I have to wonder if writing the synopsis is one way to help writers (especially beginning or novice ones) figure out where to trim the fat. It's going surprisingly well. Like lifting my eyebrow and looking at it askance well. It also makes me wonder, for my book specifically, if I should just go on and combine the second book with this one since there are some loose ends that need tying. As a reader, it'd make me wonder why certain characters and scenes were in the book if they don't get properly explained. At the same time, I wonder if it's my old nemesis, Fear, trying to keep me from moving forward with the book.
I'll put it this way. If the book gets rejected because of the loose ends, then I'll just go on and combine books. If it gets rejected for other things, I'll make the changes needed and keep sending it out. There's no sense in being scared of rejection. I'm sure they'll always sting, but the best writers still get rejections...unless they're a brand name. You know, authors who could sign a napkin in a diner and sell a million copies.
At any rate, I'll work more on the synopsis now.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
October 10, 2010
My of reckoning. My day of finally letting go of that fear of rejection. 10/10/10.
Yes. I'm going to start sending letters to literary agents about my fantasy novel.
Do you want the story behind the story?
Do you realize I'm going to tell it either way?
I'll make it brief.
I started writing when I was eight. My third grade teacher had us write a story from a prompt in our spelling book. I think she was punishing us, but if that was the case, it's been the greatest punishment I've ever received. I haven't stopped writing since.
The novel I just finished has been in my belly since I was thirteen years old. I read Lloyd Alexander's Prydain series and decided right then and there that I was going to write fantasy. I could do it. And I did. Over and over and over and over and over...In my defense, I was a sheltered child who had no life experience and no real way of getting the help I really needed to get the book properly written until I was in college. That was where I met three people who placed me on the right path. Well...two of them did.
The first person I met was a poet. I know, a novelist being guided by a poet? It wasn't as strange as it
sounds. The poet helped me realize that what I wrote was valuable and that I, sheltered, inexperienced, and introverted as I was, was also valuable. I also took this teacher's poetry class (it was required) and learned that I am most certainly not a poet.
Imagine my shock when I took another writing class only to have the teacher (a novelist, even!) basically tell me that what I wrote was garbage and that I should only write about the things the teacher wanted me to write about. No fantasy. No sci-fi. Nothing but stories about being the person the teacher saw sitting in the classroom. I was to write about my personal experiences. My experiences being a Race. A Gender. A Midwesterner. A Religion. I had no stories of those things. I didn't consider them important. I considered myself more than the Labels placed on me. I ended up using scenes and scenarios from the fantasy novel I was writing and changing the genre and names just to get through the class. Why the issue with fantasy and sci-fi? The teacher simply disliked those genres. I still have yet to figure out what the teacher does like. I suspect the teacher isn't clear on it either or it changes with the moon phases. Needless to say, this teacher did more harm than good. But there was good.
Through the unhelpful teacher, I met one of the most helpful teachers I've ever had. I still don't know how we started to get along considering when I first met him, I thought he was a jerk. I took his class, read my first chapter to the class, and learned that everything I did was wrong. Every instinct, every word, every...everything was wrong. You'd think this would deter me and do harm, but instead of just telling me how wrong I was, this teacher actually took me under his wing and, despite my thick-headedness, stubborness, and general arrogance, taught me what I needed to know to get the novel in its current form written and finished.
I wish I could name names, but I'll be professional. The first teacher, the poet, is no longer with us. He died in May and I miss him every single day. The second teacher still skulks around the English department striking fear and frustration into the students who dare to write what things other than their Labels. I have to wonder how many great novels and short stories died horrible deaths under that tyranny. The third teacher has a blog on this very site and when I get his permission, I'll name him.
So here I am about to face that giant, fear, and get this fantasy novel up to snuff so I can share the the characters who have become my best friends and the world that is my second home.
I'll write about the novel itself in the next post. Well...it'll be very general.
I hope this was short enough for you. I don't think I was all that brief, but I did try.
Thanks for reading.
Yes. I'm going to start sending letters to literary agents about my fantasy novel.
Do you want the story behind the story?
Do you realize I'm going to tell it either way?
I'll make it brief.
I started writing when I was eight. My third grade teacher had us write a story from a prompt in our spelling book. I think she was punishing us, but if that was the case, it's been the greatest punishment I've ever received. I haven't stopped writing since.
The novel I just finished has been in my belly since I was thirteen years old. I read Lloyd Alexander's Prydain series and decided right then and there that I was going to write fantasy. I could do it. And I did. Over and over and over and over and over...In my defense, I was a sheltered child who had no life experience and no real way of getting the help I really needed to get the book properly written until I was in college. That was where I met three people who placed me on the right path. Well...two of them did.
The first person I met was a poet. I know, a novelist being guided by a poet? It wasn't as strange as it
sounds. The poet helped me realize that what I wrote was valuable and that I, sheltered, inexperienced, and introverted as I was, was also valuable. I also took this teacher's poetry class (it was required) and learned that I am most certainly not a poet.
Imagine my shock when I took another writing class only to have the teacher (a novelist, even!) basically tell me that what I wrote was garbage and that I should only write about the things the teacher wanted me to write about. No fantasy. No sci-fi. Nothing but stories about being the person the teacher saw sitting in the classroom. I was to write about my personal experiences. My experiences being a Race. A Gender. A Midwesterner. A Religion. I had no stories of those things. I didn't consider them important. I considered myself more than the Labels placed on me. I ended up using scenes and scenarios from the fantasy novel I was writing and changing the genre and names just to get through the class. Why the issue with fantasy and sci-fi? The teacher simply disliked those genres. I still have yet to figure out what the teacher does like. I suspect the teacher isn't clear on it either or it changes with the moon phases. Needless to say, this teacher did more harm than good. But there was good.
Through the unhelpful teacher, I met one of the most helpful teachers I've ever had. I still don't know how we started to get along considering when I first met him, I thought he was a jerk. I took his class, read my first chapter to the class, and learned that everything I did was wrong. Every instinct, every word, every...everything was wrong. You'd think this would deter me and do harm, but instead of just telling me how wrong I was, this teacher actually took me under his wing and, despite my thick-headedness, stubborness, and general arrogance, taught me what I needed to know to get the novel in its current form written and finished.
I wish I could name names, but I'll be professional. The first teacher, the poet, is no longer with us. He died in May and I miss him every single day. The second teacher still skulks around the English department striking fear and frustration into the students who dare to write what things other than their Labels. I have to wonder how many great novels and short stories died horrible deaths under that tyranny. The third teacher has a blog on this very site and when I get his permission, I'll name him.
So here I am about to face that giant, fear, and get this fantasy novel up to snuff so I can share the the characters who have become my best friends and the world that is my second home.
I'll write about the novel itself in the next post. Well...it'll be very general.
I hope this was short enough for you. I don't think I was all that brief, but I did try.
Thanks for reading.
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