Writing a book is hard work. I've discovered editing to be an even trickier slope to climb.
Through my efforts at finding an agent, I've had the chance to correspond with Paul, a marvelous human being who has provided me with an in-depth review on a portion of my work and excellent advice on how to make First Act of War better. (This is in stark contrast to the other three agents who politely said no, and nothing else.)
Editing, it seems, is where books thrive or die.
For a long time, I thought just getting the entire story down on paper was the most challenging aspect of writing a book. I've now accomplished this twice and it takes an unbelievable amount of time and commitment to actually finish a novel. Paul has clearly articulated that editing is where the real work begins. Apparently many people can write books, but there are precious few quality editors out there willing to tackle manuscripts and truly refine them into something worthy of publishing.
I thought I was a pretty good editor. But after comments from my excellent alpha readers, and after Paul's partial review, I realized that I yet have my work cut out for me. It's not that I'm lousy at it. I'm just inexperienced, and let's face it, editing 165,000 words isn't like editing a blog post.
The next steps are fortunately clear. Kathe, my first college English professor, and also the professor who worked with me on Noble Born, my honors thesis, is currently editing my book. Having already worked with me on one 100,000-plus-word book, she knows what she's getting into. The book is in good hands. I'll tackle it once she's finished and I expect the end result will be quite a bit better than anything I could have ever managed on my own.
In short, if you're seriously writing a novel, find yourself a good editor who isn't you, especially if you're relatively new to the process. Writing is just the first step. Editing is an entire flight of stairs.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
I Killed Santa
This is one of my least-proud and possibly most hilarious Christmas stories.
I was in second grade--the same grade my oldest son now attends, and I got into an argument with another 7-year-old. He was attempting to explain to me exactly how Santa enters his house because they didn't have a chimney. I believe it had something to do with leaving the back door unlocked and lighting a kind of runway in the back yard so he'd know not to land on the roof. The child was positive this worked because each year he received all the presents he asked for.
I calmly explained to this child, and all the children around me that Santa Claus did not exist, and that their parents were only fooling them so they'd behave for a few weeks before Christmas day. You see, my parents hadn't raised me to believe in Santa Claus. I really don't count it a loss. I remember my mother placing the wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree weeks before Christmas and I would sit in front of the tree and imagine what the colorful packages might contain. My children do the exact same thing now. (We compromised though--my kids believe Santa stuffs their stockings. It's the best of both worlds!)
At any rate, my declaration did not go over well in my second-grade class. There was much shouting and several kids burst into tears. My teacher finally took me out into the hallway. The exchange in the hallway is forever etched into my mind.
"Jeremy, you can't tell kids there's no Santa. They believe he's real."
"But he's not real. You know that right?"
"Well...yes."
"So, it's lying! Are you telling me to lie to them?"
The look on her face was priceless. "Well, just don't talk about it then."
It was a collision of cold reality and beautiful child-like faith, and I'm surprised that as I've grown older, such collisions have actually become more frequent.
I was in second grade--the same grade my oldest son now attends, and I got into an argument with another 7-year-old. He was attempting to explain to me exactly how Santa enters his house because they didn't have a chimney. I believe it had something to do with leaving the back door unlocked and lighting a kind of runway in the back yard so he'd know not to land on the roof. The child was positive this worked because each year he received all the presents he asked for.
I calmly explained to this child, and all the children around me that Santa Claus did not exist, and that their parents were only fooling them so they'd behave for a few weeks before Christmas day. You see, my parents hadn't raised me to believe in Santa Claus. I really don't count it a loss. I remember my mother placing the wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree weeks before Christmas and I would sit in front of the tree and imagine what the colorful packages might contain. My children do the exact same thing now. (We compromised though--my kids believe Santa stuffs their stockings. It's the best of both worlds!)
At any rate, my declaration did not go over well in my second-grade class. There was much shouting and several kids burst into tears. My teacher finally took me out into the hallway. The exchange in the hallway is forever etched into my mind.
"Jeremy, you can't tell kids there's no Santa. They believe he's real."
"But he's not real. You know that right?"
"Well...yes."
"So, it's lying! Are you telling me to lie to them?"
The look on her face was priceless. "Well, just don't talk about it then."
It was a collision of cold reality and beautiful child-like faith, and I'm surprised that as I've grown older, such collisions have actually become more frequent.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
More Rejection
This one hurt a little more.
The first rejection of my manuscript was hardly a rejection. It was more a statement saying the agent lacked the time to consider it. That agent didn't even read a synopsis of First Act of War.
This time, the agent read through my query, a synopsis and the first five chapters, and then declined to represent me. Ouch. I should have expected as much, but for some reason I was really expecting something else. The agent was quite nice. She even gave me a little feedback after I requested it. But she avoided saying anything directly about my manuscript. Double ouch. Maybe it wasn't her cup of tea. Maybe she was looking for something else entirely. I don't know.
I now have one official rejection. Put it on the wall. Time to go after the second.
The first rejection of my manuscript was hardly a rejection. It was more a statement saying the agent lacked the time to consider it. That agent didn't even read a synopsis of First Act of War.
This time, the agent read through my query, a synopsis and the first five chapters, and then declined to represent me. Ouch. I should have expected as much, but for some reason I was really expecting something else. The agent was quite nice. She even gave me a little feedback after I requested it. But she avoided saying anything directly about my manuscript. Double ouch. Maybe it wasn't her cup of tea. Maybe she was looking for something else entirely. I don't know.
I now have one official rejection. Put it on the wall. Time to go after the second.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Poetry Monday
I'm out on a limb here. I'm not a poet. I've never claimed to be. I fancy myself a solid prose writer, so I'm not sure if this little poem is even worthy of the term. I wrote this as simple writing practice. Quite a few writers say that writing poetry, even bad poetry, is a good exercise. So, I submit this for your consumption. Tell me what you think.
Thoughtless
There is nothing on these pages,
Turning wrinkled and fluttering
Through veils of belief and necessity.
The walk is littered with fragrances,
Of heather and sand and dung
Bled and mattered over is and not.
Rusting in failing festooned garments,
Riding a wave of fractaled cement
To light on monuments of false gods.
Painted smiles tracked with grief,
Pour endlessly into a barren
Fountain of sand and epitaphs.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Another Love Letter to LeBron
Dear LeBron,
Before you return to Cleveland tonight to play your former team in the house you literally ruled for seven years, I have a few pieces of advice. This is not the advice of a scorned lover, this is straight-up solid advice from a marketing professional in regards to your now sullied image.
Let's face facts. Things have not gone as expected. I don't think anything anyone told you could have prepared you for the animosity you are facing in arenas across the league. You are the villain of your own story. Exacerbating that is your team's slow start to the year. With expectations so high, with everyone asking whether or not you could challenge the 72-win Bulls, the lackluster start to this season's campaign already has your coach "embattled" and pundits writing about the fall of LeBron.
Understand that this is a monster of your own making. The fact that you left Cleveland isn't nearly as much of a problem as the manner in which you left. You turned Cleveland into a victim--a victim everyone empathizes with. Everyone outside of Miami is rooting harder for Cleveland tonight than possibly they've ever rooted before. It's not because they like Cleveland. It's because they hate you.
Here is your recipe to fix all that.
Do not ask your buddies for advice on this. Certainly don't ask for permission. If you want to ask your Nike rep, go ahead, I'm sure he'll be fully onboard. They have a lot invested in you, and right now your celebrity equity is falling faster than real estate prices in 2008. They're banking on a market turnaround. So surprise everyone with this rail turn.
Schedule a press conference several hours before the game and say the following:
1. Apologize to Cleveland. Not to your "fans everywhere", just to Cleveland. Apologize for stringing them along and then dumping them in the worst way possible. They took it personally, LeBron. Accept this and offer them the apology they deserve.
2. Apologize to your fans around the league for the narcissistic manner with which you approached free agency. Tell them you listened to some bad advice and you really should have conducted yourself differently. Don't say what you would do differently if you could do it again. Just apologize.
3. Tell Clevelanders how much you love them. Tell them how much you loved the great times you had here. Tell them that you still make your home here, and you plan to for the rest of your life. Remind them of that game against Detroit in the Eastern Conference finals in 2007, and how that was possibly your favorite moment on any court. Don't try to justify your performance in the 2010 playoffs with some lame excuse. Don't mention it at all.
4. Tell Cleveland that the decision to leave for Miami didn't come down to money, or a better chance at a title (we all realize that Cleveland had the best record in the entire NBA for two years running); tell them it simply came down to a desire to play with your buddies. Under no circumstance should you address the theory that you all planned to do this at the last Olympic games. Don't even bring that up.
5. Tell Cleveland how difficult that decision was, and how you agonized over it. Tell them this was the most difficult decision you ever made, and that you're very sorry it hurt them. Don't say you're "sorry IF it hurt them". It did.
6. Make an announcement that you're opening some kind of nonprofit foundation in Cleveland that will benefit underprivileged children, and donate a million dollars to the cause. A million dollars isn't really that much for you, but it still sounds like a lot in Cleveland.
7. Finally, finish by telling Cleveland fans that you miss them, and by all means, leave the door open for a future romance. Slap on that boysih grin and remind them that your current contract is really only for three years, and you're only twenty-five. Don't worry, Clevelanders will put the pieces together, and every sports writer from here to China will suddenly be writing about the next "summer of LeBron".
Don't take any questions. Shake a few hands and act genuine--just like you did for all those years in a Cavs uniform.
After this, take the floor with confidence, and realize that if Cleveland does something nasty to you or your family, suddenly, you'll look like the victim, and Cleveland will look like an angry ex that didn't deserve you in the first place. The rest of the world will quickly come back to your side and Cleveland can return to being an afterthought in the sports world.
Follow this advice and you cannot go wrong.
I'm not one of your sycophantic handlers, so you won't take this advice, and part of me is actually glad. Because if you did, people might stop booing you relentlessly. So stick to what you're doing. You're brand is fine. People will come around. And if they don't--blame your coach, or your teammates, or your current NBA city, because it can't be your fault, you're the "Chosen 1".
Before you return to Cleveland tonight to play your former team in the house you literally ruled for seven years, I have a few pieces of advice. This is not the advice of a scorned lover, this is straight-up solid advice from a marketing professional in regards to your now sullied image.
Let's face facts. Things have not gone as expected. I don't think anything anyone told you could have prepared you for the animosity you are facing in arenas across the league. You are the villain of your own story. Exacerbating that is your team's slow start to the year. With expectations so high, with everyone asking whether or not you could challenge the 72-win Bulls, the lackluster start to this season's campaign already has your coach "embattled" and pundits writing about the fall of LeBron.
Understand that this is a monster of your own making. The fact that you left Cleveland isn't nearly as much of a problem as the manner in which you left. You turned Cleveland into a victim--a victim everyone empathizes with. Everyone outside of Miami is rooting harder for Cleveland tonight than possibly they've ever rooted before. It's not because they like Cleveland. It's because they hate you.
Here is your recipe to fix all that.
Do not ask your buddies for advice on this. Certainly don't ask for permission. If you want to ask your Nike rep, go ahead, I'm sure he'll be fully onboard. They have a lot invested in you, and right now your celebrity equity is falling faster than real estate prices in 2008. They're banking on a market turnaround. So surprise everyone with this rail turn.
Schedule a press conference several hours before the game and say the following:
1. Apologize to Cleveland. Not to your "fans everywhere", just to Cleveland. Apologize for stringing them along and then dumping them in the worst way possible. They took it personally, LeBron. Accept this and offer them the apology they deserve.
2. Apologize to your fans around the league for the narcissistic manner with which you approached free agency. Tell them you listened to some bad advice and you really should have conducted yourself differently. Don't say what you would do differently if you could do it again. Just apologize.
3. Tell Clevelanders how much you love them. Tell them how much you loved the great times you had here. Tell them that you still make your home here, and you plan to for the rest of your life. Remind them of that game against Detroit in the Eastern Conference finals in 2007, and how that was possibly your favorite moment on any court. Don't try to justify your performance in the 2010 playoffs with some lame excuse. Don't mention it at all.
4. Tell Cleveland that the decision to leave for Miami didn't come down to money, or a better chance at a title (we all realize that Cleveland had the best record in the entire NBA for two years running); tell them it simply came down to a desire to play with your buddies. Under no circumstance should you address the theory that you all planned to do this at the last Olympic games. Don't even bring that up.
5. Tell Cleveland how difficult that decision was, and how you agonized over it. Tell them this was the most difficult decision you ever made, and that you're very sorry it hurt them. Don't say you're "sorry IF it hurt them". It did.
6. Make an announcement that you're opening some kind of nonprofit foundation in Cleveland that will benefit underprivileged children, and donate a million dollars to the cause. A million dollars isn't really that much for you, but it still sounds like a lot in Cleveland.
7. Finally, finish by telling Cleveland fans that you miss them, and by all means, leave the door open for a future romance. Slap on that boysih grin and remind them that your current contract is really only for three years, and you're only twenty-five. Don't worry, Clevelanders will put the pieces together, and every sports writer from here to China will suddenly be writing about the next "summer of LeBron".
Don't take any questions. Shake a few hands and act genuine--just like you did for all those years in a Cavs uniform.
After this, take the floor with confidence, and realize that if Cleveland does something nasty to you or your family, suddenly, you'll look like the victim, and Cleveland will look like an angry ex that didn't deserve you in the first place. The rest of the world will quickly come back to your side and Cleveland can return to being an afterthought in the sports world.
Follow this advice and you cannot go wrong.
I'm not one of your sycophantic handlers, so you won't take this advice, and part of me is actually glad. Because if you did, people might stop booing you relentlessly. So stick to what you're doing. You're brand is fine. People will come around. And if they don't--blame your coach, or your teammates, or your current NBA city, because it can't be your fault, you're the "Chosen 1".
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