Saturday, December 31, 2011
And Another One Draws To A Close...
2011 was sort of a big year for me.
1.) In February, I finally decided to follow my dreams and focus on becoming a published author, and I changed my major in college (for the fifth time) to the one I TRULY wanted to pursue: Creative Writing.
2.) In March, I had my first experience with critique partners (there are some MEAN people out there. But I found my writing soul mate after many trial and error critiques. Here's looking at you, Amy!). And thank you, thank you, Natalie Parker, who was gentle but tough, and helped me fix all kinds of things this year. But I also realized that my novel kinda sucked, thanks to those mean people. So thank you mean girl who told me that "people don't talk in contractions". You were... right about some things.
3.) I then spent April through September re-writing my novel for the fourth time.
4.) On September 18th, I finished my first full-length novel.
5.) From September to October, I edited my first full-length novel.
6.) On October 4th, I freaking submitted my first full-length novel to agents.
7.) In October and November, I got TWO manuscript requests (with one rejection and still waiting for a response on the other)
8.) January-December, I LEARNED SO MUCH ABOUT THE PUBLISHING BUSINESS! And I definitely learned things about myself as a writer along the way. For example, I write my best scenes when there's good music playing in my ears. Or that I can only plot with a paper and pen and can only write scenes by typing. Or that I CANNOT write on the couch (the words REFUSE to come to me there for some reason. Embarrassingly, I've written my best stuff in the bathtub)
So, I must say, 2011 was a very, very productive year for me. I learned that rejection is inevitable, and that it HURTS. I learned writing a novel with a beginning, middle, end, and all the stuff in between is HARD. But in 2011, I learned that I CAN write a novel, and I plan to do it again and again and again.
I want to thank Jackson Pearce, Maggie Stiefvater, and Mary Kole for the infinite amounts of knowledge on their blogs!!!
And as for 2012??????? I have HUGE plans. :-D
What about you?
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The New Pain Scale
I usually use my blog to post about my writing-related adventures, but there is something in my life that takes up a good part of my day every day lately - KIDNEY STONES.
Kidney stones are tiny-little-demon-filled-clusters-made-with-spikes-of-doom and I would wish them on no one. Except maybe Hitler. And the spider that lives in my house and keeps cleverly disappearing before I can smash it.
But kidney stones seem to just LOVE living in my right kidney. They love to reproduce and call all their friends and say, "HEY THIS GIRL HAS A ROCKING KIDNEY, COME ON OVER AND PAR-TAY WITH US!"
Only... I don't like having parties in my kidney. It kinda hurts. But nonetheless, no matter what doctor-given tips I religiously follow, they keep fracking appearing inside my kidney.
So during my many trips to the emergency room in the past two years (plus 11 get-rid-of-the-giant-kidney-stone-procedures in the operating room), I have paid thousands of dollars to a certain hospital and kick-ass urologist, and I feel that I have the right to illicit one small piece of advice to all the hospitals in America:
The little smiley/frowny face charts that hang on your walls for the purpose of helping the patient to diagnose his or her pain scale is BOGUS. No one looks like this when they come to the hospital for extreme pain (as your #10 on your poster suggests):
So if you ever find yourself in the ER for something like a kidney stone, when the nurse asks you to rate your pain from one to ten-- and you want to yell that it feels like tiny monsters are trying to eat their way out of your body and that it's much worse than a FRACKING TEN-- you should pull out this handy little pain chart and desperately point to the last one:
Kidney stones are tiny-little-demon-filled-clusters-made-with-spikes-of-doom and I would wish them on no one. Except maybe Hitler. And the spider that lives in my house and keeps cleverly disappearing before I can smash it.
But kidney stones seem to just LOVE living in my right kidney. They love to reproduce and call all their friends and say, "HEY THIS GIRL HAS A ROCKING KIDNEY, COME ON OVER AND PAR-TAY WITH US!"
(Yes, the kidney stones are drinking out of red Solo cups)
Only... I don't like having parties in my kidney. It kinda hurts. But nonetheless, no matter what doctor-given tips I religiously follow, they keep fracking appearing inside my kidney.
So during my many trips to the emergency room in the past two years (plus 11 get-rid-of-the-giant-kidney-stone-procedures in the operating room), I have paid thousands of dollars to a certain hospital and kick-ass urologist, and I feel that I have the right to illicit one small piece of advice to all the hospitals in America:
The little smiley/frowny face charts that hang on your walls for the purpose of helping the patient to diagnose his or her pain scale is BOGUS. No one looks like this when they come to the hospital for extreme pain (as your #10 on your poster suggests):
(# 6 looks like he just ate some peanut butter)
So if you ever find yourself in the ER for something like a kidney stone, when the nurse asks you to rate your pain from one to ten-- and you want to yell that it feels like tiny monsters are trying to eat their way out of your body and that it's much worse than a FRACKING TEN-- you should pull out this handy little pain chart and desperately point to the last one:
Because if something the size of a peanut M&M is trying to force its way through a tube the size of a coffee stirrer, you will most likely be clawing out your eyeballs by the time you get to said nurse. Or rolling around on the germ-ridden hospital floor, bargaining with God in a language you didn't even know you spoke. Then you should do that hospital a favor and give the nurse your handy little pain chart so that the next patient can accurately diagnose their pain level.
And then YOU have just saved the world! (or... you know... maybe not. But it's worth a try.) Hopefully you won't ever have a need for this pain chart ((unless your kidney is a breeding ground like mine is)) Either way, print it and put it in your wallet, right next to your insurance card!
You're Welcome.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Rejection + Query Help!!!
Since I've only gotten answers from half of the agents I've queried, I feel like I may be writing this post prematurely. But I am a sensitive soul. When I love something, I LOOOVVVVE IT. When something makes me sad, I cry over things like toilet paper commercials for days. ("The baby bear has pieces of toilet paper stuck to his butt? POOR BABY BEAR HOW SAD!!!!" *wail*) When something makes me mad, I'm all, *STEFANIE SMASH ALL THE THINGS!!!*.
So after getting 10+ rejection letters from agents, I was surprised to find a brand new emotion that I'd never experienced before: crazy-pants-off-the-rocker-self-- instead of just my normal, sad-burrowing into-my-blankets-and-crying-over-toilet-paper-commercials-self.
You know how you always laugh at the crazy people on American Idol who can't carry a tune in a bucket, and then go all "Y'all gon' be sorry! YOU'LL SEE!" on the judges? Well laugh now, BUT I KNOW HOW THEY FEEL. After re-reading WICKED ILLUSIONS last night, I fell in love all over again with my two main characters. I LOVE THESE FICTIONAL PEOPLE, Y'ALL. I love the story, I love the setting, I love the plot-- I want to tape it to my chest and hug it forever. (Okay, maybe that's a little extreme, but ya know, this thing is my BABY). So when I received another rejection letter this morning, I went full blown American Idol crazy on my iPhone.
"You just don't know what you're missing, agent! You will be sorry that you didn't want to read this manuscript, agent! You just lost out on LOVE, agent! YOU'LL SEE! I'LL BE GREAT!"
(And no I didn't tell said agent these things, because I'm not actually insane. Well, I don't know, maybe yelling at my iPhone makes me a little insane).
After realizing how loopy I sounded, I took a step back and gently laid my iPhone down, apologized to it, then went and made blueberry muffins to make me feel better. This whole querying thing has made lose my ability to see the bigger picture. I want the world to love Lilly and Noah so badly that I am forgetting that they don't know them like I do. It's obvious that my query letter is not working the magic it should, since I've only gotten 1 request (that I'm still waiting for a response from).
So. Ahem. I have gathered the courage to ask a favor from you.
*gives you virtual blueberry muffins*. Will you read my query letter and tell me how it could be better?
I've had several people look over it already, but I figure that if you are reading this, you are most likely a writer/aspiring author like myself, and could give me fresh perspective. The other day, I entered a query contest with agent Suzie Townsend, where she is going to respond to each of them personally, telling the writer why she didn't want to request more material (unless, of course, she DOES request more material). I haven't heard back from her yet, seeing as how she received over 600 entries (O_O), but I would love to get as much feedback as I can.
(And yes, I've moved onto writing a new manuscript in case this one doesn't work out. That's what everyone always suggests for taking my mind off querying)
So anyway. Here is my query. Tear it apart! Be ruthless! (I have my blueberry muffins, so The Sanity is in tact. I promise I won't go American Idol crazy-pants on you. Hee hee)
Dear (Insert Agent):
Death is a run of the mill thing for sixteen-year-old Lilly Elliott. The town that she grew up in is more than just a little strange: its residents are trapped there. No one is allowed to move away from Ironbrook, Tennessee without the consequence of death. But that’s not all— milk spoils before its expiration date and plants wither for no reason. And most unexplained, at least one person dies every month at the hands of the suffocating black fog that no one can stop.
Lilly is accustomed to the weird things that happen in Ironbrook, though she longs to live somewhere normal. But when she accidentally brings a dead animal back to life, Things. Just. Get. Weirder. When a classmate reveals the truth to Lilly about who she is and what they both can do, Lilly is sucked into the world that goes on behind closed doors in Ironbrook— and things are never safe there. Lilly discovers that she has an ability that has been long buried deep inside of her— she can drain the life out of humans and keep it for herself, giving her the ability to live forever. But her loved ones—including the mysterious boy that keeps popping up in her dreams—are in danger. Will she be able to save them before their lives are stolen? And most importantly, will she be able to save herself… from herself?
WICKED ILLUSIONS is a story that explores the themes of family allegiance and the power of choice with splashes of magical realism, aimed towards a young adult audience. I think that WICKED ILLUSIONS is specifically different from most YA novels today because it touches upon the addiction of knowing that you are doing something wrong, but not knowing how to stop— which is something many teens face on a daily basis. WICKED ILLUSIONS will appeal to readers who've enjoyed BEAUTIFUL CREATURES and IMAGINARY GIRLS, and it is complete at 65,000 words.
I am currently working to obtain my bachelor’s degree in English with a concentration in Creative Writing from the (insert my university here. No offense, but the internet has too many stalkers).
On a personal note, I have read several books by authors that you represent, such as (insert respective books I've read here), and I thought my manuscript would fit neatly into the realm of your literary taste.
Per your submission guidelines, I have included the first (insert # here) pages below, and would be delighted to send you the full manuscript upon request. This is a simultaneous submission. I appreciate you taking the time to consider my work.
Sincerely,
Stefanie Jones
*Update 12/02/11-- Thanks to my wonderful critique partner, I rewrote my query letter AH-GAIN-- and so far, I've gotten another full manuscript request!
*Update 12/02/11-- Thanks to my wonderful critique partner, I rewrote my query letter AH-GAIN-- and so far, I've gotten another full manuscript request!
Monday, October 31, 2011
RE: What Query Letters Do To Your Face
It's Halloween! So I decided to do a blog post on the thing that currently scares me most-- hold onto your panties, it's a doozy!!!-- my career. I know what your thinking: "Is this chick bonkers? The thing that scares her most is her CA- REER?" *waits while you roll your eyes*. But alas, it's true! It's not exactly my "career" that scares me-- it's the not knowing if I will be able to MAKE this dream my career. My actual current career is college student/bank teller, and I am green-in-the-face sick of both. ME WANTS TO BE A REEL RITER. And who holds my fate in their hands (or inbox, rather)??? The 50 literary agents that I've queried.
A few weeks ago, I sent my first query letters. My original plan was to send it out to my top 5 agents and wait the agonizing 6-8 weeks for a response. But then I started to have my normal little thoughts of self doubt. Me: "WHY would any of these agents want to represent ME? They represent people like Maggie Stiefvater and Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins. WHAT was I thinking???" And that combined with me being the type of person who has-no-patience-and-wants-everything-right-now decided to send out more letters. I started with 20. Then 30. Now my count is at 50. That sounds pathetic, right? *is ashamed of my impatience*. So far, I've gotten 9 rejection letters and I'm waiting to hear back from 6 other agents who graciously answer every query letter. The rest only contact you if they want to see more material. WHAT KIND OF TORTURE IS THIS????? It's pretty close to the ancient Chinese torture method of tying somebody to the ground and letting bamboo grow through his or her body. (A nice visual for your Halloween pleasure).
After I got my first rejection letter, I shrugged it off. It was no big deal, right? There were plenty more chances for me to get requests, right? But then came the day of darkness. I woke up feeling icky, but had 2 tests at school and no sick days left at work, so I drug myself out of bed and forced myself to go. By the time I got to school, I'd gotten 3 rejection letters in my email. *started to feel kind of sad* I was pretty sure that I'd flunked both of my tests, and while waiting for another class to start, I got another rejection email. That's when the tears came. My throat was throbbing, both my ears were hurting, I was pretty sure that I had a fever, and on top of all that, I had FOUR rejections in one day. ALL THIS HAPPENED BEFORE 10 AM. I was crushed. But I went to work anyway, and when I broke down in tears in front of my boss, I was sent home to rest (to my intense relief (and mortification)). When I got home, I received ANOTHER rejection, and that was just IT. I took a big ole dose of cold medicine for my 101 degree fever and buried myself in my blankets, where I slept for five hours. When I woke to my husband bearing chicken soup and ginger ale, I checked my email once more to find another reply from an agent. I was CERTAIN that it was another rejection, but then I remembered: "HEY! This agent said that she only replies if she's interested in reading more!!!" I opened the email and sure enough, SHE WANTED TO READ MY BOOK. mmmmmmyyyyyyyyy bbbbbboooooookkkkkk!!!!!!!!!
(After popular demand) This was my face then:
Or maybe it was something more like this, since I still had a 101 fever:
So there you have it. After all that depression and anxiety and impatience, I received a manuscript request. I am still waiting to hear back from her, and of course my impatience has taken over again.
My face while I've been waiting:
And waiting:
And waiting:
And still waiting. But I know that there is some sort of light at the end of the tunnel, even if it ends in rejection too. If it does, I know that I need to re-evaluate my story and alter it as such. And my best friend keeps reminding me that Harry Potter and Twilight and such were all rejected multiple times, and that helps me keep my head up a little. :-)
But to all of you out there who are waiting like me: I FEEL YOUR PAIN!!! I will keep you updated on my face as the rejections (and hopefully more requests!!!) keep flowing into my inbox. AND I am participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time, so I hope to have book two in the series complete by the end of the year! Who's doing it with me?? Have any of you experienced multiple rejection lately? I'd love to hear your comments so we can complain together! :-)
Saturday, October 8, 2011
WHAT QUERY LETTERS DO TO YOUR FACE
After I went through and edited it, had a couple of people read over it and then edited it some more, then edited again one more time, I thought it was ready for agent querying. As you probably know if you are an aspiring author like me, getting an agent is basically like getting a passport; with it, you can have amazing adventures and go to all the places you've dreamt of going. But without it, no pasaporte, no entrada, and you're stuck in your dinky little hometown (i.e. my awful job as a bank teller)
So after I sent my query letter to my top five agents, I began to realize that the three hundred or so words I'd chosen to describe my novel might not have been GOOD ENOUGH. My face after hitting send:
Most publishing companies do not accept "unsolicited manuscripts", or in layman's terms, "the fantabulous story that you made up and want to get published, but didn't want to have to pay anyone to sell it for you". Literary agents are basically the gatekeepers of author's dreams. They take your work and help you tighten it and perfect it, then they send it off to the magical land of New York City, where book babies are born. But to GET a literary agent is HARD. Hundreds of people hit the "send" button to Ms. Agent at the exact same time you do, putting your query letter smack dab in the middle of the dreaded slush pile. But everyone must start somewhere right? You just have to have that one little spark (out of hundreds) that catches the agent's eye and makes him/her want to read more. So you can imagine my face when all my insecurities began to run wild and I began to seriously doubt myself. "WHAT IF I DON'T HAVE THAT SPARK??? MY LIFE WILL BE OVERRRRRRRR!!!!!"
So far it's been 1 week, and I haven't heard a peep from any of the five agents I queried. Which in all honesty, is completely normal. Most agents say it can take them up to six/eight weeks to even GET to your query in their inbox, so it's quite possible none of the agents I queried have even read my pitch yet. But still. This is my face NOW.
So.... Yeah.... The waiting continues. I am completely, 100% terrified of what I have done. But I want more than anything to get published, and finding the right agent is the key to the magical door of that dream. Chasing your dreams is amazing. It's invigorating. It's fun. And most of all, it's SCARY. But I think fear is what makes it all worthwhile. If things like writing a book or diving out of an airplane were easy, nobody would dream of doing them, and therefore, nobody would dream. Here's to making our dreams come true, no matter how terrifying/nail-biting/ulcer-making/sleepless-night-causing they are.
And meanwhile, every time I hear the "ping" sound that means I have a new email, my face looks like this:
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Short Story: A BODY TO BURN
Humans are the smartest creatures on the planet, so surviving in the freezing cold couldn't be that hard. My body could adapt, right?I bit down on my lip, testing to see if I could still feel it. It was cold and tough between my teeth, but I could feel no sensation in the frozen skin. That had to be a bad sign. I shivered deeply as a strong gust of wind blew cotton ball-sized clumps of snow across my face, stinging my already numb nose.
“Are you still alive over there?” I asked Mitchell, who had grown a little too silent for my comfort.
He uttered a grunt in response.
“You know that whole, ‘snuggling to keep warm’ thing is not sounding too bad right now, eh?” I said playfully.
“There is no way in hell I would ever snuggle with you man,” he mumbled. “I’d rather freeze.”
I chuckled and blew into my hands in an attempt to warm them. There was really no use since my breath turned into icy crystals of fog the instant that it left my mouth. The snow was swirling around us so fiercely that it was impossible to tell the ground from the sky.
“I’m starting to think that this isn’t worth it,” Mitchell sighed, scrubbing his hands across his face. “Not even for one million dollars.”
“Speak for yourself,” I replied. “After I win this, I’m taking up permanent residence somewhere where it’s hot as fire year round.”
Mitchell groaned as another gust of wind roared through the trees, piercing our bodies like frozen shards of glass.
We shivered in unison for a while, our blood beginning to congeal in our veins. We were the last two contestants in a survival of the fittest contest—what a stupid idea. I jumped in surprise when Mitchell suddenly nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. I turned to him to protest, but the look on his face stopped me.
“Do you see that?” he asked, pointing a shaking, blue finger in front of him.
I peered through the falling snow in the direction that Mitchell was looking, but didn’t see anything.
“You mean that hot girl carrying coffee and parkas?” I teased him, trying to ignore the ache that enveloped my body.
“I’ve heard that insanity makes you hallucinate.”
“Seriously, Adam,” he said eagerly, standing up from his perch on the log that we were sitting on. “What is that?”
I squinted, trying to make my vision clearer. I saw it; there was a light reflecting off of the snow. The roar of the wind grew louder at that moment, and I marveled at how it was possible for air to make such a noise. But then I realized that it wasn't the wind yelling at us; it was a helicopter. Somebody was going to save us.
We both began flapping our arms and screaming at the sky. We were going to be warm again. At that moment, I couldn't even remember what being warm felt like.
The trees were too thick for the helicopter to land, and I wondered how they were going to get to us. Then, through the blinding blankets of falling snow, I saw feet descending toward us. A small woman bundled in thick winter gear jumped to the ground from the helicopter’s rope ladder, landing nimbly on her feet.
“So there are still two of you,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Boss was afraid this would happen.”
“You’re here to save us, right?” I asked eagerly, no longer caring about the stupid contest. I just wanted to be lifted into that warm helicopter. I wanted her to save me from this cold. Mitchell took a step toward her, ready to hop onto the ladder as well, but she pushed her hand against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
“No,” she said, shaking her head, the fur trim around her hood fluttering in the wind.
S
he pulled three objects from her jacket pocket and threw them onto the ground. They landed in the snow bank with a soft “whoosh”. Mitchell and I stared down at them, not understanding. What did she mean, “no”?
She tapped her right foot in annoyance, nodding towards the items: a pack of matches, a tiny bottle of lighter fluid, and a long, carving knife.
“What are we supposed to do with these?” I asked, unable to keep my voice from shaking.
Her expression hardened. “There can be only be one survivor,” she said slowly, like she was afraid we would not understand. “Those are the rules. There has to be a body to burn.”
A body to burn?
“You have one hour,” the woman continued. “Whoever is successful must take the other body and set it on fire. Be sure that the body is coated completely in lighter fluid so it will burn beyond recognition. We will come get you when we see the fire. If neither of you succeed, you will both die.”
What kind of sick game was this?
She grabbed hold of the rope ladder and it quickly began pulling her back into the sky, the snow swirling around her as she climbed. Mitchell reached out to grab the ladder, but his almost-frozen limbs made him too clumsy to be fast. The woman disappeared in seconds, and we were left alone in the dark again.
I did not want to do it. But I had to survive. I had to. Mitchell dove into the snow to grab the supplies, but it was too late for him; I already had the knife.
Later, as I warmed my hands in front of the blazing flames before me, I smiled. Humans could adapt to the cold, couldn’t they? I sure thought so.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
ALERT THE MASSES! MY NOVEL IS COMPLETE!
Today has been a very momentous day for me. I finished the novel that I have been working on for three years!!!! The concept of this book has been floating around in my head for quite some time, and has gone through several re-writes. But today, for the first time ever, I finished a NOVEL. I've had a love/hate relationship with theses characters for the past few months since they wanted me to finish their story, and I didn't have as much time to write as I liked. But I worked on it little by little, whenever I could, and I must say: if I can do it, anyone can do it. I am a full-time college senior, a part-time bank teller, and a wife. (my husband is watching the movie Anaconda in the background as I type this, BTW) I have basically no "time to write". But I loved it so much that I found time, and now I have a shiny new novel to show for it! It needs a ton of revisions of course, before I can query agents, but I HAVE A NOVEL!!! Sorry. I just can't get over saying that I HAVE WRITTEN A FULL LENGTH 65,000 WORD NOVEL. *cackles with joy*
Now it's time for me to disappear into the revision cave.
BUT I HAVE A NOVEL! (Hee hee this will never get old)
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