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 by Whiney Writer
I didn’t think anything could feel as rewarding as writing the words “THE END” on my manuscript, but sending out my first queries was right up there with it. I picked out my top two favorite agents (just in case one of them decided to pass on my submission though why would they when my entire family loved it!) In their websites, the agents mentioned that they get tons of submissions every month, so to make mine stand out, I copied and pasted little red hearts all around my query letter before hitting “send.” That first day, I sat at my computer, waiting for the acceptances to fly in. At midnight, with my eyes a bit crossed, I staggered to bed. The agents were probably out of town or busy signing contracts. Surely, tomorrow would be a better day. I set my alarm for five o’clock.
A week later, I received both rejections. AAARRGGG! The following day, I went to our critique group meeting and learned a few things about submitting, so I devised a new strategy:
1. No hearts around the query.
2. No mention of family, friends, neighbors or pets loving my novel.
3. Keep it to one page (I guess I’ll have to cut out the whole part about the prize I won in fourth grade for my short story on slugs).
4. Include a very brief synopsis about my story (which I’ve learned is harder than writing the whole dang novel!)
5. Send out more than 2 queries. Using resources the group suggested like Writers Digest, Publishers Marketplace, and agentquery.com, I made a list of agents that represented stories similar to mine, and this time I’m sending out a few more, like maybe 50.
6. I found out that there are good rejections and bad rejections. I know, how can a rejection be good? It turns out that the worst kind of rejection is where you don’t get any response…ever…from the agent. Almost as bad is when you get an automated response which basically means that they had absolutely no interest in any part of your submission, but took the time to push a few buttons on the computer. Things begin to look up when an agent actually sends you a personal letter, telling you why they are rejecting your novel (at least then you know what didn’t work for them and what might need some revision). The best rejection is the one where they actually say they like your manuscript, and offer to look at it again if you’re willing to work on some things.
By the time I left the meeting, I’d managed to lift my chin a few inches above the floor. I’d learned more about rejections, like the fact that they aren’t unusual, and in fact, nearly every successful writer has had to go through them. There’s one thing I’m very worried about, though. If two rejections nearly crippled me, what will 50 do?
Oh, and I learned one other thing…submitting is HAARRDD!!!
by Bobbi Shupe
Which comes first? Words or pictures? In my case I think in terms of pictures and get very “finger tied” when it comes to adding the words. In fact, members of my critique group I’m sure are taking bets right now that I will chicken out of writing this blog.
Over the last 13 + years that I’ve been a member of this group, I have shown numerous examples of illustrations and murals but have always stopped short of writing, and reading, a finished piece. Many, many, many years ago I remember a publisher telling me, as she critiqued my portfolio and admonished me for not writing as well as illustrating, that being able to illustrate was a gift—a talent, not something taught—but anyone could be taught to write. . . oh contraire. . .
Again, I know my critique group won’t believe this but I have the starts to half a dozen stories. I’ve tried writing what I think is called “by the seat of your pants” and I’ve tried what I remember learning in high school composition classes, “outlining” thinking one or the other would get me over the stumbling block of creating a beginning, a middle and then getting to the “oh my gosh, how do I get to an earth shaking end?????” I can lay it all out in a story board—drawings—but I can’t seem to get past that question of “is this ending worthwhile” so. . .I quit. . . and file the story with the rest of the unfinished manuscripts waiting for the day when I can actually write an ending to go with those final drawings on the storyboard.
So. . .which comes first? Pictures or words? Pictures of course. Anyone can be taught to draw. Just look at the people around a conference table. They’re all doodling. What do you do when you’re daydreaming? What about when sitting in a class or on the Light Rail—all doodling. Anyone can be taught to draw but writing???? That’s a God-given talent!
 by Ceil Boyles
I’m the newest member of The Wild Writers and delighted to be in the group. I am also one of the few who have not yet been published. Am I discouraged? No, I’m determined.
First, let me say that while I’ve been writing for a long time, my research career necessitated that I write mainly technical reports. It wasn’t until recently that I found I absolutely love writing fiction (something that would have been frowned upon in a research document). I’ve had a lot to learn as I launched a new career in writing stories for children. Although I love every minute of it, I must say that learning to market my stories is a study in persistence.
I’m proud to say I have a lot in common with Kathryn Stockett, I mean if you ignore the fact that she has an award winning novel, The Help, which was made into a major motion picture, and she lives in Georgia whereas I live in Colorado, and she’s blonde, and…actually, I have one thing in common with Ms. Stockett—rejections. We’ve both had our share. Hard to believe a blockbuster like The Help could be rejected 60 times, but it’s a scenario you hear over and over again. Many wonderful books would have gone unpublished if the authors hadn’t believed in them and fought through the rejections. I couldn’t help but admire Ms. Stockett’s reaction to her first one. She was thrilled and called her friends to tell them about it. I, on the other hand, was devastated, and contemplated flushing my manuscript down the toilet. I didn’t, though, choosing to revise it instead, and ultimately won an award for it. It isn’t published yet, but I haven’t given up. And whether or not it ever gets published, I’m glad I wrote it because the story is close to my heart, which brings up an important point. I write because I can’t imagine not writing. Yes, I’d be thrilled to have my writing published, but I will continue to write regardless, because it’s what I love.
I’m encouraged that my rejections have become more promising. Yes, you read me right. It’s not like a rose is a rose is a rose. There’s a rejection…then there’s a promising rejection. Believe me, I’ve had them all. They began with a simple form letter (sometimes signed, sometimes not) informing me my story was not right for their house. I inquired about the house next door, but they didn’t respond. Then I began getting actual letters or emails complimenting me on my work, and while passing on it, offering me reasons, such as the protagonist needs to be more developed or the tension wanes in the middle chapters. Some have offered to look at future work. Now, I realize these are still rejections, but they were signed by actual people who thought my work showed promise. Will I submit future work to them? You bet!
The more I hear or read about successful authors and the number of rejections they received prior to their success, the more I realize its part of the process. You can choose to curl up in a corner and give up writing forever, or you can pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep writing, using the criticism and advice offered to make your writing better.
My message, then, is that it’s possible to survive rejection. There are many great authors who can attest to that. So, to all of those writers who have never received a rejection, I say, “Maybe it’s time to start submitting!”
by Warwick Downing
What do you do when you are faced with an essay deadline, and you have a great idea so you aren’t worried about getting it done, until you start writing the piece—and the great idea you had goes south?
Let me give an example.
I belong to the Wild Writers, having been “grandfathered in,” one might say: a term that may require some explanation. “Grandfather” is a noun, but “grandfathered” is a verb. It refers to such things as land uses that have been “grandfathered in,” in spite of zoning restrictions that might otherwise prohibit them. Skunk works can illustrate the point. A skunk works out in the prairie is a legal land use, in spite of the fact that one might think a skunk works should not be allowed ever, under any conditions. However one of the vagaries of our law is the notion that if I own it, I can by God do whatever I want with it.
Let’s assume I started my skunk works before a government adopted zoning laws that would have prevented it. Let’s also assume that a nice residential suburb grows out into the prairie all the way to my skunk works and surrounds it, and the residents of that nice residential community don’t enjoy having a skunk works in the middle of their neighborhood. Can they force me to close down my skunk works? The legal presumption is that they cannot, because my use of what had been prairie has been “grandfathered in”—although if they raise enough money and get a good lawyer, or mount the political muscle, they can get around the law and force me to close it down, by going to court in order to enforce their rights to good air by depriving me of my right to a skunk works.
So the question has now become, how can a nice bearded whisky-soaked bleary-eyed old presence such as a typical grandfather be converted into a word that refers, legally, to land use? Or, when it comes to the wild writers, what is it that compels them to tolerate one such as me?
I’ve been “grandfathered in.” Meaning I became a member before the group developed the standards they’ve since developed, which are high. Now that I’m in, I may be an embarrassment, but I’m still a member.
One of the benefits of membership is that I get to write the Wild Writer blog, which I’d been looking forward to because I had a great idea and knew it would be fun to write and entertaining . . .
Until I started to write it. Naturally I waited until the deadline loomed up like a huge wall, because as a grandfather, I’ve lived long enough to know that one never does today what can put off until tomorrow. So what did my great idea do when I started working on it? It drove off the page.
The title to the piece I’d believed in with such intensity was Better Than The Alternative. That sentiment commonly refers to the difference between life and death. Although it doesn’t universally hold true, because nothing does, most humans believe it’s better to be alive than dead. My idea was to use the expression to give inspiration to older writers especially—in some way or another—and that’s when it went south.
Don’t misunderstand—too much. I love writing, but the act of writing isn’t a matter of life or death. In the imaginations of some of the members of Wild Writers, the dead do actually write. But the likelihood is, they can’t. I meant by “the alternative” to suggest the pure desolation that would visit me and many others if we were denied that privilege, and then to segue into how fortunate I feel, as old as I am, to have a reason to get up in the morning, other than to relieve myself.
But as a blog topic? There isn’t enough meat there to chew on.
The blogs in the series on this website have—until now—been wonderfully helpful and full of good suggestions. This one kind of blew up in the barrel, in a manner of speaking. But having posed the problem, I’d like to offer a solution.
Again the problem. What do you do when you have a writing task of some kind that has to be done now, but you aren’t worried because you have a great idea and you know it will come flowing out like water out of a spigot, until you start it—and someone shuts off the spigot?
Digress.
This is a suggestion that can be applied to many different writing situations, perhaps. You have a character that suddenly must do something totally out-of-character. Or some action that has to take place, but for reasons obvious to you, you know it can’t. How do you handle such situations?
Digress.
I’ve had a lot of experience with such disasters, and have one very practical suggestion with writer’s digression.
Turn the screen off. You can no longer see what you are writing. Now vent.
Get it out. Now turn the screen on and find out how bad it is. Every now and then, you’ll be surprised.
Well shucks. I’m not surprised.
by Whiney Writer
I’ve decided to get realistic. I probably won’t win an Oscar for my screenplay, even though it is my dream to meet Charlie Sheen. WINNING! I bought my red carpet gown and shoes at Walmart, but I returned them at JCP because I saw on TV how they never ask for a receipt. Already winning!
My critique group was blabbering on about going to this conference to pitch their work to actual agents and editors, which I thought sounded like fun, so I signed up, too. For the past couple of weeks I’ve been strengthening my pitching arm in the back yard. The hardest part is throwing a 483-page manuscript without all the pages going flying. But I had an idea how to resolve that problem  .
The first night of the conference was unforgettable — what I remember of it. I probably shouldn’t have swilled four carafes of wine, but hey. It was free. People told me later how much they enjoyed my tabletop Dougie.
On the first day of the conference, there was a session on First Pages. Participants were supposed to submit the first page of their manuscript for a live reading, and then an editor would give immediate feedback. I submitted page 81. That’s where all 12 of my main characters finally show up, and I felt it was a much more interesting read-aloud. Especially since my characters are all from different planets and have names like &Unia^%4jia, UUUUUnbbn, GR8XLR8R, lmaoGOg, and SpongeBlob. After reading my page, both the reader and the editor asked the audience if anyone had an XXL bottle of Excedrin.
Then we got down to the real pitch sessions. The instructions said we could only choose one agent or editor to pitch to, but I thought that was a gyp, since we’d paid so much money for “networking.” So I signed up with every agent and editor using different pseudonyms. Whiney Writer always plays the odds.
First up, this really cute agent I saw during the opening ceremonies walked by me and smiled, which I took to mean, “Pitch it, girl.”
I waited until he was about 100 feet away, and then called, “Hey, you.” He turned around and I threw my steel case at him. (Wasn’t it clever of me to buy a suitcase for my manuscript? I can always write it off as a business expense.) Obviously, the agent had never played catch or dodgeball because the case hit him square on his well-sculpted pecs. I hurried over to see if he was battered or bruised, but he dashed into the restroom.
For a minute, I thought I’d chase after him, but then this other agent slipped into the ladies’ room. Fortunately, the stall next to her was empty, so I shut my door and scooted my steel case to her with my foot. She scooted it back. The game was on. Back and forth, back and forth. She caught me off guard when she flushed and tore out of there.
My first official pitch was with Big Apple Agency. I sat across from Grumpy Agent and waited. And waited. She said, “Whenever you’re ready.” For what? I wondered. I began by telling her where I was born, how many pets I’d had as a child, what my parents did for a living, how my grandfather was the town drunk… She glanced at her watch and said, “Your time is up.” I said, “But I didn’t even get to the part about dying my hair in junior high and it turning orange.” A door sentry came in and yanked me out.
I figured I’d shorten the life story details for the next pitch and get right to the heart of my manuscript. The editor from ABC Publishing House was barely out of diapers, and as soon as I said, “Dystopian Supernatural Sci/Fi,” she said, ”Next.”
Only one pitch left, so I had to make it count. This agent was adorable. Brown, wavy hair with designer glasses. He’d obviously researched my favorite cologne and used a box of white strips before our session. “So tell me why I should buy your book,” he said. At last! Someone who understood why I was there. I told him, “It’ll sell more copies than the Hungry Games, Twilight Time, and Harry Patterson, all put together.” I set my steel case on the table and shoved it at him, along with my personal business card. “Call me tonight after you’ve read it. I’ll be waiting.”
I stood and left, tossing him a coy wink over my shoulder. It was a sure bet I’d be getting “the call.” Yessirree, Bob. Conferences are the way to go.
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