What! Another YA novelist!

Of course I've said that a million times.  But I think I really have it figured out this time!  Honest!

I started cutting out the mini-story AGAIN the other day.  But once again, some parts refused to come out.  But I did manage to cut a lot of it.  Finally realized that what I needed to do was cut the extraneous parts.  Some of the mini-story felt organic to the book, so I left those in.  They seem to highlight high moments, I've noticed.  And also those parts feel like they have a lot of heart behind them.  There were a few good bits I had to cut, though, esp. the cool stuff with the snakes.  But they didn't fit into the text as well, and now that they're out, the text goes on fine without them.

But I really liked the part with the snakes!  Maybe I'll post them in here so you all can see what you will be missing.

Feeling good about revisions.  I actually feel like I have a solid book at last, and that I will have representation this year.  What a relief!  I thought I'd never get this dang story right!

 My kid's first grade class all got interviewed for the Sunday paper on what makes their mother the best.  Here's what my kid had to say:

"She likes cows.  She does a lot of sale books.  She works on her story a little bit at break.  I think she has 100 pages of sale book.  It's something you do and just work on the paper every time.  She pretty much works all the time.  She works on cards for Brain Bowl in Savannah.  On weekends, she stays home and works on her sale book.  When she's done she works on them again."

I was going, oh boy, am I going to get ribbed at work for that!

(I already have been, in fact.)

If you don't know what I do, there's a pretty good explanation right here.

I couldn't figure out the "cards for Brain Bowl," though, so this morning I asked her.

"I was talking about that," she said, pointing at the little stacks of index cards around my Dante book on the kitchen table.

Oh!  That made sense.  Because I keep calling Mr. Luce, the Brain Bowl coach who's also a history teacher, when I get confounded by historical research and index cards in general.

So that made for an interesting Mother's Day surprise!

 I talked to a nice agent recently and I thought my life was a soap opera.  But no!

Her agency keeps getting queries, many many queries. 

So she's trying to get through them.  Then her contacts lenses weren't working right.   Naturally that's when BOTH pairs of her back-up glasses BROKE ... so she couldn't read anything at all!

Then she broke a tooth and had to spend the next day in the dentist's office.

The next day, one of her coworkers had something really crappy happen, and so there was general panicked running around regarding that.

And through it all, the queries keep coming in, and they are piled all around the office, and if you open the office door all these queries come pouring out and you kind of have to swim through them.  

(Not her words exactly, but any of you who have had a mega-messy desk have a small idea what it's like.)

And the stress will never ever end!  Because those queries keep coming in!

*The Moral of the Story Is...*

So if the agent doesn't get back with you ... imagine them being hit with regular life soap-opera crap.  Only without all the hunky guys and hot lovin.  

Apparently when Dante was born, poetry in Florence was well established.  People wrote poems the way we'd write letters to the editor, or write a book review, or the way we send greeting cards, or just to give people a hard time.  Thusly:

When God created Master Messerin,
The whole world cried: "Behold a miracle!
He's bird and beast and he is man as well.  
Something of each to making him went in."

His neck is like a duck's, long, tough, and thin.
Like a giraffe's his long and slanting back.
But all too human is they say, (alack)
His simpering face, in color cramoisie.  (Okay, the translator was really reaching for that word.)

In singing, he's melodious as a crow.
In intellect, a poor dumb animal.  
But lo, he wears the clothing of a man.
When the Lord made him, the results were small.

In fact, I think He shaped him but to show 
That what the Lord God wants to do, he can.

--Rustico di Filippo (a Ghibelline aristocrat)

After a weekend in Omaha (we had fun and many books were bought), I'm getting back to work again, taking notes from Dante and His World by Thomas Caldecot Chubb (where I got the poem above).  Last week I was on page 35; today so far I've made it to page 45.  Whoo-hoo!  250 pages to go!

Gaah.

And then yesterday, as I was going through my notecards (I'm up to page 35!) I got an email from Michelle Andelman, one of the agents I've been waiting on.  

Oh, crap, I thought, phone call is good.  Email ... not so good.

And she said ...

Dear Melinda,

1)  Get a lot of tiny index cards.

2)  Get tons of really, really big books that you want to read.

3)  Start at the beginning of one book, and when you see a fact, write it down on an index card.  One fact per card.

4)  Discover that this method is slow as doggammed molasses.  

5)  Flail.

Actually, as slow as this is, it does have its advantages.  I'm forced to really slow down and steep in the things I'm writing down.  Usually I read at 1,290 miles an hour, so obviously I skim a lot -- not good if you really want to get into a time period that is way in the past.  The cards make me slow down and really digest stuff, and that's very helpful.

Also, it keeps me organized.  Every time I start a new book, I write down the biblographic information on one of my Master Cards in the front.  Then at the top of each index card, I write the author's name, the page number, and the subject of the fact on the card: "Bridges" or "Money" or "Family" or "Toilets."  (Swear to God I have five cards with that title.)  Then the fact.

But there is one subject in which these cards would drive me perfectly insane, and that's in the historical aspect.  To save myself unrelenting heartache and misery, I just type history stuff, by year, directly into the computer.  I need to figure out ways to use citations in the text, though, so if I want more information about a particular event, I'll know where to go to find it. 

Mr. Luce (the history teacher who's helping me get organized) also suggested that I write an outline to cover all the areas that I want to research.  Then, when I get enough index cards to start putting in stacks, by subject, on the kitchen table, I can look at the card stacks, then look at my outline, and think, "Oh, I need to get more information on this and this and this."  That way you cover all the bases.

The outline will change as I gather index cards.  Luce says that it's inevitable.  I was thinking, huh, just like a rough draft!  

I have a shoebox on the kitchen counter where I'm keeping my cards, since they outgrew that little index card box pretty quickly!  I'm thinking that once I fill the shoebox up pretty well, I'll make my stacks, then put them back in the shoebox with dividers, with specific subjects written on them, so I can say, "I need stuff about toilets!" and I know which section to look through.

Whew, I tired myself out just writing all that.

I'm trying to work my way through an 800-page book right now (Dante and His World by Thomas Caldecot Chubb).  The good news is that I can stop taking intensive notes about page 309, and then I plan to just read the rest of it, and take an occasional note along the way.  The bad news is that I worked on this book on Saturday and Sunday ... and I'm just up to page 26.  

OH boy.

 1)  One time Dante was traveling through Florence wearing armor to protect his throat and arm -- not surprising, because he was a soldier in his youth.  He saw a donkey driver transporting garbage, "who was going along behind the donkeys singing the book of Dante, and when he had sung for a bit, he hit the donkey and said 'Arri (Giddyup).'  Dante dealt him a forceful blow on the shoulder with his mailed fist, saying, 'I didn't put that Arri in there.'"

2)  When Dante was passing through the Porta San Piero, he "heard a blacksmith singing as he beat the iron on his anvil.  What he sang was from Dante, and he did it as if it were a (popular) ballad, jumbling the verses together, and mangling and altering them in a way that was a great offence to Dante.  He said nothing, however, but went into the blacksmith's shop" and started throwing his tools of the trade into the street: the hammer, the pincers, the scales.  The blacksmith cried, 'What the devil are you doing?'  Dante said, 'If you do not want to have me spoil your things, don't spoil mine.  You sing out of my book, but not as I wrote it; I have no other trade, and you spoil it.'  The blacksmith, vexed, gathered up his tools, and thereafter stuck to singing songs about Tristan and Lancelot.

   *grr!* said the old crabby Florentine.

--So that's why I keep saying that if I do badly with this book, Dante is going to come back and kick my ass.

Any questions?

1) from A Day in a Medieval City by Chiara Frugoni and Arsenio Frugoni
2) both stories are originally from Franco Sacchetti's Novelle.

 

From Yahoo News:

"Obama was forced onto the defensive by incendiary comments by his pastor, Rev. Jeremiah Wright, then triggered controversy on his own by saying small-town Americans cling to guns and religion because of their economic hardships."

... But, dude.  Your pastor's right. 

Also we like to go skeet shooting after the church potluck dinner.

*silliness quota is now exceeded*

 It is way past my bedtime.  So good night! 

 

I opened up the mailbox tonight, and under all the mail was peeking the edge of an envelope I recognized.  "Aw, man!" I said, and started to laugh.  My Symphonians MS had come back home.

So I brought it in and opened it up.  Janine had written a short note:

Your revised Symphonians is stronger, but unfortunately, I have decided to pass on it.  Ultimately, something is still not quite working for me here, and I am at a loss of what to suggest to help fix things.  I think you might simply need another editor's fresh take on things.  I'm sorry to disappoint, especially after all this time, and I wish you better luck elsewhere.  Thank you for your patience!  Regrets and best wishes.

"Well, bummer," I said, cutting the stamps off the envelope.  And NOW what?  Do I put it in a drawer and let it sit for a while?  The more I thought about my story, the awfuller it seemed.  There was a lot of work I needed to do on it ... for instance, all those chapters I'd shoehorned in that were pretty crappy.  Hm.

But then I looked at the MS, and the story wasn't quite as awful as I'd remembered.  Though that first chapter wasn't doing a blessed thing for me anymore.  But there were good bits in there.  Symphonians was still submission-worthy, though I need to work on those clunky chapters a bit.

So I'm back in the editor game. 

The two agents still have the full MS (Jennifer told me to call her back at the end of April ... she's been really, really swamped), so I have that going for me.  I need to contact the other agents that I've sent queries to, those who haven't gotten back with me, and see what they're up to.  Then I need to step up the agent search.

Before I do anything else, though, I need to do dishes and laundry.  Arrgh.

I didn't know they'd done this.  But all I have to say is, hooray for forensic science!

 Q: Dear Garden Boss, My neighbors are constantly peeking into my backyard to offer a running commentary on the dismal state of my garden.  What can I do to make this stop?

Oh!  It has already begun!  Never mind.

missrodeo, bless her heart, is a Hamline student and I have been picking her brain about all kinds of cool Hamline stuff. 

But then the topic turned to the work of the semester.

She told me that the faculty advisors, in general, prefer that the student start a NEW PROJECT. 

Oh, my, that shook me up.  Because that could mean, for me, only one thing.

I HAVE TO WORK ON THE DANTE NOVEL.

Oh crap! 

I am scared to death! 

This is a retelling of Dante's Vita Nuova I've been thinking about for years.  It's a historical fantasy that starts with an assassination and ends with half the city burning down, so it should be a blast.

Except I need to order books on Florence in the 1200's!

And do scholarly research on The Man! 

And write the awesomest book in the world or else Dante himself is going to return from the dead for the sole purpose of kicking my ass! 

I am in trouble.

I am going to do it, because it's the scary projects that will teach you the most.  But oh.  My.  God.  I figured I could put this off another five years or so.  And now I have a zillion tons of research to do in three months!  Also, I must do scholarship searches because I like free money.

Then again, this is what I'm going to Hamline for, right?  It's time I challenged myself, really go out on the edge, because the edge is where things happen.  It's time I became the novelist I've always wanted to be! 

Eek!

Okay, let's go.

I seem to be 37.  I'm not sure how the hell that happened.  I just woke up this morning, and bam, I was 37.  

I did get a new journal -- a nice one this time instead of the usual "I have this notebook that I pretend isn't a journal so nobody takes it, and also it's handy if I need to tear pages out of it or give it to my kid to draw in" journal.  It's small with black covers and a little band to hold it shut.  The problem is that I feel like I should be using a Parker pen to write in it, and that I should really tidy up my handwriting to write in this thing, and that if I'm going to be writing in it, I should write something worthwhile instead of my usual "I will write until an actual thought shows up" kind of babble.  

But I scrawl random stuff anyway.  When have I ever let a sense of pretention stop me from doing anything, anyway?

I still haven't done a lick of writing on the raccoon novel, not since March 16th.  Though I did finally finish up that earthworm article and I did about an hour's worth of writing work for Ecolage (if you live in the south you really ought to buy plants off this website!) and have been doing scholarship searches.  

Not to mention all the heck and angst that has been going on -- when we were leaving the hospital on Tuesday (Mom's bypass went fine, btw), my clutch went out, and we had to take the pickup to THREE DIFFERENT PLACES before we found somebody who could overhaul the transmission, which cost $919.08, and I was stuck with my husband driving me from place to place, and also checking up on Dad to help him out and fixing him huge breakfasts.

But all that craziness is over, I hope.  I'm in Hamline so I can concentrate on getting ready for that.  Mom's back home again and Dad is helping her out and she can be sure he is taking his pills and eating.  We got the truck back last night and it drives just fine except for the clutch being pretty stiff, but it's good exercise for my left leg, so what the hey.  Things are finally starting to settle down at work.  

So I'm hoping we're out of the woods as far as heck and angst goes, and maybe I can get back to writing again.  Well, I'd better if I'm going to turn this MS in to my teacher at Hamline in three months.  Oh crap!  Time to freak out again!

 Just so you-all know ....

I've been accepted to Hamline!  I'm going to start my MFA for writing for children at last, after years and years of wanting and wanting!!

I guess that application essay that had been kicking my ass wasn't as god-awful as I had thought.

Now the adventure begins. 

What's even better is that 20 years ago today, I fell in love with the man who is now my husband.  So this date is memorable in more ways than one.

*quiet but happy celebration* 

I gaacked this from carriejones  . Too bad I don't know who half of these people are!

 

One of my critique buddies, who sent her MS to FSG about the same time I sent mine, got a "No" last week.  Which was sad, because she has an awesome story.  

But then I started thinking, "Well, that might mean that my MS is UP NEXT."

And I thought, "You'd better stop thinking about that right now or your head might explode."

Though I wouldn't mind my head exploding if I could find out how my novel is doing.

But the norm has been April or May, so I intend to be good and wait until at least my b'day to drop her a line.  That's April 2!  It's not that long a wait!  

Waiting on editor, waiting on two agents, waiting on Hamline application stuff.  Waiting for Godot.  He'd better show.

And lately I haven't been feeling well.  Stress from work, and then general life issues: Mom is getting a quadruple bypass next Tuesday, and Dad is in the early stages of dementia, so we have to check in on him while Mom's in the hospital for seven days or so.  At home, half of our major appliances have blown up, shut down, or leaked like gangbusters since the December ice storm!  Not to mention lots of other things!  Help! 

I get the feeling that my life is being turned into a reality show someplace, with all the general hell and monkey wrenches being thrown into the works.

On the bright side, I have been going through Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass and writing down ideas for both novels.  It's been yielding some interesting stuff.  So I'll keep digging.

Outside the bedroom window screameth the blue jay.

Blue jay: Jay! Jay! Jay!

I lift up the sash to see what is the matter.

The blue jay lands in the garden where I throw my eggshells and looks around.

Blue jay: Jay! Jay!

(translation:  Dude!  I have found this totally awesome eggshell!)

He picks one up in his beak and flies into the maple tree and prepares to break it up.

Blue jay: No!  Not this tree!

He flies into the next one. 

Blue jay: No!  Not this tree!

He flies into the next one. 

Blue jay: No!  Not this tree!

He flies into the next one. 

Blue jay: No!  Not this tree!


He flies into the next one. 

Blue jay: No!  Not this tree!


Pretty soon he's out of sight.

Thus endeth my morning with blue jay. 

 It is amazing how much more HUMAN I feel now that I have finally had time to revise 10 pages in a row!  

Oh, story, I have missed you!  Alas!  

Now I want MORE MORE MORE.  

Of course, I will start wanting less once I start banging my head against the keyboard again.  But hey.  Enjoy it while it lasts, for soon the whining will start.

Well.  Bye.

Everybody else is doing it and I want to join in.  Here's a bit from the middle of Symphonians.

When they’d finished, the conductor talked while I clutched my bass. If I'd played clarinet or flute, I wouldn't have made the cut. I would not have been close.