Personal Narrative

2018 goals update
Books read: 21
Words on LIBRARIUM: 3000/?--5000 maximum (this is more impressive when you consider that I started this week by cutting about 200 words from the story).

It's been a hectic couple of weeks.

I've been trying for the past few months to find a different day job. Adjuncting is stressful and not particularly lucrative, and the balance between how many classes I have to teach to pay my bills and how many classes I can teach effectively...doesn't really work out in my favor. I spruced up my resume and went on the hunt for new work. I finally found it, but some of the advice that I found along the way stuck with me.

I'm in a query mindset--CANUS is so close (*so close*) to being ready to go, so I'm trying to put together a great pitch letter. I'm finding that it's really not unlike looking for a job.

 

The specific piece of advice that's sticking with me is this: your resume should tell a story. Whatever your work has been, you should be able to frame your work history as a story of what you want to achieve and how you hope to achieve it.

This is... complicated.

My work history doesn't make a lot of sense. I've gone from radio and television, to academics, to administration without much of a plan. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Well, I do, but there's not really a set path that leads to "financially independent author." My strategy has always sort of been "do what I have to so I can do what I want to." Helpful for keeping up with writing, but not great for presenting as a purposeful narrative to a potential employer.

You find ways, though. Tying something you witnessed in radio and TV to an academic curiosity; demonstrating the way that teaching experiences prepare you to deal with deadlines and crises in administrating. But it takes some mental acrobatics.

One of the elements in a query is the bio: just a few sentences that give the agent a sense of who you are, what you'd be like to work with, and what business you have telling this particular story.

It's that last part that trips me up--for the same reason as the "your resume should be a narrative" advice. CANUS takes place in the distant future. And in space. With alien species. How can I draw a line from that to my teaching job? How does my experience make me "uniquely qualified" to tell this particular story?

I get why it's important, obviously. You bring yourself to every story that you write. Who you are and what you've experienced shape what stories you tell and how you tell them. But those lines can be tough to draw. Especially when you're writing genre fiction.

There's nothing in my work history that ties to space travel, and I've never met an alien species. But I have studied the way that economic relationships shape power structures. I've studied the ways that access to particular technologies can change daily life and who gets the final say in a conversation over the direction of resources. I've studied relationships between colonized and colonizers. And all of that comes with me to my story, my world, and my characters.

Sometimes it's hard to see how the threads of your own story tie together--even when you spend a considerable amount of your time weaving together the stories of others. But once you see the connection, you can point it out to others. And you can go into your own work knowing why you should tell the story; what you can give that someone else can't.

Small Press FAQ

2018 Goal Update
* Chapters left to revise: 1 (so close!)
* Books read: 15
* Words on LIBRARIUM: 1678/? (5000 maximum)

Last week, I signed my latest publishing contract, so I can officially announce that my story, THE LADY OR THE DAGGER will be included in the MATA HARI: THE EYE OF DAWN anthology coming soon from Pro Se Productions.

More details as they arrive

THE LADY OR THE DAGGER marks my third contract with a small press (and a fourth is on the way), so while I wouldn't call publishing old hat for me yet, I think I can reasonably be considered experienced in the realm of working with small presses. I sometimes get questions from other writers considering submitting work or pitches to small presses. Everyone's questions are different, but there are a few topics that come up pretty regularly. So, consider this my Small Press FAQ.

Contracts

Every press is going to have a different contract boilerplate, but there are a few things that you should be sure are present in your contract:

• Rights: print, electronic, and (if applicable) audio. The contract to clarify what type of rights the publisher is seeking. Usually, this is going to be first rights for the various media, meaning that the publisher is the only one that can produce the work until the contract expires or after a specific period of time dictated by the publisher (when this will occur varies based on publisher, but most will not ask for "life of the work" rights--they'll establish rights for a number of years with the option for continuing and renegotiating). This section should also spell out what rights the author retains--things like copyright, which the author should always retain.

• Publisher obligations: things like the publisher's responsibilities regarding cover art, editing, binding, marketing, and other aspects of production. This part spells out what the publisher is going to do for you. Do they have in-house artists and designers that they contract for cover art? How many editing passes are they willing to do with an individual work? What is their timeline for publication (this will usually be framed as a tentative timeline--sometimes things come up that slow the process)? To what degree will the publisher aid in marketing the work?

• Royalties: the percentage of sales that go back to the author--how much money you make per unit sold. This is not the same thing as an advance, but I'll get into that later. This will usually be presented as a percentage of the profit. Sometimes the publisher will offer a percentage of every unit sold; sometimes they'll specify that the royalties are a percentage of the profits. The only real difference is that one delays payment until production cost is met. This section should also spell out when  and how payment will be received.

• Buyout and Cancellation terms: if either party wants to exit the contract, what is the procedure for doing so? This will spell out what is expected of the author if they want to get out of the contract. Usually, this will involve some kind of payment to offset the cost the publisher took on in production. It should set up what you get to keep--can you use the cover art that was created, for instance? Likewise, this section will spell out under what conditions the publisher can exit the contract. Things like failure to produce the manuscript in a timely manner may be listed as cause for the publisher to revoke the contract.

• Miscellaneous: There are some other odds and ends that may be present in some contracts. For shorter fiction, there might be clauses about the publisher's ability to include the work in other collections. Most will spell out what non-royalty goodies the author gets--things like free or reduced-price copies of the work--or what expectations there are regarding conferences and author events.

Small Press vs. Traditional Publishing

 One of the main things I get asked about working with small presses is how does it compare to traditional publishing with big house publishers. There's only so much I can answer about this, honestly, since I haven't published anything with a major publisher, but there are a few comparisons to make.

• Agents: While small presses allow authors to submit their work for themselves, larger publishing houses often require that work be submitted via a literary agent. There are some exceptions: Tor, for instance, allows unagented submissions. Most major publishers, though won't take submissions direct from an author. Not everyone is interested in signing with a literary agent. If you don't want to go through the querying process and seek out an agent, then small presses will probably work better for you. Or, if you want to build up your resume to make yourself more appealing to an agent, you might consider working with small presses first.

• Advances vs. Royalties: Small presses usually don't offer advances. The author makes money based on sales without getting any payment upfront. This is because small presses usually don't have the funds to risk on advance payments. Major presses, though, offer advances of varying sizes based on how well they think the work will sell. The author gets to keep the advance even if the book doesn't meet sales expectations, but no royalties are earned until the sales cover the production costs and the amount of the advance. Major publishers can do this because they will typically have a few books that will be major sellers--think like a tentpole blockbuster from a movie studio that covers its own cost as well as the cost of a few smaller, less profitable movies. Small presses are less likely to have those runaway bestsellers, so they prefer to pay out as sales roll in.

• Distribution: Where will your book be on shelves? Small presses tend to lean more on digital platforms. Usually, you'll be able to find your book through online retailers--Amazon, Smashwords, etc. Sometimes you'll be able to find your work on the online versions of some of the big box stores. What's less likely to happen, unless your sales are fantastic, is for you to see your book on physical shelves in major retailers. Small presses typically don't have the power to make deals with major retailers. Major publishers, though, do. Publishing through a large house drastically increases the likelihood of your book being available in chain bookstores, where it's a little easier for potential readers to stumble across it.

• Marketing: With small presses, the weight of marketing falls largely on the author's shoulders. Marketing is expensive, and there's usually not enough money for small presses to pay for major marketing campaigns for each book, though they will frequently offer resources that authors can make use of to market themselves and their books--lists of events, group ad buys, and the like. Major publishers don't always throw a ton of money at marketing for each book, but there's generally more money available for marketing. The author still bears significant responsibility for advertising their own work, but the major publishing house is still a powerful ally to have in the author's corner.

Small Presses vs. Self-Publishing

Most of what small presses vs. self-publishing boils down to is the question of how much of the work the author wants to do or is able to do themselves. Small presses offer aid in cover design, formatting, editing and some help in the arenas of marketing and distribution. With self-publishing, the author takes on all the work and all of the expense of preparing, publishing, and selling a book. That's a lot to take on, and the monetary cost can get pretty high pretty quickly. But the author also gets all of the money from the sales. If the sales are high enough, they might make more money than they would with a publishing contract. Whether self-publishing works better than publishing with small presses is really a matter of cost-benefit analysis on the author's part.

Navigating publishing is complicated no matter which path you take, but I hope this post has answered some questions for those trying to decide which method will work best for their writing.

Reflection

This year has been a strange one for writing. In 2017, my workload at my three day jobs was heavier than it has ever been-- teaching six courses across three campuses is no joke. Some health issues that had been pretty well in hand flared up worse than they ever have. And the general social-political climate has been a dumpster fire. I laid plans for what I wanted to accomplish this year, but most of them have had to be set aside or reworked, for better or worse.

But, even amid the chaos, 2017 has been a productive year. My single shot "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" finally hit digital shelves. My Mata Hari short story got picked up for an anthology, and final proofs are in. I sold a 20k word novella to a publisher, and it should be out sometime in 2018. MY writing group published our short story anthology. Most of these things weren't part of the plan, but I'm chalking them up as successes anyway.

If I really sit and think about it, I probably made at least as much progress this year as last year. I got words on the page and honed my revision skills. I (mostly) kept writing a habit--not writing every day, but writing more days than not, which is in the end the best I can ask for considering my schedule. I finished the things I started.  I met my deadlines, if only just. But 2017's progress looks very different from 2016's.

Last year was all about getting a novel first draft to completion. The words that I put down in 2016 were all aimed at getting a solid draft one of Project 2016 pinned down. This year has lacked that single-minded focus, at least until the last couple of months. I suppose 2017 was an exploration in shorter fiction. Most of this year's output was on the shorter end. I completed three projects this year: the 20K novella, the 12K Mata Hari story, and the 5K story for the writing group anthology--this compared to the 85K of words initially written for Project 2016 last year.

It exercises a different part of my brain to write shorter fiction. I'm able to be a little more experimental. Even though I still like going in with a plan, I usually don't have solid outlines for shorter work. I take my pitch and pin down a few specific plot points or set pieces from there and pants my way through. More often than not, I end up having to go in a direction that I didn't anticipate (usually because I forgot to include some aspect from the pitch until way late). This practice in rolling with the punches has been helpful in the Project 2016 revision process--but more on that later.

This year also marks the first time I've written characters that I didn't create--outside of fanfiction, that is. It's an interesting challenge to mold how you approach a character to the expectations of someone else. I'm not sure I always did it successfully, but writing with a set of restraints has made me more aware of how well I'm sticking to the established code for a character.

I wrote some new work this year, but if I really had to say what the biggest writing challenge for 2017 has been, I'd say it was revision. Project 2016 has seen a pretty serious overhaul this year, starting in October after a first-ten-pages review through Manuscript Academy (I cannot recommend this site enough--I've gotten so much valuable insight through using it). This led to a restructuring of chapter 1, which led me to seek out a critique partner. Author Wendy Heard manages a great service for writers seeking a critique partner: someone with a similar level of experience who writes in similar categories who will look through your entire manuscript to help you figure out what aspects need fixing. You just fill out the google form in the link above, and she and her partners find a match for you. I found a great CP through this (shout out to Colleen!) who's helped me make Project 2016 a stronger piece.

I'm not new to revising. This isn't even close to the first round of revisions that Project 2016 has been through. But where I've struggled in the past is the depth of revisions. I'm really good at making cosmetic changes--adding a new coat of paint, essentially. Most of the time, though, the revisions that I really need to make are more structural--not just sprucing up the surface, but changing something in the foundation. That roll-with-the-punches skill I talked about developing with short fiction has been essential here. There have been sections that have had to undergo blank-page rewrites: I've had to scrap whole scenes, sometimes whole chapters, and write them again from scratch. It's the hardest work I've ever done, and I'm not always happy about doing it, but there's no arguing with the results.

I've also figured out my process for dealing with critique. It's a weird thing--I know my work isn't perfect. I even know that it has serious flaws in some places. But I don't like someone pointing the flaws out, even though that's the whole point of having a critique partner. I've gotten really upset about some of the revisions that have been suggested. I've griped and moaned and complained. And then I've soldiered on.

What usually happens is that I take an initial look at the comments. I get mad and huffy. I complain. But I don't cross any of the comments out. I leave them and come back, usually after a day or two. Then I'm able to take a step back and ask some questions. Did I bump against this because I don't want to do all the work it would require? Did my CP miss a small item earlier in the chapter/story and how much of that is quick reading or gaps between seeing chapters and how much of it is a hint that I didn't drop well enough? Does this comment indicate that I didn't describe what was going on with a character well enough? Does this suggestion go against the planned thread of the story, and does that suggest that I didn't set up something well enough earlier?

More often than not, I end up making the suggested changes, at least in part. One of my most common conclusions is something like, "Yeah, okay, this is a problem, but that's not the solution I want to go with." It's been a lot of work. A LOT of work, and I'm just over halfway done. But the work's been worth it. When I sent in my first 50 pages for an agent critique, the comments were overwhelmingly positive. Even if they did lead to (another) rewrite of chapter 1.

I feel like I've done so much work this year, but it also seems like I've had less to show for it. In 2016, my first novel was published, and it was a big deal. I've seen two projects through to publication in 2017, and I'm relatively proud of both--I'd argue that both are better written than my first novel, at least. But I've watched some of my fellow writers outpace me, publish two or three books in the time it's taken me to get to a point where I'm ready to move forward with this one. It's not a race, I know, and my work will ultimately benefit from the time I've taken with it. Still, 2017 has left me feeling a little stuck in the mud.

The year's almost over, and there's still work to be done. I hope to be query-ready in early 2018. Once Project 2016 is querying, I'm ready to start something new. I'd like to finish an alpha draft of my next book in 2018, and I know I'll have a few shorter pieces that'll need writing. Maybe next year I'll be able to find a better balance. Either way, the writing's not done. It never will be.

Light at the End

November turned out to be productive, but not as productive as I wanted. The novella is finished--or at least the first draft has been turned in to the publisher. The Downtown Writers anthology is out (you can get it here; proceeds go to the library). Revisions on Project 2016 are moving along, though it's slower going than I'd like. I plan to have revisions finished by the end of the year so that I can start querying again in January.

And also get started on my next manuscript. As much as I love Project 2016, I am ready for a change of pace.

This means I have quite a bit of work ahead of me. We're talking roughly three weeks to complete revisions on thirteen chapters, some of which have to be rewritten from scratch. Which means that I won't be able to devote the time to write the type of lengthy process posts that are the main content for this blog.

I'm not going completely silent, though. I'll take the weekends of Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve off, but there will be new posts the next two weeks.

It's December, which means the time is right for some year-end wrap-ups. Next week, I'll write about my five favorite reads of 2017. I had the chance to do a lot more reading this year than last and read things by authors I'd never read before, so I'm looking forward to delving into what books stole my heart this year and why.

After that, I'll have a post about my year in writing. There were some pretty big moments for me this year. Hopefully, I'll be able to announce some upcoming work. Even outside of publication, this was a big year for me as a writer. I did some good work, took some new chances, and became part of a larger writing community in ways I really hadn't been brave enough to before. I'll be looking back over what successes I had and trying to pin down the areas where I still need improvement.

For now, though, I have to get back to the grind. After all, the year's not over yet, and there's still so much to do.

ALAWW

Normally my Fridays are spent in my office grading papers, doing course prep, meeting with students, and doing other generic academic grunt work.

But this week I took a day off--from academic work, at least.

As I mentioned in last week's post, I signed up for the Alabama Writing Workshop. The meeting was Friday, so I rescheduled my office hours and, instead of spending the day on campus, I spent it at a hotel in Birmingham, schmoozing with other writers and meeting industry professionals.

I'm a nervous person in general. My anxiety brain never stops coming up with potential scenarios for disaster--which can be great for writing, but is considerably less great when it comes to trying to make a good first impression. I spent a pretty significant portion of the day reminding myself that the goal was to learn more and if that was all I accomplished that would be a victory. I also spent a pretty significant portion of the day reminding myself that I had to do things like breathe and blink and maybe drink some water. My hands shook when I met new people. I tripped over my words and stuttered.

It was awesome.

As someone who's spent the better part of fifteen years trying to make something of my ambitions to write professionally and to get my stories out into the world, I went in with a solid body of background knowledge. I knew about some of the resources mention (I've actually plugged some of them in different blog posts--I'll go back through and make a full list to post soon). I had done a fair bit of the recommended prep work. But even at that, hearing the professionals name check the resources I've been using was encouraging. I frequently feel--and I imagine other writers in positions similar to mine also feel--like I'm treading water. Now, though, I've got a sense that I'm at least treading the right water.

The seminars were led by agents and editors. They dealt with topic ranging from seeking out representation for work, improving writing, making use of social media, and what happens after a book deal is signed. It was a ton of information, and I took pages of notes (and, thankfully, the speakers provided outlines and resources for their talks, so I should be able to review and find what I inevitably missed). And those were just the talks.

The session that met right after lunch was, to me, one of the most informative. It wasn't so much a talk as it was a review. Attendees were told they could bring copies of their first page (sans names, of course) and the panel of agents would read through them--or parts of them--and give critiques. Essentially, the panel members would indicate when a page lost them, when they'd stop reading. My page didn't get read (and I'm actually glad it didn't since this panel was before my scheduled pitching time), but the issues that were pointed out in the pages that were read gave me some insight into how to improve mine.

It was a fantastic insight into how quickly some of these decisions can get made--how vital a strong first page is. It was also an opportunity to learn where the mileage varied for the specific agents on the panel. When they found something that didn't work, they said why. Sometimes it was an issue with the structure, but sometimes it was more subjective. And when panel members disagreed, they said so and explained why.

To me, though, valuable as all of the sessions were, the best part was meeting in-person for a one-on-one session with an agent.

The one-on-one was an addition to the conference--an extra event with an extra fee, and each instance of the fee got one sit-down with one agent. This was another instance where my background research came in handy--adjunct pay isn't great, so I only had enough funds to sit down with one agent. I reviewed the list, checked their websites and MSWL and Publisher's Marketplace (and availability--I registered last minute, so some slots were sold out). The sit-down was a ten-minute conversation, an opportunity to do a quick elevator pitch of the project and to ask and answer questions.

I spent the whole day nervous, but this is where the butterflies got out of hand. I managed--I made it through my pitch without too much word vomit. My hands (and voice) shook the whole time, but not so much that I couldn't be understood. I lost the thread of what I was saying for a second, but I got back on track, and the conversation didn't seem to suffer for it. The agent that I spoke with really did more than politeness demanded to ease my nerves (seriously, she was the nicest person I talked to through the conference--which made pitching that much more pleasant).

I didn't walk away with an offer of representation or a full manuscript request--I didn't expect to. But I did get an invitation to send a sample of Project 2016. And, after my pitch, she asked about other projects related to Project 2016 (some of the things I said in my pitch, she said, suggested that there were more stories)--which she asked for brief pitches for in my submission packet. There are never any guarantees--she liked the idea of the story, but it's still totally possible that my writing style won't be what she's looking for or that the draft flat-out isn't strong enough. But I am so glad--so glad--that I took the chance to talk to her face to face about the project.

It's the most promising lead that I've got so far, and even if it doesn't work out, I know where the strengths and weaknesses of my pitch are better now than ever before. I've got new tools to use as I keep working.

I won't be able to do many of these conferences--again, adjunct pay leaves a lot to be desired--but if I have the chance to go to another, I think I will. If you've been working on a project and are considering a conference, I hope you go. Worst case scenario, you still win--you still come out with more than you had when you went in.

Writers' Conference

This week, I took a big step in furthering my writing career.

I signed up for my first writers' conference.

I've been to conventions before, of course, places where indie authors host panels on different aspects of writing and publishing (self-publishing and small press publishing, usually) and sell their wares.

These experiences have certainly been valuable, but more often than not, the people I've met at conventions are in the same place I am. They've been writing for years. They've sold a few pieces to presses of various sizes, usually on the smaller end of the spectrum. They aren't agented, usually--in fact, I think I've only met one author with an agent at a convention. I've made some good connections at these events, and they're how I first heard of my two current publishers.

But as far as making the transition from being an indie author selling to small presses to deals with larger publishers that won't review a submission from an unagented author, conventions haven't given me what I need.

I've written in the past about my attempts to get an agent so far, where my struggles and successes have been and what I've learned from the process. I've been largely self-educating through this process. I look up articles on how to pitch, I dig through lists of agents trying to find ones who represent my genre and who sound like they might be on the same wavelength as I am. I peruse Manuscript Wish List and I keep up with the Writer's Digest blog looking for new ideas of people to query and tips on refining my pitches.

I've been doing what I can, but what I really want, what I think I need, is guidance. A chance to talk with the people on the other end--to the agents and editors I'm trying to get my work in front of. I want a chance to hear what they themselves have to say and to ask questions, maybe even to sit one-on-one and talk about my pitch, specifically.

There are meetings all over the country that offer opportunities like this--writers' conferences (conferences, not conventions--one's focused more on the craft where the other is a little more sales and entertainment oriented) and writers' workshops hosted by agents and editors that offer panels on querying and critiques and short sit-downs with agents.

But these events tend to end up where there are communities to support them--which tends to translate to larger cities or places that tend to draw a lot of tourists and conventions (and so tend to have better infrastructure for dealing with the influx of people). Which is fine.

Unless you can't afford to travel and live in places that aren't exactly hot spots for convention hosting. Most of these meetings have been out of my price range and too far out of town for me to reasonably make the trip.

So I was pretty excited when the Alabama Writers Workshop was announced. It's close enough to me that I can get to it and, because it's a slightly smaller meeting, it's price tag isn't as big. And it happened to coincide with a pay increase (also a workload increase, but that's another story).

I signed up. I paid my registration fee. I dropped the extra money to get a one-on-one with one of the agents that will be there. Now I've got a little less than a week to iron out my verbal pitch, print copies of my first page for review, do more background research on the agent I'm meeting, and figure out what specific questions I'm going to focus on finding answers to.

I'm not anticipating that I'll walk out of the convention next week with a manuscript request (though wouldn't that be awesome?). But I hope I'll at least leave with a better sense of where I am and what work I need to do to get my project out into the world at the level that I want. I don't know what exactly the experience will bring, but I'm looking forward to it.

And I imagine I'll tell you all about it next week.

Short and Sweet

The short story pitch I wrote about in last week's post got picked up, which means that I get to put together the story for an anthology to be released later in the year.

After spending 2016 working on novels, I'm excited to get to work on some short fiction again. As much as I love longer projects, there's something refreshing about writing a short piece.

I think part of the fun of short fiction is the ability to stretch myself stylistically. When I'm working on a novel, I'm focused on telling the story in the long run. I want to keep my style consistent, to keep the character's voices steady and distinct. I've got to make sure that I'm keeping track of all of the aspects of the world--to make sure that I don't negate on page 200 something that happened on page 50.

Some of these concerns are still present in short fiction. Keeping character voices consistent and making sure that the logic of the world flows well are always important. But since the project's length is more manageable, I feel more able to experiment.

I wouldn't at this point, for instance, try to write an entire novel in present tense. But I did just that with the last short story I wrote--just to see how that change in tense changed how the story felt. I wouldn't try to keep every sentence as short as I could when working on a novel, but I might do that to manipulate the pacing in a short story.

Part of it is a time commitment. It usually takes me about three to four weeks to knock out a draft of a short story (and by short story, I mean something under 15,000 words--usually between 7 and 10,000). Outside of the pace I write at during NaNoWriMo--a pace which is not sustainable--the first draft of a novel can take between 6 months and a year. With a short story, I can tell more quickly if something that I'm trying doesn't work for the whole project, and even large-scale overhauls are easier to manage. It takes a lot less time to rework 10,000 words than 80,000.

There's also the fact that there is, in general, less information to keep up with and a shorter stretch of time during which I have to manage it. Short fiction has fewer characters, fewer story beats, fewer subplots. Since there's less information that I have to keep up with, there's less likelihood that I'm going to forget something important if I play around with my writing style.

Novel writing is where I make use of every tool in my arsenal. Short fiction is where I play around with and learn to use new tools.

I'm not sure what experimenting I'll do with this new project, but I'm excited to start playing around with something new and to see what new tool I manage to figure out for the next long project.

The Wind Up

Right now, pitching is my life.

I'm still working on revisions for bits and pieces of what was formerly Project 2016 (I guess I'll need to give it a new name now), but I've by and large moved on to the querying process. For now, at least. Depending on how this round of submissions goes, I might end up back at the drawing board.

Queries are among the hardest things to write (the hardest thing is the synopsis, but that's a post for another day). It's hard to take 75,000 to 85,000 words and boil it down to a single eye-catching paragraph. You've got to introduce the protagonists. You've got to lay out the stakes. You've got to convince the agent/editor/publisher that your story is something special--something worth the financial risk. But you can't give away the ending. You can't reveal the twists and turns. Your Chekov's Gunsmen and their guns have to stay concealed.

The idea is that your query should read rather like the back cover copy you see on the books you find in a bookstore. Just enough information to set up a reader's expectations and to pique their interest without tilting the bean can too far.

This has been sort of a trial and error process for me. The early queries for Evin were terrible. As far as queries to agents went, I don't think I ever made it out of the slush pile. The rejections that I got were polite, but they were form letters.

By the time I sent a query to Evin's publisher, Foundations Books, I had figured out some of my missteps. I wouldn't call the final query I sent out sparkling--at least not by the standards I would use to judge myself today, nearly a year after the fact--but it was successful.

The queries for Delphinus have been considerably better. I've still gotten rejections, but they've been more helpful--more specific. Whatever I've done in the query has been enough to get people to read through the sample pages and respond directly to what they've seen there.

I'm still working on getting better at my written pitches in the only way that I know how: by pitching projects. By the time this post goes up (I'm writing in advance--part of my get-back-on-track-time-management plan), I should have heard back on the latest one. This time, I'm proposing the story I want to write to a publisher. It seems like that should be easier, since you haven't written a work that's locked you in to anything yet, but it was just as frustrating and complicated as any I've written.

And all of this is without even getting into spoken pitches--so-called elevator pitches, because they ideally take no longer to run through than a short elevator ride. Narrowing down to a paragraph or so is difficult. Trying to sum up a novel in a few sentences (I think something like 35 words is about the length people tend to shoot for) is Herculean. I don't yet have a strategy for making these better--most of my talking about my projects is me waving my arms and word-vomming at my writing group partner. It's possible that the Twitter Pitch Parties that happen every few months might be the best tool for this--maybe I'll try tooling around with that a little.

Pitching's part of the process that I'm not great at (though, honestly, there are times when I'm not particularly good at any parts of the process), but I'm hoping that through time and effort, I'll improve. The evidence seems to point that way so far. Until I  make it, I'll just consider these earlier efforts the wind up.