themselves repetitive. (Think, "apples, oranges, pineapples, peaches, grapes, figs, and various fruit salad components of other kinds..." etc., itemized EVERY TIME one needs to mention fruit.) After awhile, I started looking around for someone swinging a watch and murmuring, "Look deep into my eyes...you are getting very, very sleepy...."
So what is it with groups and series? Are authors so afraid of Not Including Everyone and Everything that the alternative is writing prose that sounds like a book of grocery lists? Anyone have a thought on this? (or three? or a series?)
(heh heh)
Janny
I've been editing a lot of work recently in which authors have an absolute obsession with series of three. Case in point: ". . . family structure, societal factors, and economic circumstances made us gravitate toward the positive side of an arduous situation."
This is just one of many, many, MANY (now they've got me doing it) lists like this. What I don't understand is WHY? Do authors not realize that endless series of threes like this produce their own rhythm when read? Do they not realize that, after endless paragraphs with endless series, the rhythm they've produced is soporific? Do they not realize that this will, in fact, induce their readers to read and forget the text almost immediately--if they don't fall asleep first?
I suppose I should count my blessings. I just finished editing one book where the author not only indulged in endless lists of three, but also branched out into other varieties of lists with many MORE parts to them, lists that were in themselves repetitive. (Think, "apples, oranges, pineapples, peaches, grapes, figs, and various fruit salad components of other kinds..." etc., itemized EVERY TIME one needs to mention fruit.) After awhile, I started looking around for someone swinging a watch and murmuring, "Look deep into my eyes...you are getting very, very sleepy...."
So what is it with groups and series? Are authors so afraid of Not Including Everyone and Everything that the alternative is writing prose that sounds like a book of grocery lists? Anyone have a thought on this? (or three? or a series?)
(heh heh)
Janny
Monday, December 07, 2009
Temporarily Out of Order
For those of you wondering where I've been lately, blame my Dell Latitude 620...the second Dell machine in the past six months that I've had a keyboard go out on. Is there a problem with Dell laptop keyboards?????
So until that thing is fixed, my blogging activities will be severely curtailed, even more than they have been already. Of course, with Christmas baking to attend to, this may be a blessing in disguise...depending on how much you like cookies. :-)
Anyway...in the meantime...GO BEARCATS! (heh heh)
Janny
So until that thing is fixed, my blogging activities will be severely curtailed, even more than they have been already. Of course, with Christmas baking to attend to, this may be a blessing in disguise...depending on how much you like cookies. :-)
Anyway...in the meantime...GO BEARCATS! (heh heh)
Janny
Friday, November 20, 2009
Can YOU Spot the Counterfeit Christian?
Ladies and gentlemen: a moment, please, while we interrupt this normally perky, upbeat blog for some rabble-rousing. (Yeah. Okay. Point taken. :-)
This last weekend, I attended my local ACFW chapter meeting. Lots of great Italian food, lots of good information, but most markedly—lots of love. Hugs, genuine concern—like I’ve seldom felt from “smiley Christians” in other circumstances—and lots of genuine celebration for each other. I will freely say that, out of all the writers’ groups I’ve been affiliated with, this is one of the most loving I’ve ever experienced.
Yet when it was over, in the clear light of day, a little naggy voice returned to the back of my head. A voice that’s been clutching at my proverbial sleeve for a long, long time. A voice that says, “Technically, my dear, you don’t belong in this group…and you’re really in there under false pretenses.”
Let me explain.
Years ago, RWA had a bit of a kerfuffle when they began recognizing “inspirational” fiction as a category for the Golden Hearts and RITAs. A Jewish author, no doubt speaking for a great many people, objected strongly to calling the category “inspirational”—because in essence, the word had been pre-defined to mean “evangelical Protestant Christian religious fiction.” She maintained that a true “inspirational” category would have room for Jewish fiction, Muslim fiction, Wiccan fiction, New Age believers…and the whole spectrum; that by accepting the delineation that “inspirational” would only mean “evangelical Christian faith as an element of the story,” RWA was in effect lying to its membership.
Subsequently, the guidelines for the category were written in such a way that “religious faith” was the wording involved; I don’t know if they’re still that way, as I’m out of RWA loops nowadays. But the reality of the situation was—and maybe still is—that if you sent a Wiccan romance to the inspirational category of the Golden Heart, you might have a hard time getting a judging panel to evaluate it fairly; you might even get some nasty feedback from the contest coordinator herself.
So, in effect, RWA may still be lying to its constituency...in much the same way that “Christian” publishing lies about who it represents. And it’s really starting to bother me that by belonging to ACFW, I’m in effect saying that that’s all right.
It’s a cruel irony that ACFW is such a loving place; that they’re one of the few writers' groups I can belong to where the name of Jesus will not be mocked. That’s a good thing. But what’s not so good is that sometimes, ACFW seems to stand for “Anything-But-Catholic Fiction Writers”...and that’s something that’s started to convict me on a personal level. Because, frankly, what am I doing in an organization that has that attitude?
I can get a lot of “information” from ACFW meetings—but in many cases, it’s information that does me as a writer no good. I can hear about publishers’ guidelines—but I can’t meet those guidelines without writing something I don’t believe in. I can pitch work to “Christian” agents and editors at ACFW conferences—but, with very few exceptions, most of those “Christian” editors and agents won’t want to see my work, or will demand that I change it so their “audience won’t be offended.”
Yet I’m a Christian…and so is their audience. So HOW CAN I OFFEND THEM?
Simple. I may offend their perceived audience by BEING, AND WRITING, A DIFFERENT TYPE OF CHRISTIAN THAN THE NARROW BAND THEY HAVE PRE-DEFINED AND DECLARED TO BE “RIGHT.”
Yes, it’s wrong. But it's more than that: it's a lie. The “Christian Booksellers Association” moniker that is the actual meaning of what we refer to as the “Christian market,” in effect, doesn’t represent many Christians AT ALL. It represents only one PORTION of Christianity: the conservative, evangelical, Protestant side of Christianity. Which means it can hardly, by ANY stretch of the imagination, call itself representative of the "Christian market." As for writing Catholic characters in these "Christian" books—even in historical situations where Catholic would be all the Christianity there IS? Good luck trying that one. It’s liable to hit you in the back of the head on the walk home from the post office.
For an illustration of how ridiculous this attitude is, let’s consider a secular hypothesis.
Imagine, if you will, a newspaper publisher marketing its paper as “the definitive American newspaper” when its entire market and contributor base is limited to the population of Naperville, Illinois. Naperville residents are Americans—but are they the DEFINITION of Americans? I think common sense would tell us, “Well, no, not hardly.”
So, considering that as a reasonable assumption, suppose that someone born and raised in the city of Chicago decides they’d like to write for “the definitive American newspaper.” They certainly qualify as an American. They probably qualify as an American with a much broader range of experience than a person who only knew, lived in, ate, slept, drank, and was educated solely in his hometown of Naperville. Since the city of Chicago’s settlement predates most of Naperville, you might even say they could consider themselves to be “more authentic” Americans than even the Napervillians were. But when this writer submits his story (which by the way, is not insulting in any way to Naperville!), it’s not only summarily rejected, but the “definitive American newspaper” tells this author in no uncertain terms that “you don’t represent Americans with this. Naperville is America, and if you don’t write about it, you’re not writing about Americans at all.”
How would we feel about this? What would we say? Would we take it lying down? Would we give that “definitive American newspaper” a moment’s credibility?
So then why, in heaven’s name, do we continue to allow CBA (and “Christian” arms of secular) publishers to get away with calling their products CHRISTIAN fiction, when they have editorial guidelines that force at least part of us to compromise, to water down OUR faith, in order to fit in? And why does ACFW, in its close relationships with said publishers, allow this exclusion of so much of Christianity to go unchallenged?
It’s time more of us step up to the plate and call on CBA (or any other alleged "Christian") publishers to quit the absolute hypocrisy of not allowing Catholic characters and plots and writers to be portrayed positively, or even accurately, in their lines of allegedly "Christian" fiction. Either that, or we need to respectfully insist that they change their name to Evangelical Conservative Protestant Booksellers of America, and demand equally that “Christian” publishers do likewise with their “Christian” lines. Choosing to ignore—and to refuse to publish characters who belong to—the only Christian Church in town for 1,500 years of recorded history, yet still defining themselves as representative of quality “Christian”writing, is almost as laughable as RWA’s claim to be "author advocates." Neither is true, and it's time to stop pretending and lying about it.
We’ve talked about this before, as individuals. We’ve lamented it. We’ve complained about it. We’ve tried to change it. And we’re getting NOWHERE by doing so. It’s clear, therefore, that individual authors railing against the pubs or bewailing the plight will do nothing. But maybe, there could be strength in numbers. If ACFW accepts Catholic members, and it does, could it not object to their faith not being a legitimate part of the Christian fiction printed page?
It’s not just Catholics who suffer in this climate, of course. As the "Christian" publishing world stands now, it doesn’t even represent Protestant Christian belief in all its varieties and possibilities. (There's a reason that Jan Karon didn't pitch her Episcopal rector to a Christian fiction house first.) But Catholicism is certainly the largest and most objectionable trigger for most of these houses—for no discernible reason except fear. Yes, some people may have issues with the Catholic Church; but so what? The Amish have a largely works-based religion—surely something abhorrent to most evangelicals. Yet Amish fiction has been embraced as “Christian,” when many aspects and behaviors of that faith are more “off the wall” than Catholicism has ever been or will ever be. So who, or what, has decided that seemingly anything ELSE goes BUT Catholicism in “Christian” fiction?
I, as a Catholic, am increasingly being nagged by that still, small voice inside. The one that says I’m not being true to my faith by pretending it’s OK that so much of my professional life is tied to an organization that at times, in effect dismisses me as not being Christian at all. I’m sailing under false colors, pretending it doesn’t matter. It DOES matter. It DOES hurt.
The question is, what do I do about it.
Janny
This last weekend, I attended my local ACFW chapter meeting. Lots of great Italian food, lots of good information, but most markedly—lots of love. Hugs, genuine concern—like I’ve seldom felt from “smiley Christians” in other circumstances—and lots of genuine celebration for each other. I will freely say that, out of all the writers’ groups I’ve been affiliated with, this is one of the most loving I’ve ever experienced.
Yet when it was over, in the clear light of day, a little naggy voice returned to the back of my head. A voice that’s been clutching at my proverbial sleeve for a long, long time. A voice that says, “Technically, my dear, you don’t belong in this group…and you’re really in there under false pretenses.”
Let me explain.
Years ago, RWA had a bit of a kerfuffle when they began recognizing “inspirational” fiction as a category for the Golden Hearts and RITAs. A Jewish author, no doubt speaking for a great many people, objected strongly to calling the category “inspirational”—because in essence, the word had been pre-defined to mean “evangelical Protestant Christian religious fiction.” She maintained that a true “inspirational” category would have room for Jewish fiction, Muslim fiction, Wiccan fiction, New Age believers…and the whole spectrum; that by accepting the delineation that “inspirational” would only mean “evangelical Christian faith as an element of the story,” RWA was in effect lying to its membership.
Subsequently, the guidelines for the category were written in such a way that “religious faith” was the wording involved; I don’t know if they’re still that way, as I’m out of RWA loops nowadays. But the reality of the situation was—and maybe still is—that if you sent a Wiccan romance to the inspirational category of the Golden Heart, you might have a hard time getting a judging panel to evaluate it fairly; you might even get some nasty feedback from the contest coordinator herself.
So, in effect, RWA may still be lying to its constituency...in much the same way that “Christian” publishing lies about who it represents. And it’s really starting to bother me that by belonging to ACFW, I’m in effect saying that that’s all right.
It’s a cruel irony that ACFW is such a loving place; that they’re one of the few writers' groups I can belong to where the name of Jesus will not be mocked. That’s a good thing. But what’s not so good is that sometimes, ACFW seems to stand for “Anything-But-Catholic Fiction Writers”...and that’s something that’s started to convict me on a personal level. Because, frankly, what am I doing in an organization that has that attitude?
I can get a lot of “information” from ACFW meetings—but in many cases, it’s information that does me as a writer no good. I can hear about publishers’ guidelines—but I can’t meet those guidelines without writing something I don’t believe in. I can pitch work to “Christian” agents and editors at ACFW conferences—but, with very few exceptions, most of those “Christian” editors and agents won’t want to see my work, or will demand that I change it so their “audience won’t be offended.”
Yet I’m a Christian…and so is their audience. So HOW CAN I OFFEND THEM?
Simple. I may offend their perceived audience by BEING, AND WRITING, A DIFFERENT TYPE OF CHRISTIAN THAN THE NARROW BAND THEY HAVE PRE-DEFINED AND DECLARED TO BE “RIGHT.”
Yes, it’s wrong. But it's more than that: it's a lie. The “Christian Booksellers Association” moniker that is the actual meaning of what we refer to as the “Christian market,” in effect, doesn’t represent many Christians AT ALL. It represents only one PORTION of Christianity: the conservative, evangelical, Protestant side of Christianity. Which means it can hardly, by ANY stretch of the imagination, call itself representative of the "Christian market." As for writing Catholic characters in these "Christian" books—even in historical situations where Catholic would be all the Christianity there IS? Good luck trying that one. It’s liable to hit you in the back of the head on the walk home from the post office.
For an illustration of how ridiculous this attitude is, let’s consider a secular hypothesis.
Imagine, if you will, a newspaper publisher marketing its paper as “the definitive American newspaper” when its entire market and contributor base is limited to the population of Naperville, Illinois. Naperville residents are Americans—but are they the DEFINITION of Americans? I think common sense would tell us, “Well, no, not hardly.”
So, considering that as a reasonable assumption, suppose that someone born and raised in the city of Chicago decides they’d like to write for “the definitive American newspaper.” They certainly qualify as an American. They probably qualify as an American with a much broader range of experience than a person who only knew, lived in, ate, slept, drank, and was educated solely in his hometown of Naperville. Since the city of Chicago’s settlement predates most of Naperville, you might even say they could consider themselves to be “more authentic” Americans than even the Napervillians were. But when this writer submits his story (which by the way, is not insulting in any way to Naperville!), it’s not only summarily rejected, but the “definitive American newspaper” tells this author in no uncertain terms that “you don’t represent Americans with this. Naperville is America, and if you don’t write about it, you’re not writing about Americans at all.”
How would we feel about this? What would we say? Would we take it lying down? Would we give that “definitive American newspaper” a moment’s credibility?
So then why, in heaven’s name, do we continue to allow CBA (and “Christian” arms of secular) publishers to get away with calling their products CHRISTIAN fiction, when they have editorial guidelines that force at least part of us to compromise, to water down OUR faith, in order to fit in? And why does ACFW, in its close relationships with said publishers, allow this exclusion of so much of Christianity to go unchallenged?
It’s time more of us step up to the plate and call on CBA (or any other alleged "Christian") publishers to quit the absolute hypocrisy of not allowing Catholic characters and plots and writers to be portrayed positively, or even accurately, in their lines of allegedly "Christian" fiction. Either that, or we need to respectfully insist that they change their name to Evangelical Conservative Protestant Booksellers of America, and demand equally that “Christian” publishers do likewise with their “Christian” lines. Choosing to ignore—and to refuse to publish characters who belong to—the only Christian Church in town for 1,500 years of recorded history, yet still defining themselves as representative of quality “Christian”writing, is almost as laughable as RWA’s claim to be "author advocates." Neither is true, and it's time to stop pretending and lying about it.
We’ve talked about this before, as individuals. We’ve lamented it. We’ve complained about it. We’ve tried to change it. And we’re getting NOWHERE by doing so. It’s clear, therefore, that individual authors railing against the pubs or bewailing the plight will do nothing. But maybe, there could be strength in numbers. If ACFW accepts Catholic members, and it does, could it not object to their faith not being a legitimate part of the Christian fiction printed page?
It’s not just Catholics who suffer in this climate, of course. As the "Christian" publishing world stands now, it doesn’t even represent Protestant Christian belief in all its varieties and possibilities. (There's a reason that Jan Karon didn't pitch her Episcopal rector to a Christian fiction house first.
I, as a Catholic, am increasingly being nagged by that still, small voice inside. The one that says I’m not being true to my faith by pretending it’s OK that so much of my professional life is tied to an organization that at times, in effect dismisses me as not being Christian at all. I’m sailing under false colors, pretending it doesn’t matter. It DOES matter. It DOES hurt.
The question is, what do I do about it.
Janny
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Why I Love College Basketball...
...because things like this can happen.
As someone put it this morning, "It's a shame that the story will be 'What's wrong with Syracuse basketball?'" Because, in the end, THAT's not the story at all. There's just something tremendously right about those Cinderella times when a Division II school wins hearts and headlines.
Congratulations, Dolphins!
Janny
As someone put it this morning, "It's a shame that the story will be 'What's wrong with Syracuse basketball?'" Because, in the end, THAT's not the story at all. There's just something tremendously right about those Cinderella times when a Division II school wins hearts and headlines.
Congratulations, Dolphins!
Janny
Monday, October 26, 2009
Catholic Wild Horses...and Others
I’ve been mulling a blog entry for a long time about some downright nasty sites that are out there, put up by some of my fellow Catholics seemingly for no other purpose than to snipe at some of my other fellow Catholics...and how sick I am of that whole mess.
Mind you, I’m not talking about calling fake “Catholics” like Nancy Pelosi and Joe Biden on the carpet: the more of that we can do, the better our Church will be for it. And no, my Church’s primary reason to be on this earth isn’t to be “inclusive.” It’s to be the Body of Christ on earth. If you don’t LIKE what the Body of Christ on earth prescribes for you—i.e., if you can’t find it in your (misguided) conscience to just obey the Magisterium—then, fine, go somewhere else. You’re already not Catholic to begin with; we won’t miss you.
But, just as the Pharisees and Sadducees and many other sects of Judaism started arguing about who was the better Jew—when they were all basically obedient—there has developed, and continued to develop, a chasm between ordinary obedient Catholics and people who’ve taken a stance that being a “real Catholic” entails a LOT of things it, in fact, doesn’t mean.
Examples?
Denying the legitimacy of a) the present pope or b) various other popes (on bases that can run anywhere from “mistranslation” of the English Mass all the way to some pretty wacky conspiracy theories about Paul VI “wanting to turn us all Protestant”);
Declaring that the Novus Ordo Mass isn’t “really” Mass at all (see Paul VI reference above);
Harping on the “fact” that any liturgical music that’s not Gregorian chant is a waste of church time (most ESPECIALLY if it’s ANYTHING by Marty Haugen, David Haas, or a host of others of like ilk);
…and even...
Opining that a woman who wears anything other than skirts/dresses (below the knee, thank you very much) or doesn’t keep her head covered in church isn’t truly obedient and submissive to God. (I kid you not.)
Make no mistake—I’m not saying that some of the people who do, believe, and practice such things are not trying to be the best Catholics they can be. If I go and say that, I’m as guilty of error as they are.
But the plain fact of the matter is…
Jesus instituted His Church on earth and He continues to keep it in His hand.
That INCLUDES our present popes.
That INCLUDES a well-prayed, reverent Novus Ordo—and yes, for the smartasses out there, THERE IS SUCH A THING. (Just because YOU don’t encounter it—maybe because you don’t look for it?—doesn’t mean it doesn’t EXIST.)
And yes, the Body of Christ on earth can even include women who wear blue jeans, the occasional sleeveless top or bathing suit (heavens!) and who don’t worry about whether they’re going to Hell simply because they don’t have the mantilla on at Mass.
(Note: I’m not saying I think blue jeans or such are appropriate for Mass. I don’t much care for them. Nor are shorts, nor is anything else that’s “playclothes”—but that’s another issue, for another time. These folks who insist on the skirts below the knees, the elbow-length or longer sleeves, and no slacks for women are talking about it outside church.)
In short…I’ve had it with bloggers, magazine editors, book authors, and various others who hold forth in various media with personal opinions presented as Gospel truth and slam anyone who dares to think otherwise. I don’t mind a good chiding for those who deserve it; but these posts and blogs and editorials and published pieces don’t fall under the category of good chiding for those who need it. They are little more than personal religious tantrums, thrown under the guise of “shaking things up,” but really are nothing more than attempts to grab a little (in) fame by being “rad trad” or some similar coloring. And God help you if you take issue with one of these jerks…you may as well paint a target on your back.
This does not strike me as edification. Sarcasm, yes. A narcissistic conviction that “I” have the Truth and “you” don’t (neener, neener, neener), yes. But I don’t see anywhere in my Bible where it says to correct a brother or sister with sarcasm or public humiliation…do you?
Or is that just because I read an inferior BIBLE to yours, too?
Some very big names in the Catholic apologetics/blogging/writing biz are guilty of this. Some otherwise pretty darned good magazines and publications are allowing themselves to be totally ruined by this smartass mentality…and driving away honest, earnest Catholics whom they could be educating, edifying, and blessing instead of berating, browbeating, and ridiculing.
Does the Church need this?
Do ANY of us need this?
There’s an old story about the difference between wild horses and wild jackasses that you probably know, but it’s very remiscent of this situation. Supposedly, when wild horses sense a threat, they put their heads together—literally—in a large circle, back hooves facing outward, and they kick the blazes out of the potential predator. But when wild jackasses sense a threat, they do the opposite—they gather in a circle, all right, but facing outward, braying like fools, while their back hooves are kicking the blazes OUT OF EACH OTHER.
Which are you?
A fellow blogger echoes these sentiments quite well, and I nearly let her say it for me. (Amen, and Amen.) But then again, when more than one of us sees a threat…it’s probably better if more of us put our heads together, and more than one of us kicks the crap out of it.
I hope more of us who are sick of this nonsense will start kicking back. And soon. The Church needs excellent catechesis, reform, and obedience—and a good housecleaning. But she won’t get it through sarcasm, paranoia, superiority complexes, and backbiting. Not now, not ever. And those of us who continue to engage in this nonsense, I believe, do so at our own peril.
Thoughts?
Janny
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
AWAY.
Sometimes, one word can mean infinity.
Sometimes, you’re not even aware of the depth of a word until you experience a bit of that infinity.
I was closing up my lunch bag and my novel this afternoon, closing up the umbrella over the outdoor lunch table, and reluctantly preparing to go back to my desk and resume my day’s work, when the sensation came over me that I was returning from a lot more than a half hour’s lunch break.
I had been rereading, leisurely and with enjoyment, over my lunch. Rereading one of the Mitford books by Jan Karon—spending time in a place I’ve spent much time in before. Dipping back in for another visit…
…and away, for just those few minutes, from everything else.
When immersed in a truly good book, we do go away. Sometimes, we can be so transported that when someone taps us on the shoulder to bring us “back,” we react with a start. Or resentment. Or weariness…because it’s hard to come back from that place to which we’ve escaped.
Chances are if we find books like that, we keep them…and we go back to them. We remember that pleasant, relaxing place, that virtual vacation, and we want to have the chance to go to that place again if need be. Just like a real geographic location that we love, books that we can “lose ourselves” in become a quick route to refreshment and restoration.
And what better way to write—or reason to write—than to give ourselves, and others, those kinds of books?
Many of us, I suspect, have been led astray. We’ve been taught about character arcs and plot structures and Acts I-III, and climax and denouement…but how many of us every get taught about AWAY? Far too few, if the truth be known.
And some of us who do know about “away”—but who may not be the most polished writers in the world—get ridiculed for that. We may be able to take readers to another world, another place, another time, and immerse them thoroughly—but that, we’re told, is not what contemporary fiction is all about. Contemporary blockbuster fiction nowadays is supposed to grab a reader by the throat, shake her a few times until she begs for mercy, and slap her around a little bit before we drop her to the floor, just to make sure she GETS OUR POINT. After all, we only have milliseconds to hook a reader and draw her in, and…and…!
And…over time, reading most blockbuster fiction has become, if not an exhausting experience, certainly not a refreshing one. A reader who’s whipped around, shown the seedy and frenetic and fast-paced—but little else—cannot come out of that book much refreshed. She might enjoy the ride, much as some of us enjoy rollercoasters, but exhilaration—or sheer terror!—is not what any of us wants when we need a break from reality, a bit of respite, time for ourselves.
Sometimes, we just want to get AWAY.
So I’d suggest we try thinking about AWAY when we write.
Getting “away” is what we try to do when we need to recharge. Coming “away” is what the Lord asks us to do to get closer to Him. And a real trip “away” takes time. It shouldn’t be a road race but a Sunday drive in the country.
It’s worth thinking about. It’s worth working to get to. And it’s what I, truth be told, want to give my readers. I don’t care about grabbing them by the throat and shaking them. I would much, much rather they be so immersed in my book that they only reluctantly fold the umbrella over the outdoor table, only reluctantly close up their lunch bags and gather their trash, only reluctantly come back to the “real world”—because then they will not only look forward to going back to my book, they’ll keep it. They’ll want to go back to that lovely place where they feel so at home, a place of refreshment and comfort and relaxation. Even if I’m tingling their spines with a deliciously suspenseful story, I don’t intend to do it at 120 miles per hour; I want to enjoy the trip…and I want them to as well.
AWAY. It’s where I want you to be when reading my books. AWAY: where you can breathe…where the Lord can whisper in your ear if He needs to…where for just a few moments, life’s hassles recede and you amble through a world that welcomes you, entertains you, uplifts you, and leaves you feeling more able to come back to reality when you need to.
AWAY. It’s a great place to be. I want to write much, much more of it. I hope you will, too.
Thoughts?
Janny
Sometimes, you’re not even aware of the depth of a word until you experience a bit of that infinity.
I was closing up my lunch bag and my novel this afternoon, closing up the umbrella over the outdoor lunch table, and reluctantly preparing to go back to my desk and resume my day’s work, when the sensation came over me that I was returning from a lot more than a half hour’s lunch break.
I had been rereading, leisurely and with enjoyment, over my lunch. Rereading one of the Mitford books by Jan Karon—spending time in a place I’ve spent much time in before. Dipping back in for another visit…
…and away, for just those few minutes, from everything else.
When immersed in a truly good book, we do go away. Sometimes, we can be so transported that when someone taps us on the shoulder to bring us “back,” we react with a start. Or resentment. Or weariness…because it’s hard to come back from that place to which we’ve escaped.
Chances are if we find books like that, we keep them…and we go back to them. We remember that pleasant, relaxing place, that virtual vacation, and we want to have the chance to go to that place again if need be. Just like a real geographic location that we love, books that we can “lose ourselves” in become a quick route to refreshment and restoration.
And what better way to write—or reason to write—than to give ourselves, and others, those kinds of books?
Many of us, I suspect, have been led astray. We’ve been taught about character arcs and plot structures and Acts I-III, and climax and denouement…but how many of us every get taught about AWAY? Far too few, if the truth be known.
And some of us who do know about “away”—but who may not be the most polished writers in the world—get ridiculed for that. We may be able to take readers to another world, another place, another time, and immerse them thoroughly—but that, we’re told, is not what contemporary fiction is all about. Contemporary blockbuster fiction nowadays is supposed to grab a reader by the throat, shake her a few times until she begs for mercy, and slap her around a little bit before we drop her to the floor, just to make sure she GETS OUR POINT. After all, we only have milliseconds to hook a reader and draw her in, and…and…!
And…over time, reading most blockbuster fiction has become, if not an exhausting experience, certainly not a refreshing one. A reader who’s whipped around, shown the seedy and frenetic and fast-paced—but little else—cannot come out of that book much refreshed. She might enjoy the ride, much as some of us enjoy rollercoasters, but exhilaration—or sheer terror!—is not what any of us wants when we need a break from reality, a bit of respite, time for ourselves.
Sometimes, we just want to get AWAY.
So I’d suggest we try thinking about AWAY when we write.
Getting “away” is what we try to do when we need to recharge. Coming “away” is what the Lord asks us to do to get closer to Him. And a real trip “away” takes time. It shouldn’t be a road race but a Sunday drive in the country.
It’s worth thinking about. It’s worth working to get to. And it’s what I, truth be told, want to give my readers. I don’t care about grabbing them by the throat and shaking them. I would much, much rather they be so immersed in my book that they only reluctantly fold the umbrella over the outdoor table, only reluctantly close up their lunch bags and gather their trash, only reluctantly come back to the “real world”—because then they will not only look forward to going back to my book, they’ll keep it. They’ll want to go back to that lovely place where they feel so at home, a place of refreshment and comfort and relaxation. Even if I’m tingling their spines with a deliciously suspenseful story, I don’t intend to do it at 120 miles per hour; I want to enjoy the trip…and I want them to as well.
AWAY. It’s where I want you to be when reading my books. AWAY: where you can breathe…where the Lord can whisper in your ear if He needs to…where for just a few moments, life’s hassles recede and you amble through a world that welcomes you, entertains you, uplifts you, and leaves you feeling more able to come back to reality when you need to.
AWAY. It’s a great place to be. I want to write much, much more of it. I hope you will, too.
Thoughts?
Janny
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Woohoo!
Thanks to Charlotte over here, I get to enjoy Starbucks for free in not so many days! Or, as my daughter refers to such things, "Mocha goodness in a card."
May this be the first of many things I win this week. :-)
Happy Tuesday!
Janny
P.S. Charlotte, d'you think you could send some of those people over here, too? I'd love to have the kind of readership you do!
May this be the first of many things I win this week. :-)
Happy Tuesday!
Janny
P.S. Charlotte, d'you think you could send some of those people over here, too? I'd love to have the kind of readership you do!
Monday, September 07, 2009
Overwhelm
There’s only one thing wrong with most holidays…
And it’s not even that they’re over too soon. Never mind that they usually ARE…but that’s not it.
One aspect of holiday weekends that makes most of us writers salivate at our keyboards is the thought that, for at least some of that time, we CAN be salivating at our keyboards, and no one’s going to say a word. The husband’ll be sleeping late on one or all of those days…the kids’ll be outside (at least on these summer holidays) tooling around the neighborhood or sitting in a cool basement playing video games…and there we’ll be, with nothing but a few hours ahead of us, a computer in front of us, and a pot of coffee beside us.
Should be an idyllic creative moment, right?
Not necessarily.
I found myself this evening in an interesting conundrum. I had a busier weekend than I should have, in that I had to play catchup on some freelance work that fell by the wayside last weekend. Long story, health related, daughter is OK, we think…(budget won’t be, but daughter is). But when your Sunday and Monday are interrupted with ER visits and X-ray errands, not to mention pharmacy runs and the other draining or daunting side trips, writing tends to take a back seat. Writing something funny or heartwarming at that point might be just what the doctor ordered—but you haven’t got the strength or the energy for it, either. (!)
Nevertheless, now that things are calmer, I’ve been scrambling to get current with my nonfiction writing assignments. Some of them are pretty well caught up or—dare we say it?—even, for all practical purposes, done. One still has multiple parts left to it, and has taken way too long…but at least the collaborator seems generally pleased with the work once we finally get past his broken English and my complete ineptitude at writing “techie” and meet in the middle. :-) I did send back some of the documents he had made suggestions on, rewritten and the like—but I didn’t do that until I ran smack into a brick wall looking at my own work.
And there’s the rub. The idea that “when I get time over a weekend, I’m going to use it writing,” versus the reality of what actually happens when we do so. As in, sometimes, panic.
Yeah, I know, writing’s easy for me. It’s supposed to be, anyway. But I’ve been had. Hornswoggled. Led down the garden path…of nonfiction editing and freelance pieces. These pieces, on the whole, come together without a whole lot of angst on my part. They’re not easy, necessarily…but they just don’t take a lot emotionally out of me, either, which is good—because ideally, then, that leaves the emotion for the fiction.
Until I sat there this evening looking at the work I had to do on one book, and thought, “This is too much. This is going to be SO hard. I’m not even sure what way to go yet.” So I pulled out the short story…and had much the same reaction. I didn’t want to get back into it. I was scared I couldn’t do it…again. And I retreated to the safe, easy stuff I know I CAN do now. Even if it’s sometimes boring as sin—at least I know I CAN do it. And I will get paid something for it.
Which, even if I were to finish the fiction I’m working on now in the next twenty minutes…won’t be something that happens any time soon from it.
It can’t be denied that right now, my most pressing need is money, and so it makes sense that writing for pay—even if it’s not all that dependable pay—tends to be more attractive than writing fiction that may, or may not, sell sometime before I’m supposed to officially be “retirement” age. (No comment.) But I wish it had not also turned into something that’s become more “fun”—because it’s easier—than fiction.
I’m a novelist. I’m still feeling called to be a novelist. But quite honestly, where is the energy and emotion going to come from for it if I chicken out and write the stuff I know I’ll get paid for first? And where am I as a responsible working writer if I shun things I really can do, things that will pay things like daughter’s ER bill…in favor of trying to eke out some of my novels again from the unsettled states and pieces in which they find themselves?
If I had the answer to this one, I’d not have to worry about trying to apportion time properly on a holiday weekend. And I would have had a more successful fiction “go” on this one, too.
But maybe, just maybe, if I approach my fiction the way I started out doing nonfiction…which was tiny pieces at a time…I can get my “fiction feet” back under me again. I can get the novel’s sea legs again...and once again, find the most relaxing, exhilarating, and rewarding end of my work coming from where it always came from before.
Maybe. I’m hoping so. Because this alternative of having novels in pieces, short stories half done, and feeling like a failure every time I don’t crank out a couple thousand words of my OWN stuff a weekend…this ain’t a good place to live in for long. I don’t like it. And I can’t believe it’s remotely good for my Muse or what I still feel called, after all this time, to do.
Thoughts?
Janny
And it’s not even that they’re over too soon. Never mind that they usually ARE…but that’s not it.
One aspect of holiday weekends that makes most of us writers salivate at our keyboards is the thought that, for at least some of that time, we CAN be salivating at our keyboards, and no one’s going to say a word. The husband’ll be sleeping late on one or all of those days…the kids’ll be outside (at least on these summer holidays) tooling around the neighborhood or sitting in a cool basement playing video games…and there we’ll be, with nothing but a few hours ahead of us, a computer in front of us, and a pot of coffee beside us.
Should be an idyllic creative moment, right?
Not necessarily.
I found myself this evening in an interesting conundrum. I had a busier weekend than I should have, in that I had to play catchup on some freelance work that fell by the wayside last weekend. Long story, health related, daughter is OK, we think…(budget won’t be, but daughter is). But when your Sunday and Monday are interrupted with ER visits and X-ray errands, not to mention pharmacy runs and the other draining or daunting side trips, writing tends to take a back seat. Writing something funny or heartwarming at that point might be just what the doctor ordered—but you haven’t got the strength or the energy for it, either. (!)
Nevertheless, now that things are calmer, I’ve been scrambling to get current with my nonfiction writing assignments. Some of them are pretty well caught up or—dare we say it?—even, for all practical purposes, done. One still has multiple parts left to it, and has taken way too long…but at least the collaborator seems generally pleased with the work once we finally get past his broken English and my complete ineptitude at writing “techie” and meet in the middle. :-) I did send back some of the documents he had made suggestions on, rewritten and the like—but I didn’t do that until I ran smack into a brick wall looking at my own work.
And there’s the rub. The idea that “when I get time over a weekend, I’m going to use it writing,” versus the reality of what actually happens when we do so. As in, sometimes, panic.
Yeah, I know, writing’s easy for me. It’s supposed to be, anyway. But I’ve been had. Hornswoggled. Led down the garden path…of nonfiction editing and freelance pieces. These pieces, on the whole, come together without a whole lot of angst on my part. They’re not easy, necessarily…but they just don’t take a lot emotionally out of me, either, which is good—because ideally, then, that leaves the emotion for the fiction.
Until I sat there this evening looking at the work I had to do on one book, and thought, “This is too much. This is going to be SO hard. I’m not even sure what way to go yet.” So I pulled out the short story…and had much the same reaction. I didn’t want to get back into it. I was scared I couldn’t do it…again. And I retreated to the safe, easy stuff I know I CAN do now. Even if it’s sometimes boring as sin—at least I know I CAN do it. And I will get paid something for it.
Which, even if I were to finish the fiction I’m working on now in the next twenty minutes…won’t be something that happens any time soon from it.
It can’t be denied that right now, my most pressing need is money, and so it makes sense that writing for pay—even if it’s not all that dependable pay—tends to be more attractive than writing fiction that may, or may not, sell sometime before I’m supposed to officially be “retirement” age. (No comment.) But I wish it had not also turned into something that’s become more “fun”—because it’s easier—than fiction.
I’m a novelist. I’m still feeling called to be a novelist. But quite honestly, where is the energy and emotion going to come from for it if I chicken out and write the stuff I know I’ll get paid for first? And where am I as a responsible working writer if I shun things I really can do, things that will pay things like daughter’s ER bill…in favor of trying to eke out some of my novels again from the unsettled states and pieces in which they find themselves?
If I had the answer to this one, I’d not have to worry about trying to apportion time properly on a holiday weekend. And I would have had a more successful fiction “go” on this one, too.
But maybe, just maybe, if I approach my fiction the way I started out doing nonfiction…which was tiny pieces at a time…I can get my “fiction feet” back under me again. I can get the novel’s sea legs again...and once again, find the most relaxing, exhilarating, and rewarding end of my work coming from where it always came from before.
Maybe. I’m hoping so. Because this alternative of having novels in pieces, short stories half done, and feeling like a failure every time I don’t crank out a couple thousand words of my OWN stuff a weekend…this ain’t a good place to live in for long. I don’t like it. And I can’t believe it’s remotely good for my Muse or what I still feel called, after all this time, to do.
Thoughts?
Janny
Saturday, August 15, 2009
"C" is for...
I've been rereading an old version of a novel I really, really need to sell. (My salesperson friend is giving me all these visualization hints, the "acting as if" advice, and the whole shebang--which I already know how to do!--but that's another post for another time.)
This version is much longer than my present 95K--almost 10K longer (which is, any way you look at it, quite a bit). Some of that 10K extra comes from an extended, and unnecessary, denouement at the end of the book, a habit I've learned since not to do. I mean, we don't really need to sit though reading how our heroine tells our hero all the details of what he didn't know for the first 90K words...we can assume that since our hero and heroine end up getting married, that she probably fills him in on what we've watched unfold! :-)
But some of that 10K comes from extra words that serve another purpose entirely, one I had forgotten about--and one I suspect I shouldn't have.
I spent a great deal of effort cutting and trimming what I thought was "romance speak" from the book in order to make it a straighter thriller, years ago. And, to be fair, while I was writing this BIG version, I was reading a lush historical book, and you can tell a little more "historical speak" crept into this book than should have. But that aside, I was struck when rereading this how many emotionally in-your-face sentences I had utterly discarded...and how many of them I really liked when I read them again.
Sure, I would rephrase them now. I had my heroine asking endless questions before. Was he warning her of a sinister force from beyond...or from himself? Things like that. Endless examples of things like that. Almost--dare we say it?--a book that edges dangerously close to melodrama.
The problem is, now I'm wondering if maybe some of that melodrama was actually something readers enjoyed. Some of it may have enabled a reader to get into character better, to understand where my characters were, what went into the decisions they made and how those decisions cost them...and that when I cut those "excess" sentences, I cut away a layer of emotional painting that might now be making a difference in how this book is being received.
Which, to put it bluntly, ain't great.
And it was better before.
So in the interests of bringing this book to the point where it gets good attention again--where it makes people sit up and take notice more--I'm going to experiment with undoing my cuts, putting some of those sentences back in, and see how I feel about them. Some of them, in present form, are a bit "purple"--but I can fix that. In an effort to make this book into something it probably was never meant to be...I "overfixed" it. So now I get to undo that. Unlearn the subtle. Unlearn the sterile. Unlearn the sparse, and let myself and my readers enjoy, savor, and fret--at the proper time--a bit more.
"C", in some schools of thought, is for cutting. And, make no mistake, this book will more than likely not be 104K anymore. But "C", in my case, needs to stand for compelling. As in what I need to bring this book back into being. As in "getting the feeling back."
And, it is to be fervently hoped, as in finally getting a contract.
Wish me the proverbial writer's luck, I guess....
Thoughts?
Janny
This version is much longer than my present 95K--almost 10K longer (which is, any way you look at it, quite a bit). Some of that 10K extra comes from an extended, and unnecessary, denouement at the end of the book, a habit I've learned since not to do. I mean, we don't really need to sit though reading how our heroine tells our hero all the details of what he didn't know for the first 90K words...we can assume that since our hero and heroine end up getting married, that she probably fills him in on what we've watched unfold! :-)
But some of that 10K comes from extra words that serve another purpose entirely, one I had forgotten about--and one I suspect I shouldn't have.
I spent a great deal of effort cutting and trimming what I thought was "romance speak" from the book in order to make it a straighter thriller, years ago. And, to be fair, while I was writing this BIG version, I was reading a lush historical book, and you can tell a little more "historical speak" crept into this book than should have. But that aside, I was struck when rereading this how many emotionally in-your-face sentences I had utterly discarded...and how many of them I really liked when I read them again.
Sure, I would rephrase them now. I had my heroine asking endless questions before. Was he warning her of a sinister force from beyond...or from himself? Things like that. Endless examples of things like that. Almost--dare we say it?--a book that edges dangerously close to melodrama.
The problem is, now I'm wondering if maybe some of that melodrama was actually something readers enjoyed. Some of it may have enabled a reader to get into character better, to understand where my characters were, what went into the decisions they made and how those decisions cost them...and that when I cut those "excess" sentences, I cut away a layer of emotional painting that might now be making a difference in how this book is being received.
Which, to put it bluntly, ain't great.
And it was better before.
So in the interests of bringing this book to the point where it gets good attention again--where it makes people sit up and take notice more--I'm going to experiment with undoing my cuts, putting some of those sentences back in, and see how I feel about them. Some of them, in present form, are a bit "purple"--but I can fix that. In an effort to make this book into something it probably was never meant to be...I "overfixed" it. So now I get to undo that. Unlearn the subtle. Unlearn the sterile. Unlearn the sparse, and let myself and my readers enjoy, savor, and fret--at the proper time--a bit more.
"C", in some schools of thought, is for cutting. And, make no mistake, this book will more than likely not be 104K anymore. But "C", in my case, needs to stand for compelling. As in what I need to bring this book back into being. As in "getting the feeling back."
And, it is to be fervently hoped, as in finally getting a contract.
Wish me the proverbial writer's luck, I guess....
Thoughts?
Janny
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Just What We Need, Another Crappy Role Model For Young Athletes
This, unfortunately, speaks for itself.
What is depressing--and infuriating--about this is that there's so much pressure on young athletes to do the wrong thing as it is; to have one of the coaches in a major college program, one that kids will certainly look up to, involved in this kind of sordid , sinful nonsense...
...is beyond the pale.
Many people are standing by this coach. Many people will say he did the "responsible" thing by "getting rid of the problem."
They're wrong.
The responsible thing, especially for a man who calls himself a Catholic, would have been to keep his pants on. To remember his marriage vows. And not to compound the sin by adding murder to the rap sheet.
I hope this guy gets booed from now until the end of the year. Forgiveness? Christian charity? A spirit of mercy?
Not until I see some evidence of genuine repentance here. I don't. And the university, by demanding no further accountability of him, only reinforces the notion that there's nothing for him to repent of.
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be Cardinals.
There have got to be better men out there to let your babies play for.
Disgusted,
Janny
What is depressing--and infuriating--about this is that there's so much pressure on young athletes to do the wrong thing as it is; to have one of the coaches in a major college program, one that kids will certainly look up to, involved in this kind of sordid , sinful nonsense...
...is beyond the pale.
Many people are standing by this coach. Many people will say he did the "responsible" thing by "getting rid of the problem."
They're wrong.
The responsible thing, especially for a man who calls himself a Catholic, would have been to keep his pants on. To remember his marriage vows. And not to compound the sin by adding murder to the rap sheet.
I hope this guy gets booed from now until the end of the year. Forgiveness? Christian charity? A spirit of mercy?
Not until I see some evidence of genuine repentance here. I don't. And the university, by demanding no further accountability of him, only reinforces the notion that there's nothing for him to repent of.
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be Cardinals.
There have got to be better men out there to let your babies play for.
Disgusted,
Janny
Thursday, August 06, 2009
And Then They Wonder Why People Don't Read Anymore...
From Publisher's Lunch:
Gotham Chopra's SPIRITUALITY FOR DOGS, written with his father, Deepak Chopra, pitched as Tuesday's with Morrie meets Marley and Me, a moving conversation between a father and son on the spiritual lessons we can draw from our dogs, their loyalty and instincts in particular, and Gotham's effort to find resonance in the teachings of his father so that he may be able to pass them onto his young son, to Brenda Copeland at Hyperion, in a good deal, by Robert Gottlieb and Eileen Cope at Trident Media Group.
I know it's considered bad manners to complain about agents, editors, or the like passing on your work...but it must be said, Trident passed on my novel a year or so ago. I guess it's my bad not to realize that a romantic suspense novel with a heck of a paranormal element to it couldn't possibly hold a literary candle to Gotham Chopra's DOG.
Silly me. Shoulda had the cats write it.
Thoughts?
Janny
Gotham Chopra's SPIRITUALITY FOR DOGS, written with his father, Deepak Chopra, pitched as Tuesday's with Morrie meets Marley and Me, a moving conversation between a father and son on the spiritual lessons we can draw from our dogs, their loyalty and instincts in particular, and Gotham's effort to find resonance in the teachings of his father so that he may be able to pass them onto his young son, to Brenda Copeland at Hyperion, in a good deal, by Robert Gottlieb and Eileen Cope at Trident Media Group.
I know it's considered bad manners to complain about agents, editors, or the like passing on your work...but it must be said, Trident passed on my novel a year or so ago. I guess it's my bad not to realize that a romantic suspense novel with a heck of a paranormal element to it couldn't possibly hold a literary candle to Gotham Chopra's DOG.
Silly me. Shoulda had the cats write it.
Thoughts?
Janny
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