Epic writing week

Well, I found my mojo.

How, you ask? I merely rolled up my sleeves and started writing. And I didn't quit until my eyes glazed over.

Each day this week. Without fail. I didn't blog. I didn't read blogs. I stayed off Facebook and Twitter. I even managed to (mostly) avoid my baseball PS3 game. Oh, and even real baseball, except for night games.

Yesterday, for instance, I sat down to write a particularly big scene in Empty Spaces, one I had been looking forward to writing for quite some time. I had no idea how long it would be, I only knew I wanted to finish it in one sitting.

I did.

And it was 3,500 words long. I know that's a piece of cake for some writers to knock off in a day, but I tend to agonize over each and ever sentence -- even going back and rewriting after only a couple of paragraphs. So, it was a pretty big deal for me.

All told, I wrote a bit less than 10k words this week, bringing the manuscript up to 26k. Still a ways to go, sure, but I'm back into the story and it's starting to well up inside of me, like The Devil You Don't Know did when I was writing it every day.

I'm still a bit down, since I've heard nothing from any agents except one since the Writer's Digest conference in late January. That means I still have two partials and a full out, not to mention more than 20 queries. Some of the queries are several months old now, so I'm assuming a no on them. But many are less than a couple months old, so there's still hope.

And no, I haven't pulled the trigger on self-publishing yet. I'm not sure I ever will, to be honest. But I think it's wise to keep it as a fall-back right now for TDYDK.

I'm really sorry I've been absent on the Internets recently. I promise to post more here and hit all of your awesome blogs. Honestly. It just seemed important to me that I somehow climb back into the writing saddle and start riding again.

And, thank God, I did.

How was your writing week?

The Devil is done

I just finished my latest (and final) revision of The Devil You Don't Know and shipped it off to my new book editor.

I rewrote the beginning completely, rewrote most of the middle, and tinkered with the ending until I was mostly satisfied. I'm now convinced I will never be completely satisfied with any book I write. I can accept that.

I added two brand new plot lines. I also found my theme and polished it until it emerged. I cut another five thousand words from the manuscript in the process. It was the latest of several cuts over the past few months.

Five thousand words. Think about that. More than two chapters, gone in five days.

So the book that stood at a whopping 145,000 words when I finished the first draft over a year ago now stands at a relatively svelte 107,000 words.

Now all I have to do is rewrite the query and write a new synopsis. Oh, and wait for the new editor to rip it to shreds.

Once those are done, I think I'm ready to take this baby to New York City.

Then I can get back to my new book, and do it all over again.

A new beginning

Literally. A new beginning.

Today, I rolled up my sleeves and completely rewrote the opening chapter to The Devil You Don't Know, which from now on shall be known as The Novel That Will Not Die.

A few months ago, I rewrote the entire ending. It got better. Much better. I've rewritten the middle so many times that I sometimes read it and don't recognize it as my work. (And I suppose that's not a bad thing.)

But the beginning has remained pretty much the same for three years, with only some minor tinkering here and there.

But that changed after my meeting last week with my second book editor. She, along with a couple of other readers, had commented that I was introducing too many characters all at once. I was, of course, but on purpose. The beginning was a series of short vignettes written as (gasp) a prologue. They set up the novel's premise and provided the inciting incident.

I opened up a new Word file and rewrote a new Chapter One from scratch after sketching it out in a notebook last night. No more prologue. No more character vignettes.

My wife, who has long been a champion of the old beginning, read the new one this evening and admitted she likes it much more than the original. That's a start.

I'm trying to get the book in shape for the Writer's Digest Conference in late January in New York City. I have reserved a spot and purchased my hotel room. All I'm missing is airline tickets. I have until Dec. 15 to change my mind and get nearly all of my money back -- if I chicken out.

I want to go. I want to take my manuscript and wave it under the noses of fifty of the top literary agents and editors in the world. I want to meet Janet Reid and Donald Maass. I really do. I want to hand them a business card, wink casually, and tell them to "call me."

Well, maybe not. But I want a chance to take this baby of mine to Gotham and go balls to the wall. One last shot, perhaps.

And so, I'm back at work on TDYDK. It was tough getting back inside the character's heads after all this time, especially since my new book is so different in tone, setting and voice. But once I did, it was like I'd never left it.

I was writing dialogue for Michael Reed like it was 2008 all over again. Whoo hoo. Who says you can't go back home?

I think I'm challenging myself with this because I've fallen victim myself to the writer's malaise that seems to be sweeping the Internet. From Natalie Whipple to Nathan Bransford, people are in flux. Formerly confident bloggers are opening up and letting the world see their insecurities and fears. Natalie, especially.

As a result, I love her as a writer even more now. She's just like I am!

But all of this soul-searching and insecurity -- for me, at least -- can be debilitating. I am a better writer, hell a better person, when I am moving forward. Like a shark. Because I'm always afraid that if I stop, I'll die.

So onward. Perhaps to New York. Anyone with me?

An award and an epiphany

A new blog friend of mine, T.C. McKee , gave me an award a couple of days ago. Thank you!

First off, please check out her blog. It's awesome. I'm glad I've found it. And I'm glad I have a new Internet writer friend. One can never have too many, right?

According to T.C., here are the rules for this particular award.

1. Thank and link back to the person that gave this award.
2. Answer the 10 survey questions.
3. Pass the award along to 15 bloggers( I'm going to pass it on to fewer because, well, I'm lazy).
4. Contact the bloggers you’ve picked to let them know about the award.

So, here's the questions:

1. If you blog anonymously are you happy doing it that way; if you are not anonymous do you wish you had started out anonymously so you could be anonymous now? I like having my name out there. It's the main reason I started the blog -- to start building a public platform for my fledgling writing career. Ditto for my Facebook and Twitter usage.

2. Describe one incident that shows your inner stubborn side: I'm still writing, after all the rejections and slights, etc.

3. What do you see when you really look at yourself in the mirror? A man who is getting a bit tired and worn out, but one who cannot stand the thought of giving up. Oh, and a slight thinning of hair in the front. I really hate that last one.

4. What is your favourite summer cold drink? Lipton's Diet Green Iced Tea. Love it. Could drink it 24-7. Iced coffee would be a close second.

5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do? Um. I suppose I should keep this one clean. So. I love to read, exercise, listen to music and spend time with my family and friends.

6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life? What is it? Of course. I want to be a published author. I want to make a living from my fiction writing. I want to see my name on a book.

7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the shy person, or always ditching? Class clown, definitely. Still am.

8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment of your life what would you see? The births of all three of my sons. Incredibly awesome moments that likely will never be repeated. Also, marrying my lovely wife. Best move I ever made.

9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events? Ha ha. If you read this blog with any regularity, you already know the answer to this one. My life is pretty much an open book, both here on this blog and in real life. We are only as sick as the secrets we have.

10. If you had the choice to sit down and read or talk on the phone, which would you do and why? Read. I hate talking on the phone. I always have. I'm not sure why, since I really like talking to people and interacting. But there's something about a phone ....

Okay, so here are 3 bloggers who totally deserve this award:

Anne Gallagher

Tracy

Josin

And now for my epiphany, if that's what one can call it.

I met with the woman I may or may not hire to edit The Devil You Don't Know on Sunday. She is fairly young and seems to know her stuff very, very well. She scanned my manuscript and told me she doesn't think I need a full blown developmental edit. (She actually told me my writing was very good. Yay!)

But she did say something that worries me, although it's something I've long suspected. She said that the fact my book is about God, good and evil might make it next to impossible to sell. Apparently, people are able to read novels about werewolves and vampires and fairies and stuff, but refuse to read anything that postulates that God might be real, too.

I mean, come one folks. It's fiction. A story.

So. One of her suggestions is that I rewrite the book as more of a "dark comedy," along the lines of Dogma. Apparently, if I make fun of religion, the book is more likely to be published.

The problem is two-fold: The book is probably too mainstream to be Christian and possibly too Christian to be mainstream.

Sigh.

I set out to write a book about what might happen if the Christian Bible turns out to be true, and how that would play out in the secular, profane world we live in today. It's kind of like how Stephen King took Dracula and dropped him into Maine for Salem's Lot.

It's a what-if book. Nothing more, nothing less. It reads more like a modern-day horror story than anything religious. I mean, think about it. If all that stuff is true, we're in for some scary times.

So, I'm not sure how to proceed. She did say that if I don't want to rework it to be more "irreverent," then I should at least figure out a way to sell it so as to not turn off the mostly atheist publishing world.

So, I could be back to square one. In fact, the new book, which has no religion in it but lots of sex and violence, is looking better by the minute.

A new ending for DEVIL

I've spent much of this week crafting a new (and, I think, better) ending for The Devil You Don't Know.

A couple of beta readers had mentioned that the ending wasn't as satisfying as they would have liked, that it maybe left too much to the imagination. That wasn't my intention, of course, but it did end rather abruptly. (Seriously, I think I just ran out of gas. Hey, it happens.)

One reader in particular talked to me about how I might fix this and, after giving it considerable thought, I agreed. So, I rolled up my sleeves and went back to work on the manuscript I thought was finished months ago.

Yes, I ended up adding about 450 words, but I think the net effect is awesome (if I do say so myself).

In fact, the last chapter is pretty much a roller coaster of action. When I ended it yesterday, I was literally out of breath. I suspect that's a good thing, although time will tell. I went back today and polished the new stuff and tightened it quite a bit.

I'm very happy with it. I always kind of liked the ending, but I love the new one. It even gave me the opportunity to circle back and tie up a couple of loose ends in a very cool way that hadn't been possible before.

A couple of days ago, I sent out two more queries after re-working the query letter yet again. Less than 12 hours later, I got my first partial request. While I remain realistic about my chances, at least it shows the query is getting there. The agent in question wrote me a very lovely note saying how intrigued she was with the query and the pages I had submitted.

I realize the odds are still stacked against me, as it is all of us. There's a lot of slush in the pile these days, and agents are really under the gun just wading through it. But getting that first request from a real live agent is satisfying. I feel like I finally took another step forward in my career.

And that's a good feeling, regardless of the outcome. Now if I could just stop checking my email every ten seconds ...

It's time to relax

Over the past three days, I have completely re-worked my manuscript. I have a new query letter that I really like. And I'm now at a point where I honestly feel like I've done everything I can do to get The Devil You Don't Know published.

(Thanks, Anne!)

Oh, there's one more thing, I guess. I have to write a synopsis. Damn it. I have a secret that I'm going to share here for the first time: I have been purposely avoiding agents who require a synopsis in the hope that I could just, you know, skate around it.

Yeah. Right. Not going to happen. So tomorrow, after I mow the entire yard and before I make dinner and then take the kid to his first Little League game of the season, I am going to try to kind of start writing a synopsis.

Damn it.

I sent three more queries tonight with the new query letter and shiny new manuscript just ready to pounce on the world. Ahem. Anyway, I really got my courage up and queried .... wait for it .....

Nathan Bransford!

I know. It'll never happen for several reasons (not his cup of tea, not his kind of writing, too adult, etc.), but what the hell. Since I figure he'll reject me like he does 99.99999999 percent of writers who query him, I figured I might as well get it out of the way.

I sort of expected the rejection fairly soon, since he's like super-human when it comes to the speed in which he rejects people (although he does it nicely, I'm told; I'll let you know). But then I remembered that the series finale of Lost is tonight, so I figure that'll keep him occupied for the entire evening.

So I should hear from him in the morning. (Yay, he says weakly.)

I've decided to post the latest incarnation of my query tonight for you guys to sniff around and rip to shreds should the desire strike you. Seriously, if you guys see anything that needs work, please tell me. I still have lots of prospective agents left -- including all of my A list with the exception of Nathan. So I can still tweak this baby.

Thanks in advance. Here it is:

Dear Mr. Bransford,

Newspaper editor Michael Reed takes a frantic call from a former nun, begging him to meet her son, the resurrected Jesus Christ in the form of fifteen year old Jordan Crane. Michael blows her off as just another crackpot.

When Michael's son is hit by a car, his fragile faith is tested in ways he could not have imagined when Jordan Crane places his hands on his son's dead body—and brings him back to life. A skeptic by nature, Michael questions his own sanity.

Michael soon learns Jordan needs him to lead a small group of average people into the greatest spiritual battle of all time—the last fight between God and Satan. Can they save the world? Is this kid really the Son of God? Or has Michael truly lost his mind?

As he suspends his disbelief and rationalizes the miracles Jordan Crane keeps delivering, Michael's newspaper instincts take over and he knows he must tell the world this story. It's not an assignment he relishes.

THE DEVIL YOU DON'T KNOW is a thriller complete at 114,000 words.

As a career journalist, I've received a dozen national, regional, and state awards from the Associated Press and the Illinois Press Association for writing and reporting.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I would be delighted to send you the first three chapters.

Very truly yours,

Terry L. Towery
[contact info redacted]

I've killed my darlings

I just spent the day completely revising the first 195 pages of The Devil You Don't Know.

I know. I'm exhausted. Fried.

As most of you know, I finally broke down and asked for help the other day. Guess what? I got it! Yay.

The lovely and very talented Anne Gallagher, Piedmont Writer to those of you here on the Internets, emailed me and offered to read my first 50 pages and tell me if they worked for her. I sent it off last night without a moment's hesitation because, really, what do I have to lose?

Thirteen hours later, she emailed me back an amazing critique of the pages, telling me things that I had long known in my own heart. The book starts with too much back story; the plot needs to be moved up. Keep in only those parts that move the plot forward and take the rest out. Do it, she said, and let me know if you think it works better.

It does. It really does.

As many of you know, the book is also too damned long -- clocking in at 123k. Yikes. So that had to be fixed, too.

So I rolled up my sleeves and went to work this morning, cutting and pasting and hacking it like I'm that serial killer in the film Seven. I pulled out chapters two through three and pasted them into a separate file. Then I moved Chapter four up to become Chapter two and rewrote accordingly. Then I slowly added in only those things that move the plot forward. Nothing else.

Sadly, I lost much of Gary K., the biker AA sponsor (although he shows up later, just without much of his previous flair). But by mid-afternoon, I knew I was onto something good. Really good.

The story started to flow like the new manuscript has been flowing. I hewed close to the plot's bones and killed all those darlings that stood in the way. I've heard it mentioned that many first-time novelists commit writer masturbation while writing their rookie novel. In other words, they write to please themselves, not the reader.

Anne pointed out (not in so many words) that I need to make love to the novel, instead -- I need to do it for others and not for my own selfish pleasure.

Whew. I'm blushing here. Sorry for the saucy talk! Let me go take a cold shower and .... Okay. I'm back.

Anyhoo ... Anne was right. Stunningly right. Nine hours after starting, I had revised up to page 194. I stopped because, well, because I'm worn out. I just sent her the new beginning. I can't wait to see what she has to say. And if it still doesn't work, I'll go back at it in the morning. I've decided the goddamned thing has taken up way too much of my life not to give it every chance to be published.

Oh, and the length? Well, now it's down to 114k and counting. Yay! That means that in one day, I not only made the book better, but I made it shorter by almost 10,000 words. Not bad for a day's work, I'd say.

I'll let you know how things turn out. But I am committed to getting TDYDK published.

Thanks Anne. And thanks to everyone who has lent a hand over the past few weeks. I will never be afraid to ask for help again.

You guys are the best. :)

When crazy attacks

Earlier today, I melted down like a tired two-year-old.

I've poured so much of myself into my writing -- into my novel -- over the past three years that I think I've somehow managed to jiggle something loose upstairs, if you know what I mean.

What I'm trying to say is: I think I'm losing my mind.

Bear with me here.

Most of you who follow this little blog know I can get all poor me at times, that I suffer from an extreme case of insecurity. That I occasionally become utterly overcome with the fear that I won't get published, that I quit my job -- my career -- for nothing. I worry that my family will starve, that some guy with a crew cut wearing an ugly tie and a short-sleeved dress shirt (God, I hate short-sleeved dress shirts!) will knock on the door holding some kind of official-looking document and take everything away from us.

No. I'm serious here. Quit laughing.

See, I sent out all these copies of the book to beta readers and as of this morning, I'd only heard from three. One finished it and loved it (my dear father in law, who would probably tell me if he hated it) while the other two are online writer buddies who are slogging through it and seem to like it so far (Shout out to Gina and Kristy; you guys rock!).

But the others? Zip. Nada. Nothing. My God. It's. Been. Two. Freaking. Weeks.

By early this afternoon, I was convinced that I suck more than a hungry anteater. My poor wife, who is the busiest person in the world and who is chasing her own dreams, hasn't had time to read it. Again. For the umpteenth time. The poor woman has already been through the manuscript almost as many times as I have.

But I didn't think about that then. No, I simply freaked out. OK, maybe not completely. Well, now that I think about it, yes, I did. I freaked out. I wasn't angry at her or the beta readers.

No. I was angry at myself. How could I be so stupid as to think I could quit my job, write a book -- a damned novel of all things -- and then just sit back and rake in the big bucks. What an idiot I am. See, I don't think like normal people. I'm not content to just get published.

I want a fucking best-seller. Half measures don't interest me. I want it all, baby. Or I want nothing. See? Told you I was crazy.

Meanwhile, the bastards I worked with and for at the newspaper for many more years than I care to remember have been sitting around having a good laugh at my expense. And what was I doing? Why, I was sitting here at this computer -- pissing my life away.

God, I hate it when people like that are right, you know?

So after my wife (who thank God loves me even though I sometimes act like a madman) went to work, I sat on the deck and sulked. Poor little me.

And then my father in law called. He'd finished the manuscript a week ago and we had already discussed it. But he called today just to tell me again how much he loved it. To tell me how proud he is of me, how glad he is that I married his daughter. We talked for several minutes about the characters in the book, about the possibility of a sequel. When I hung up, my heart was singing.

It was a gift from God, that call was.

And then I heard from another beta, who told me he's reading it and for me not to worry.

And then I heard from yet another, who stayed up last night to finish it. She absolutely loved it and she talked excitedly for a long time about the characters and the book and how proud she is to know me, etc. Her husband is reading it now and she wanted to know if it was okay with me if her mother and a friend read it next. She thinks they will love it.

So I called my wife and apologized for being a jerk. And then I went back outside on the deck and smoked a cigar. And I damn near cried like a baby.

See? I'm losing my mind. And I blame all this writing stuff. Either that, or all the drugs I did back in the day. But that's a whole other story.

Now what?

I'm standing at a career crossroads. And I don't know which way to go.

Beta readers have my manuscript, I've decided I cannot write a query letter if my life depended on it (and it kind of does, doesn't it?) and I have two WIPs sitting on my computer desktop. Unfinished and beckoning me.

What to do? I could bear down and rewrite my query for the umpteenth time. Or I could fire up one of those WIPs and get back to writing. Or I could do what I did today -- spend the morning reading and the afternoon watching baseball on television.

Here's some background:

One unfinished novel is the political one I started when I finished the first draft of The Devil You Don't Know. I was exhausted and purposefully began writing a completely different kind of novel, one with a more dispassionate -- almost remote -- voice. It's more plot-driven with less darkness (although it has some) and features a Main Character I would actually like to continue to explore. I envision it as the first in a series of political novels featuring Ian Cooper, the protag in this one.

The main reason I started it last fall was that I felt I had bitten off more than I could chew with DEVIL, which is big, complex, dark and features multiple points of view. I wrote DEVIL from the heart, exploring and plumbing the very depths of my life, my experiences and my fears. It was hard to write and yet cathartic in an odd kind of way.

The last thing I wanted to do was turn around and dive back into a similar book. The very thought of it sent shivers down my spine. So I invented Ian Cooper, sketched out a story one morning in a notebook, spent the next week doing bio sketches of all the characters, and started writing.

It was great fun. I was writing in a style very different from the one I used to write DEVIL. It's not exactly light-hearted, but it's certainly more lively, less deadly serious.

But at some point, about 14,000 words into it, I got some feedback on DEVIL from a couple of early alpha readers. They loved it and wanted more of the same. Then the book editor who went through DEVIL also liked the story, its depth and its complexity. She also mentioned some kind of a continuation.

I balked. I did not want to write another book like DEVIL. And I certainly didn't want to write a damned sequel, since sequels usually suck and anyway, why start a sequel to a book that might not ever get published?

But I started to wonder if perhaps I am meant to write the kind of books that wear me out, that exhaust me in every way possible. Maybe I'm not meant to write light-hearted, plot-driven series books.

So I ditched the political novel back in January. I spent several days working up a story, sketching out characters, etc. And then it occurred to me what I was doing.

I was writing the sequel to The Devil You Don't Know!

Sure, I think I've found an original way to write a sequel, in case the first book never sells. See, the new one starts several months earlier than its prequel, and eventually dovetails with that plot about midway through the novel. It has a whole new cast of characters, although the old characters appear at the midpoint. It's even set in a different place -- Exeter, N.H.

Of course, it ends up in the same place as DEVIL. And it's designed to wrap up the story completely. And if I craft it right, it could stand on its own.

But now that I'm waiting for beta reports to come in -- and dealing with a big-time case of the nervous crazies in the process -- I'm wondering what to do. Should I go with my first instinct and finish the politcal novel? Or dive into the bigger sequel and hope for the best?

What would you do?

Oh, Lord!

Well, my excitement over baseball season lasted a whole 19 hours. Is it football season yet?

As some of you might know, the Atlanta Braves crushed my hapless Cubbies 16-5. And really, it wasn't even that close. Ace (ahem) Carlos Zambrano looked good for exactly two hitters before the Evil Carlos took over. From there, things went downhill quicker than I did that time I accidentally went down the black-diamond ski slope at Chestnut Mountain (that didn't turn out too well, either).

Anyway, enough of all this depressing baseball stuff. Let's talk about writing.

Erm. Uh. Well.

Okay, not much going on there, either. I've sent off three electronic versions of the mss and will be printing four paper copies in the next couple of days. And then?

Well, then I wait. Because maybe seven revisions aren't enough. Maybe, just maybe, I'll need to dive back into the thing and spend the next fifty-six years reworking my novel.

Or not. Who knows?

Despite my obvious post-Cubs debacle depression, I don't really feel that bad tonight. I have a finished manuscript, two more started and a wife who's gonna be a roller derby babe. I mean, really, how much more can a person ask for in life?

Except a freaking Cubs victory on Wednesday!

Onward.

The Devil You Don't Know is finished!

The massive re-write of The Devil You Don't Know is finished and I'm wiped out.

I worked more than nine hours today without a break and finished a few minutes ago (shortly after 8 p.m.).

I don't know if it's publishable, but I do know it's as good as I can possibly make it. I left it all on the page -- every damned ounce of talent I have. Whether it's good enough remains to be seen, but I can honestly say I worked harder on this than on anything in my entire life.

It took more than two years to write (with an eight-month break for the Congressional campaign during which I wrote nothing) and three months to completely rewrite and revise it. I've been through the manuscript so many times I literally know every word by heart.

I never want to read it again. But I sure hope others do.

Early next week, I'm going to have four copies printed for me at Kinko's. And those will be going to the beta readers I've chosen. Two more electronic versions are going to my alpha readers -- my wife and my father-in-law, both of whom read it and critiqued it before the revisions.

If anyone really wants to read an electronic version, and is willing to give me honest feedback, let me know. I'm not sure how smart that is, and I don't want to send it to just anyone, but ask and I'll certainly consider it. I think I've covered myself enough on this blog and elsewhere on the Internet that it won't be difficult to prove it's mine.

Provided, of course, that it's worth stealing! :)

Sorry to be rambling, but I'm really tired and, oddly enough, a little emotional. I cannot believe I did this. I wrote a fucking novel! Wow.

If I can do it, anyone can do it.

Almost there

I have a chapter-and-a-half left and my massive manuscript revision is done. While I need to balance a couple of personal things tomorrow, it's entirely possible I will be done by this time tomorrow night.

This is the seventh complete rewrite, and by far the most comprehensive. This one, you might recall, comes after book editor Staley spent weeks going through the manuscript and made copious notes and suggestions. Her work was excellent and her suggestions spot on. I am very, very happy with where the book is, although I'm a bit nervous about tackling the ending.

I'm most happy that, after all of this editing and rewriting and revising, the book is still my book. It's still the story I envisioned when I sat down at the computer (not even this one, but a previous one) and began banging out a crude first draft. It's still my idea, my plot, my characters. I was terrified that someone would take me aside and tell me: Dude, this sucks. You need to completely rethink this.

But they didn't. And I'm happy. And relieved. I swear I'm not going to work for a week or so once it's done and off to the final beta readers. Okay, I guess I need to spend some time polishing the query letter. Again. But mainly, next week is reserved for baseball. It is opening week, you know.

So that's where I am tonight. Tired but happy that The Devil You Don't Know is almost ready to start shopping around.

Oh, and keep the roller derby nicknames coming. We are loving them! Gina, yours were particularly well received.

Oh, my newest nickname idea? Lois Pain. Get it? She's a reporter. Lois Lane?

Character sketch: Samantha Cate

I've decided to do something different for the next several days, both to get this blog back on topic (namely, writing a novel), and to get myself back on track (namely, writing a novel).

To that end, I've decided to publish a daily introduction, if you will, of the main cast of characters populating the pages of The Devil You Don't Know. These characters have essentially run my life for the past three years and I have fallen deeply in love with them. They've ended up far differently than I had planned back in March of 2007, and each day that I sat down to write about them, they refused to go where I wanted them to go or say what I wanted them to say.

The ungrateful little bastards wrote their own story.

But what a story it turned out to be, if I do say so myself. So I shall introduce a character a day until, well, until I'm done. I'll start with the lesser characters and move toward the two main characters.

I'll spend a few paragraphs outlining the character, then I'll pull a passage from the book that I think shows a bit of their essence. I hope you love them as much as I do.

SAMANTHA CATE: Sam is sixteen years old and a runaway from her parents' central Illinois farm. When the novel opens, she's living with her big sister Beth in Davenport, Iowa, where she attends high school and dreams of becoming a doctor someday -- like her sister.

A pretty little blonde with blue eyes, she is often described as a "ragamuffin" and "a haunted little girl" throughout the story. Sam is chased ceaselessly by the demons of her childhood, as are most of the main characters in the novel. She wants revenge, of course, but more importantly, she wants a normal life. Wants it desperately.

The Devil You Don't Know is a modern horror story that draws heavily from the Christian New Testament (or does it? Bwahaahaaha!), and Sam plays the role of a contemporary Mary Magdalene. She falls hard for Jordan Crane, the 15-year-old son of a fallen Catholic nun. While the slight difference in age poses a bit of a problem for Sam, who's wise beyond her years, the fact that Jordan's mother is convinced he's Jesus Christ poses an even bigger problem. An insurmountable problem, if you will.

She meets Jordan after coming to spend Christmas break with Michael and Kris Reed, who have served as pseudo foster parents for Sam since the tragic death of her older sister Ashley in a car accident four years earlier broke her birth family beyond repair.

At first, she's intensely jealous of Jordan's close relationship with the Reeds and, because of her horrific past, is terrified of him because he's male. Their relationship continues to deteriorate until one night, after Sam storms away from the dinner table, young Jordan comes to her room.

I've already detailed that scene earlier on this blog (you know, the one with the orgasmic touch), so I won't go there this time. But I would encourage you to go back to that post on scene strengthening and read it again here http://awriterofwrongs.blogspot.com/2010/02/good-days-revisions.html. I'll wait.

Back? Okey-dokey.

After her life begins to change in ways she couldn't possibly have foreseen, Samantha finds herself immersed in forbidden love and facing the greatest danger of her life. Can she find redemption with Jordan's help? Or will she die because of her deep love for him?

Sorry. You'll have to read the book to find those answers and more. (I sound like a used car salesman!)

ON THE PAGE:

Sam was still awake in her bed hours after Jordan left her room.

She’d read about born-again Christians who were on fire for Jesus, but she’d never actually felt it herself. Nor had she ever known anyone who’d felt that way. In fact the very thought of it had always made her somewhat uncomfortable. But that’s exactly how she felt now—excited beyond reason and yet more serene than she’d ever felt in her life. It was as though her eyes had been opened. She knew who Jordan was. There was no disputing that. Not only did her heart know it, but her brain did as well.

She smiled and stared into space, enjoying the serenity in her heart. Ashley popped into her mind, unbidden. She remembered that hectic school day morning and the silly argument they had over whether Ash had eaten the last grapefruit for breakfast. Sam had shouted and stamped her feet, appealing to their mom for justice. Her mother had thrown her hands in the air and left the room, muttering.

“I hate you,” Sam shouted at Ash. She stormed out of the kitchen and instead of riding to school with Ash that day, she walked. She’d show her.

Twenty minutes later, while trudging along the sidewalk, she received a text message from Ash: I’m sorry, Sammi.

Whatever, she texted back. But her sister never replied. Her stunned father would come to school two hours later to tell her the reason why.

Now, still lying in her bed, she wished with all of her heart that she could take those last hateful words back.

“Oh God, Ash,” she said, her eyes closed. “I’m so sorry. I love you. Please forgive me.”

Ashley’s presence was so strong in the room that, for a moment, Sam was certain she could smell grapefruit. But, of course, that was silly.

A chair scraped in the darkness and Sam’s eyes flew open. Goose bumps bloomed on her forearms and her heart whooshed in her ears.

“Hello?” she said in a tiny voice. “Who’s there?”

The darkness was silent, but the smell of grapefruit was stronger. She was sure of it.

A floorboard creaked closer to her bed and Sam whimpered, her eyes wide with terror.

Something moved on the bed, down by her feet. She skittered away, too horrified to scream. She felt something plop down on the bed, next to her thigh. It rolled briefly and stilled.

“Jordan?” In the inky blackness, Sam turned over and felt frantically for the bedside lamp, almost knocking it off the table. After what felt like hours—her eyes squeezed shut, certain something was going to grab her—she found the switch and turned it on.

When she opened her eyes, it wasn't the grapefruit on the bed that made her gasp. No, it was her sister Ashley, standing next to it, shimmering in the lamplight.

“I’m sorry, Sammi,” Ash whispered. “You were right. I took the last grapefruit.”

Sam opened her mouth to scream.


IN REAL LIFE: I knocked off ten pages of revisions today, more than I thought I was capable of just a couple of days ago. I still hope to finally have the revisions done in a couple of weeks, at which time the manuscript goes to three beta readers for one final go through before I begin querying in earnest. If all goes according to plan, I'll be a millionaire by autumn.

Or not. Whatever.

COMING TOMORROW: The Reverend David Douglas. You're going to like this guy. Trust me. ;)

Like a fly in molasses

The title of this post aptly describes my current (and final, I hope) round of revisions. It seems like it's taking me nearly as much time to revise a chapter as it took to write it in the first place!

Yikes.

On Monday, I started revisions on Chapter 4 -- a longish chapter that's one of the most crucial scenes in the book. It's where real life and, well, other stuff collide. It was hard to write (there's some graphic violence and a young child involved), and I remember well the depression I sank into while writing it. It was hellish, even though I knew it was the make-or-break scene of the book.

It took me a week to write the chapter back in early summer of 2007. It took me two entire days to revise it.

At this rate, I won't be done for weeks. I mean, there's 28 chapters in the book! And keep in mind that this is the fourth of fifth (I forget the actual count) revision I've done. This sucker is going to sing when it's done. Hell, it ought to wash the car and cook dinner, too!

There's a part of me that wants to get the book done and send it off. To someone. Anyone.

There's another part of me that knows it has to be the best it can be before I send it out.

I keep telling myself that the book is getting better. And it is. And the better the book is, the better my chances of getting an agent and, eventually, a book deal.

So I plod on, desperate to get back to writing my new book.

One thing I've learned is this: For me, writing is a hell of a lot more fun than editing.

My first rejection

January 14, 2010

Dear Author: Thank you so much for sending the [name redacted] Literary Agency your query. We’d like to apologize for the impersonal nature of this standard rejection letter. Rest assured that we do read every query letter carefully and, unfortunately, this project is not right for us.

Because this business is so subjective and opinions vary widely, we recommend that you pursue other agents. After all, it just takes one "yes" to find the right match.

Good luck with all your publishing endeavors.

And there it is! My first rejection letter. And it's a form letter -- the worst kind of all. No feedback. No "You're almost there, keep at it." Nothing but no. Yay.

I ended up sending out two letters to prospective agents yesterday, the first included the first five pages of my manuscript as per her instructions, and this one, which consisted only of the query (per this particular agent's instructions).

Want to know a secret? This didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. Weird, huh? I fully expect to receive my second NO any time now -- since that's the one I sent to the Mikey of the agent world (she doesn't like anything!). Of course, I screwed that one up. BUT, it contains a sample of the book, something the above agent didn't see.

So we'll see. But I know from exhaustive research that no author -- not one -- got accepted the first time they sent a query or a manuscript. Stephen King? Dozens of rejections. J.K. Rowling? Rejected by every single agent and publishing house except one -- and it got rich from her in the long run.

So, there's no telling. But I shall persevere. The process has only just begun. (Why am I starting to sound like John Paul Jones?)

I'll update if I hear from Agent No. 1 today.

UPDATE: I sent a third query out late this afternoon to an agent in Tennessee. I found him on the Internet and he reps what I write. So we'll see. In summary -- three queries out, one rejection, two pending. I'm told many published authors send out up to 50 or even 100 queries before they get an agent. It's gonna be a long winter.

Well, I did it

God help me, I just hit send on my first query to a real literary agent! I sent the query and the first five pages of the manuscript (i.e., the entire prologue) to a very well known agent who is famous (infamous?) for rejecting almost everything she gets.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Granted, I fully expect to be rejected. And that's probably why I chose her, to get that first NO out of the way. Once the initial sting of rejection passes (and provided my wife can get my nearly dead body cut down before I really suffocate), I can then continue on with my edits and start querying in earnest.

But I've felt ready this week to stick my toe in the waters. So, I have.

I talked to Staley a few minutes ago (Staley, you might remember, is my awesome book editor) and she said to go for it. Of course, there's much left to do on the manuscript, mainly cutting some of the excess verbiage and tightening some character stuff. But even if the agent in question asks for a few more additional pages (ha! like that will happen), I'd feel confident providing them.

I think.

I'll update when the first rejection comes in. It's almost a rite of passage among new authors. Some even print the email out and frame it. Me? I'll probably delete the damned thing.

I don't generally handle rejection well. So I might as well start getting used to it.

UPDATE: Holy crap! I just checked the emailed query I sent earlier today to an agent and IT HAS A MASSIVE SCREW-UP IN IT! Okay, not massive. But pretty bad. I was changing around the personal stuff at the bottom (you know, where you kiss their butt!) and inadvertently cut off a sentence!!! This to a literary agent who's known to look for reasons to reject people.

Foot, meet bullet. Bullet, meet foot.

Oh well. Lesson learned today: CHECK THE DAMNED THING SEVERAL TIMES BEFORE HITTING SEND.

Query & writing update

Last week, I posted my query letter for THE DEVIL YOU DON'T KNOW. I also mentioned that I had submitted it to a couple of highly regarded online writers' groups to be critiqued.

I was actually very pleased with the responses, for the most part, and came away from the experience convinced I'm almost there. I spent the weekend polishing it even more and I think it's there. Really.

Here's the newest version. Please refer back to my earlier query and you can see the differences in tone and content.


Dear [agent],

Burned-out newspaper editor Michael Reed reluctantly takes a call from a disgraced former nun that changes his life forever. The desperate woman’s request that he meet her son sets Michael on a quest to determine the true identity of fifteen-year-old Jordan Crane. Is the kid Jesus Christ in the flesh? A fraud? Or is he something far worse?

Within hours of the call, Michael’s life inexplicably falls apart. He loses his job and eighteen years of sobriety. Two days later, his eight-year-old son is killed on the highway in front of his home. Within seconds, Jordan Crane mysteriously arrives on the scene and places his hands on the child’s body. When the dead boy opens his eyes, Michael finds himself face to face with the unthinkable.

Fearing for his very sanity, Michael must choose between believing what his heart tells him is true and what his mind says is madness. As a journalist, Michael has valued truth over all else. But what if the truth leads not only to his own death, but the death of everything he holds dear?

My first novel, THE DEVIL YOU DON’T KNOW is a mainstream thriller complete at 120,000 words.

As a career journalist, I received several national, regional and state awards for writing and reporting. My newspaper, the Peoria Journal Star, submitted my work to the Heywood Broun Award and the Pulitzer Prize committees.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Terry Towery

With the query letter ready (I hope), it's time to move on to yet another edit of the manuscript. No kidding, this is the tenth time I have gone through DEVIL, editing, cutting and polishing where needed. I think I know all 120,000 words by heart.

What I'm doing now is called a "line edit." It means just that -- I am going through each line of the 470-page manuscript, pondering each and every word. Can I use a stronger verb here? Can I cut this modifier there? An adverb? ACK. Kill the bastard!

I've completely put aside the new novel to get this one ready to send out into the big, bad world of publishing. I needed to get the new one's opening scene down, and I did. Now it can wait. Its time will come.

Trust me.

Let me know what you think of the new query letter. And thanks, as always, for your help and your visit.

My query letter for DEVIL

A query letter is, without a doubt, the hardest thing an aspiring author must write. It should contain about three paragraphs on the distilled essence of your novel, and it needs to contain a hook.

A hook is that magical phrase or sentence that screams to a prospective agent: Read me!

A good query should show that your book includes a quest or personal journey, lots of conflict and a moment of choice. While it's difficult to pull those out of a long and complex novel, if you look closely you'll find that all of the good ones are built around those elements.

An excellent query is designed to land you a literary agent. It's a huge first step toward conventional publishing, i.e., with a commercial publishing house as opposed to self-publishing (which is a cat of a whole other color). Once you nail that agent, she then acts as your advocate in finding a publisher and selling your project for the most money. The agent also helps to negotiate your contract -- a rocky shoal on which many a newbie writer has been stranded.

A good query letter must be concise (less than 300-400 words) and basically sum up a 400-plus page novel in three paragraphs. It also needs to contain the title, the word count and the genre.

A query letter has to shine like a diamond. Good literary agents read upwards of 30,000 queries a year! And they generally offer representation to about six or seven lucky souls. And it's all based on their query letter. A good one means you have a career as a novelist. A bad one means, well, that you don't. In other words, you can have a monumental novel written, but no one will see it if you can't write the best damned query letter in the world. Seriously.

No pressure. (gulp)


Your query should also contain a very brief author's bio, and should include anything in your background (writing work, awards, etc.) that will catch an agent's eye in the brief seconds he is scanning it before moving on to the next one in his in-basket. I've spent weeks polishing my query after the initial version was ripped apart on an online critique group. Man, that hurt. But it was good advice and I'd like to think I followed it for the most part.

So, today I'm going to post my query letter as it stands right now. It may yet go under the knife again, since I've re-posted it to that very same shark pit that tore me apart last month.

Here goes:


Dear [agent],

Burned-out newspaper editor Michael Reed reluctantly takes a call from a disgraced former nun that changes his life forever. The desperate woman’s request that he meet her son sets Michael on a terrifying quest to determine the true identity of fifteen-year-old Jordan Crane. Is the kid Jesus Christ in the flesh? A fraud? Or is he something far worse?

Within hours of the call, Michael’s comfortable life inexplicably falls apart. He loses his job and eighteen years of sobriety. Two days later, his eight-year-old son is killed on the highway in front of his home. When young Jordan Crane mysteriously arrives on the scene and places his hands on the child’s body, Michael finds himself face to face with the unthinkable.

Haunted by his tragic past and fearing for his very sanity, Michael must choose between believing what his heart tells him is true and what his mind says is pure madness. In making the choice, he learns that sweet redemption always comes with a price.

My first novel, THE DEVIL YOU DON’T KNOW is a mainstream thriller complete at 120,000 words.

A career journalist, I have received several national, regional and state awards for writing and reporting. My newspaper submitted my work to the Heywood Broun Award and the Pulitzer Prize committees.

(Note: The following paragraph is aimed at one particular agent and may not appear on all queries sent)

On a personal note, I enjoy your blog and read it daily. Your informative and helpful posts not only afforded me the technical skills to craft this query letter, but the courage to send it. Thank you.

Terry Towery



So there you have it. My query letter as it stands today. My question to you is this: After reading it (and understanding that it's meant for literary agents and not the general public, since the overall novel is far more complex than it appears in this query), would you want to read the story?

If so, why? And if not, why not?

As always, thanks for your help and input. I value it highly!

SNOWSTORM/WRITING UPDATE: We got hammered here in Peoria last night and early this morning. I'd guess we got an additional 6 or 7 inches on top of the 8 inches already on the ground. Our patio furniture looks like white topiary! It's really quite beautiful and ... we're snowed in. The driveway is long and sloping and un-driveable.

So what am I doing about it? Well. I'm hoping my really nice neighbor fires up his John Deere tractor with the really cool blade on it and comes over and plows it. Again. Did I mention he's really nice?

The 12-year-old got his wish. Schools in the area are shut down. But, as luck would have it, the poor kid woke up sick this morning with a high fever and sore throat and is currently asleep upstairs in his room with his Playstation 2 game paused. What a waste of a perfectly good snow day! Poor kid. The wife is also home (see driveway status above).

Me? I'm sitting at my desk, smoking a cigar, drinking my fourth cup of Starbucks Sumatra, staring off into space and occasionally stroking my chin. I also say "a ha" every so often. Hey, writing is tough work sometimes.

Really, I'm thinking the new book through. It's coming, albeit slowly.

I also plan on spending several hours pondering tomorrow's Friday Family Movie. I hope the driveway gets itself cleared soon, so we can get to the video store.

SNOW REMOVAL UPDATE: I have the best neighbor in the whole world!

Starting things off with a BANG

My word count for today was a shade over a thousand, about average for me. While they weren't great words, they were pretty good. Acceptable. I'll polish them tomorrow until they are all bright and shiny. Either that, or I'll kill 'em and start over. My problem today? I was winding down a very intense opening chapter. See, the new book (unnamed so far; cast your vote below!) opens with a bang. It drops you, the reader, into the midst of a suspenseful and horrifying situation and then, well, rubs your face in it.

God, it was fun to write.

My previous book, THE DEVIL YOU DON'T KNOW, opened a bit more sedately (see its prologue posted Dec. 17). I intentionally sought to create more of a moody, eerie feeling, as though something just isn't quite right. Then it pretty much goes into a straight narrative, telling the story from start to finish. Eventually, the reader discovers exactly what it was that happened during the prologue -- one of those ohhhh moments I so dearly love.

Meanwhile, I'm waiting for a call from the book editor who is finishing up her edits on DEVIL. I am terrified. What if she hates it? What if the plot doesn't hold up? What if the characters are cardboard and the story structure falls apart after Chapter 4?

My God, what if the whole thing just sucks?

Crap. I should have stayed at the damned newspaper! Arrrggggggg!!!!!

(Breathing deeply)

Ok. I'm fine now. Nothing a little coffee and my third cigar of the day won't cure.

My dream is no lie

When I finished my first novel in late August (pending more edits, of course), I decided to start something a bit lighter. See, THE DEVIL YOU DON'T KNOW is a rather dark theological thriller with some very deep themes. Many of them were ripped from my own soul, my own experiences.

It damn near killed me to write it.

Consequently, I figured a political thriller with lots of plot and very little depth would be just the ticket. And now, about 13,000 words into it, it turns out I was right. It's been much easier to write and doesn't send me into those dark and scary bouts of depression like the first one did.

So why am I shelving it in favor of yet another dark theological thriller?

Good question, and one I shall attempt to answer.

During the two years it took me to write THE DEVIL, I constantly felt like I'd bitten off more than I could chew. I felt overwhelmed. Frustrated. I didn't feel nearly talented enough to accomplish what I wanted to accomplish. There were days when I was so pissed at myself that I honestly considered just deep-sixing the whole damned thing and looking for a real job. Oh, there were many, many dark days of self-imposed agony. I feared deep in my soul that I wasn't good enough to fulfill my lifelong dream.

I was still being held hostage by my fear of failure, which is eclipsed only by my fear of success. A line from Springsteen's The River kept me up at night:

Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse?

And then I finished the damned book one hot Friday night in a frenzy of writing, coffee and cigars. And people read it. And they liked it. Sometimes, they liked it alot.

And I started to feel something I had never felt before, despite all of the things I've managed to accomplish. I felt as though I had finally put my heart and soul into something and ... I somehow pulled it off!

Wow.

As low as I had felt writing it, I felt equally high as others read and enjoyed it--as they got it.

Now I don't know if THE DEVIL YOU DON'T KNOW will ever see the light of publication. Only God knows that for sure -- and He ain't talking. But now I know the satisfaction of completing something that seemed all but impossible to complete. It's one hell of a feeling.

So I'm hard at work laying the groundwork for my next novel. Its working title is THE CROSSROADS and it's a novel about the epic battle between Good and Evil. God and the Devil. Man and his Soul.

I'm depressed already ... and loving every minute of it!