Attending Editors |
|
Angela Polidoro
|
Random House
|
Attending Agents |
|
Marissa Corvisiero
|
Corvisiero Literary Agency
|
Pandering, Christie Style
I’m willing to concede there’s admirable qualities in everyone, as I’m well aware that people are guided by their intrinsic values, which often color the decisions they make. Take the Executive Order by New Jersey Governor Chris Christie to fly the flag at half-staff today in honor of the cultural contributions that Newark native Whitney Huston has made to the state and to pop culture in general. “Whitney Houston’s vibrant and spectacular voice endeared her to countless fans in New Jersey, across the nation, and around the world,” the executive order read. “(She) left a legacy in this State that will be cherished for many years.” This writer here thinks it was a good call, as no doubt we’d do the same for any prominent Jerseyan, as was his retort to all those who criticize him for glorifying drug abuse. “Drug addition is a disease,” he shot back, to which I agree, and it’s truly a shame that someone such as Huston, with so much talent, had to fall victim to it. And while I applaud his maturity and insight, this particularly decision leaves me scratching my head at another.
Yesterday the New Jersey Assembly passed, along party lines, the Marriage Equality bill, that the Senate easily passed Monday. Amidst pleading from its supporters to make history, Gov. Christie promised a “swift” veto, proposing instead to let the voters decide with a vote this fall.
Hm…this fall. How convenient. Decide this issue on the day that voters will also be picking the next president, the day before the day that Gov. Christie is finally released from the stranglehold this Republican primary has had on his ability to govern for all New Jerseyans, not only for those who agree with the national Conservative agenda. The same national agenda that sparkles like a brass ring within the Governor’s reach, whispering Vice President Christie…Attorney General Christie…Christie, 2016… so loud it’s drowning out not only his common sense, but his common decency.
Equal protection under the law is not a right only for heterosexuals, but for everyone, the same basic human right that governed the Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and ’60s. Ask another prominent Republican, another Vice-President of a previous administration if he believes his gay daughter deserves the same basic civil rights as he. I believe his answer would be surprising. But then again, he’s no longer running for anything.
Trudy
UPDATE 6:35 PM – Gov. Chris Christie vetoes Marriage Equality Bill.
Valentine Smoochies!
What kind of Romance Writer would I be without acknowledging the day and sending out this lovely little Victorian Valentine to you? I just love where the man’s hands are strategically placed, and how artful he was in trying to cop a feel, causing her to fall swoony in his arms. Or was it all that tight corseting? Who knows. It’s the thought, of course, that counts.
Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your Sweetie!
Big smooch,
Trudy
A completely disgusting post! (which HAS to end up in my next book)
The picture to the left hardly does justice to the “incident” that occurred to me this morning as between classes, I innocently visited the Women’s Faculty bathroom. Without getting into specifics, there I was, doing what one does while visiting the Women’s Faculty bathroom, when all of a sudden the creature to the left–which I soon came to know as an inch-and-a-half long American Cockroach (though it seemed the size of a Greyhound Bus) skittered like a greased pig across the tile to stop and spin at my shoe. Let your imagination take flight while you picture me as I let out a screech and sprang to my feet still in the—well, anyway–thinking this THING was about to crawl up my pantleg, surely the closest dark spot it could find on that white tile floor. So there I was, stamping and yipping, when all of a sudden it spun around shot out of sight. Freaked, I resumed what I was doing and was just finishing when AGAIN the cockroach darted within vaulting proximity of my pantleg and yipping, I shot toward the sink, having but 1.5 seconds to wash my hands before the little $@%&er chased me right up to the door.
I’m scratching my scalp while I’m writing this if so gave me the creeps. Not to say that the Liberal Arts building is a cockroach spawning ground, but that drain in the middle of the bathroom had to be like its own private Turnpike direct to my trousers. But of all times, why would it have pick then, in that particular place to warm its little prehistoric exoskeleton? Maybe because this creepy-crawly scenario needs to be in a book of mine somewhere. Just goes to show, you never know when a new writing prompt will hit you. Or crawl up your pantleg.
Smooch,
Trudy
As if I should care it’s Charles Dickens’ birthday
Today is Charles Dickens’ birthday. The grand master is 200 years old, born at Landport in Portsea, England on 7 February 1812. The second of eight children of a clerk in the Navy Pay office, it is said his early childhood was idyllic, until his father’s living-beyond-his-means finally caught up with him, and Papa Dickens was shipped to Marshalsea debtor’s prison in Southwark, London, in 1824. What followed afterward, without getting into a retelling of his life story (sigh…if you truly need that, then go here), was a series of unfortunate as well as fortuitous events and circumstances which no doubt influenced his many novels which have never gone out of print. Generally considered in the English-speaking world as the greatest Victorian novelist, he enjoyed a celebrity far exceeding any writer during his own lifetime, and still remains wildly popular even into this day. But why, after so many years and with so many other influential writers floating around the litersphere should we give a doorknob about any of it?
Could it b because Old Boz still has a thing or two he can teach us?
Hm…I wonder. I remember back to high school when as a freshman I was forced to read Great Expectations. I must confess, I didn’t enjoy it, and this coming from a person who read two to three novels a week, including the complete Little Women series and all of the Bronte sisters novels. I don’t know what it was, maybe it was the convoluted character names, Pip and Pocket and Pumblechook, or his somewhat chauvinistic view or women, or those coincidences that always seem so much a part of the plot. In the end, outside of A Christmas Carol, I never read another Dickens book again. And never really pondered on what I was missing, as there were so many other authors out there–American ones such as Twain and Wharton as well as that English goddess, the divine Miss Austen–that enamored me so much more. But still, I knew there was some knowledge I could take away from Mr. Dickens.
Perhaps it took me until I was writing and selling books myself to figure it out. There’s a ton of value in how cleverly and eponymously you name your characters, that there’s something to be said for the cliffhanger ending (Dickens, who serialized many of his books by writing them episodically, was said to have caused near-riots at the bookstores when the latest chapters of his books came in, many avid readers even storming the docks as the ship arrived from England), and of course, self-promotion, as he used book tours and public readings, some of which featured popular actors of the day reading the parts, nearly up until the day he died.
So what do I glean from all this? That Mr. Dickens seemed to have written the book on so many of the strategies we writers take for granted today. That although these tactics now seem givens they’re so obvious, he was the one who invented them. But the funny thing about it is they still work, and that what was considered popular entertainment back then–as popular as the next installment of Downton Abbey is to today’s serial fans–Dickens’ work is now widely regarded as literature. Literature.
Maybe there’s hope for me yet.
Trudy
Oh boy! A day off! I can spend it writing!
The night before: I’ll have the house to myself all day, so I’ll get up at the crack of dawn and hit my desk by 6:00 AM. I’ll turn off my phone, ignore my email, and do nothing but write. Oooh! I love it when I can work in my jammies.
5:30 – Alarm rings. Roll over, hit snooze.
5:31 – Cat finds ball. Ignore tinkly bell and fall back asleep.
5:40 - Alarm rings again. Cat jumps on face. Swat at cat. Miss cat. Knock over alarm. Alarm stops by default. Pull pillow over head. Fall back to sleep.
5:44 – Dream of jingle bells.
5:49:58 – Cat pulls curtain and curtain rod from window, knocks alarm from night table.
5:50 – Alarm rings. Give up, get up and go to bathroom. Tinkly sound emanates from bedroom.
5:55 – Feed cat.
5:58 – Bowl of Cheerios and sliced banana. Get newspaper while cereal soggies.
6:03 – 6:14 – Front page, editorials, comics, horoscope. Take vitamins.
6:15 – 6:19 – “Morning Joe.”
6:20 – 6:47 – Switch to TCM while “Joe” is on a commercial break and become embroiled in pre-code Jean Harlow/Clark Gable rom-com until cat leaps into window at neighbor’s cat reminding you to look toward wall clock.
6:48 – Make cup of tea; visit bathroom while boiling, turning on laptop en route. Brush teeth. Spy book on back of toilet. Finish reading chapter started the night before.
6: 54 – Return book to back of toilet.
6:55 – Retrieve tea and head toward office.
6:56 – Visit several email accounts and return email, re: 3 student crises, web course designer, critique partner. Email agent. Sneak peek at Facebook, Twitter, check blog.
7: 18 - Bring up work-in-progress. Shrink work-in-progress. Bring up FreeCell. One therapeutic game to get brain functioning. Or two. Three. Four at the most.
7:39 – Bring up work-in-progress. Remember need to look up nautical term first. Shrink WIP; go online, homepage, CNN. Check if world blew up the night before. Switch to Google. Find term. Check FB really quick. Check email. Answer email. One more FreeCell. Return to WIP.
8:07 – Emergency email from critique partner; another rejection. Forestall imminent artistic self-thrashing and proceed to buck-up. Check outgoing email for errors, grammatical and toe-stepping. Email is replied to in less than a minute. Send another buck-up complete with happy emoticons. Check Twitter.
8:47 – Return to WIP. Stomach growls. Go to kitchen and make toast, toss cat teeth crunchy treats. Stare out window at trash truck across the lake as toast toasts. Remember forgot to put out trash. Run out door in robe. Return to smoke alarm blaring from toast stuck in toaster. Open windows. Toss toast. Fan.
9:05 – Return to office and WIP. Email from agent. Need info. Retrieve info and email. Return to WIP. See cat had jumped on keyboard and now there’s kmsadslvy]e0-vn’aey9-3 rya2932f all over page 78. 79. 80. 81———————
9:06 – 9:12 – Clean up WIP. Phone rings. Seems forgot to turn off phone.
9:13 – 9:51 – Chat and play solitaire.
9:52 – Return to WIP. Take sip of tea, notice it’s cold. Go to kitchen to reheat tea. While heating eat forkful of cold spaghetti from fridge. One more. Another. Mmmm….
9:58 – Return to office. Pick up hand weights. Lift. Throw out back. Lay on floor to stretch out. Cat jumps on stomach. Yelp. Swat at cat. Miss. Cat circles head, purring. Melt.
10:10 – Remember forgot tea in microwave. Go to kitchen to retrieve. Spy calendar and see it’s wrong day for trash on my street. Go to street to retrieve trash can so don’t look like an idiot. Return to kitchen and retrieve tea. Cold again. Check MSNBC on TV as tea reheats. Go to HBO during commercial break.
Noon – Get up to retrieve tea as credits roll for “Get Him to the Greek.” Dump tea; go to fridge and retrieve pot of spaghetti from fridge. Take to office, shrink WIP and go to Slate.com and read “Dear Prudence” while eating cold pasta with fingers. Phone rings. Still forgot to turn off. Chat while licking fingers.
12:49 – Find Lindt Dark Chocolate Truffle from Christmas stash in desk while rearranging desk tray while still on the phone. Eat, toss wrapper at trash. Miss.
12:50 – Cat finds missed wrapper. Grabs in mouth. Runs from room.
12:51 – Hear a crashing sound from bedroom. Ring off from phone call. Go to bedroom. Jewelry box and entire contents is now on floor, truffle wrapper on top. Scoop contents, return to box, return box to dresser. Toss wrapper. Cat missing. Eye bed, still unmade.
12:52 – Call day a wash. Return to bed. Bed never so comfortable…
12: 59 – Cat finds ball.
Trudy
Every Writer needs a Third Eye
I do a little line and copy editing for friends now and then, and I must admit, it’s something I actually find fun. Maybe it’s the academic in me, but I love snipping away at a manuscript, honing and sharpening, inserting the strong verb or perfect descriptor, shaping and fine-tuning it into the tightest prose possible. I firmly believe that every writer, no matter the level of expertise or years doing it, needs an independent eye to stand back and view the work objectively, as you can readily tell the ones who go it alone. I can’t tell you the authors I no longer read because their bestseller stature affords them a no-edit clause in their contracts. More often than not, their writing is hardly the sharply written prose it used to be, but instead rambling, wordy and often enough, just plain boring. I can think of one best-selling romance author whose books I used to buy as soon as they came out, no back-cover reading necessary. The last one I tried to finish three times, but it was so redundant and rambling every attempt ended with me hurling it against the wall. It sat on my shelf for two years before I finally gave up and donated it to the local high school’s book drive. I’ll probably never buy her again. Which is a shame, because she’s a great storyteller and with some editing, her books could’ve been wonderful again. The point of this is, of course, everyone needs an editor, as much as our writing ego bucks against it. If you’ve been writing for years and think you don’t, dahling, think again.
Case in point, this friend of mine whose short story I was giving a read-through this past weekend before she submitted it to her agent. A publisher was interested, but only if she lengthened it to novella. She had written it a few years back, before she won some awards and published three novels. She was pretty satisfied how the rewrite turned out, but she was still short in word count, so she asked me if I could suggest places where she might lengthen it. I said sure, offering to also give it a line-edit while I was at it. Since she’s a pretty experienced writer, I thought I’d have it done in a snap.
I was wrong.
By page four, each screen was so covered in edits and Track Changes suggestions I gave up. If I didn’t she’d either hate me or think I was trying to rewrite her book. Which I honestly wasn’t, as the plot was tight, and what was going on in the first scene piqued my interest. But it was so static, so removed, so telling and not showing it read like a laundry list and was, quite frankly, dull. The thing was it didn’t have to be, as this writer knows how to write it better, and has proved over and over she could do it. The thing was, she was working on an old manuscript, and quite methodically, allowed the logic of her less seasoned way of writing stand in the first scene, logic from before she had the benefit of an editor to draw out the more descriptive writer inside her. But as any experienced novelist knows, if you don’t make the first scene pop, you’re never going to get the reader – or the editor – to the next. And hers just wasn’t happening. To prove my point even further, I skipped ahead to a scene she had just added, which clipped along and sizzled with the passion I had long expected from her. But being so close to the work, she couldn’t see it. And understandably hit the roof when my wall-to-wall edits smacked her in the face.
Seeing that, it’s really easy to feel crushed, to declare yourself a terrible writer, to sink to the depths of suckidom. To swear up and down and four ways to Tuesday you’ll never write again. Period. But that’s such a copout, when really all you have to do is do the work. Writers think they write for their readers, but surprise! In the beginning, you’re really writing for your editor, as without that third eye, chances are, you’re never going to be good enough to get it out to your audience. We think we’re all fabulous because we have this scenario playing out in 3D in our heads and don’t realize what we leave out, because our brains are compensating for the omissions. But it takes an experienced editor to visualize those nuances and draw them out from the writer, making our work more complete and in the end, what we all want–salable.
Now get to work.
Trudy
January in my Jersey
Okay, I guess it’s pretty stupid of me to post this picture online knowing it’s like leaving a bag of money on a public bench. I bet it won’t be ten minutes before someone absconds with it. Oh go ahead; I don’t really care. I have a hundred more like them and besides, I also happen to have the real thing. This is what January looks like in my New Jersey, about two weeks ago, and at about four o’clock in the afternoon. The pink cast to the horizon, lingering just around the waterline, is absolutely breathtaking, and I’m sure there’s some scientific explanation to it, but this time of year it always seems to be there late in the afternoon. It’s even more luminous when you’re looking at it in person. I like to go to the shore this time of year as it’s so quiet and unsullied the nature can’t help but inspire you. So what do I do? I go back to the house–which is decidedly NOT suitable for winter (no matter how much insulation there is!)–and hole up to write. Now why should I do that when there’s empty beach, rolling waves and shorebirds you never see in the summer? Because it’s derriere-kickin’ COLD out there in all that landscape! Quick! bring on the hot toddies! I need to codicil this with some liquid inspiration!
Here’s another. Feel free to steal for your wallpaper.
Trudy
My State of the Union Wishlist
This evening I head off to a local hotel for a State of the Union Watch Party with the county Democratic Committee. They’ll be food and drink (and a cash bar, darn, but at least they’ll BE one!), and no doubt, a lot of schmooze. Just the kind of chew ‘n chat that I’ve been craving for a good while now, after feeling a bit bereft amid all the GOP hoohah going on. Seems like you can’t turn on a TV or open the homepage without being greeted by a new accusatory revelation from the current GOP Savior of the Week. And now with Newt and Mitt running neck and neck, the fur’s really flying, each flinging so much vitriol I’m half thinking their next accusation will be the other lunches on small children. I can’t wait for the day when the primary’s over and these two snuggle up to each other just like two partisian peas in a pod, as if history’s proved anything, it’s that it’s a cardinal sin in the Republican Party to be contrary. Just ask John Boehner. That man’s had more smackdowns than Wladimir Klitschko’s punching bag. But I digress…
As a liberal, I must say there are a few things that I’d like to hear in President Obama’s speech tonight, things that have been on the back burner for too long now. As an educator and a member of the fading middle class, I’d like to see an increase in Pell Grants and a new push for the Jobs program, some of the budget to go for infrastructure repair (aided by steel forged in the U.S. and not China) funded by more decreases in military spending, and a new push toward universal health care, maybe even using Romneycare as an example. Instead of the scientific de-evolution the GOP seems bent on, I’d like to see a reawakening in the study of climate change, new energy, medicine, information and all forms of research and development, so the U.S. once again leads the world in technology. And if we’re going to give tax breaks to anyone it should be the ones who are actually creating something, be it products or jobs, and not to the ones simply making money off of money.
Just a few simple requests. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Sure, the United States is the land of opportunity, and we should have the freedom to pursue it. But that should include every one of us, and not only the ones who can pay to play atop the field.
Trudy
Writing the Dread Query – Revisited
Reblogged from Trudy Doyle – Romance Writer Deluxe:
Although they’ve been known to give the most seasoned of writers the yips, the fact remains if you want to be published, sooner or later, you’re going to have to write a Query Letter. Now don’t get your knickers in a twist–they really aren’t that horrid, as long as you follow these few easy steps. I had initially posted this info last summer but I think it bears repeating, and with a few updates to bring us up to speed… First, some preliminaries… First and foremost, a query is a business letter. …
Worth repeating…again.
