Forget writing a novel–what about the pitch'? That one perfect sentence designed to describe the plot and provide an emotional hook so that whoever you're telling it to says "I want to read more!"

I've struggled with my pitch Diary of Bedlam, but the reason I'm writing this post today is because I'm formulating my hook for my second novel. I'm hoping it helps me solidify the theme and give me a broad idea of the direction I'm going in.

In television and film it's called a logline. Today I spent some time at the Internet Movie Database reading loglines of films I've seen so I could get a feel for it.

Training Day:
On his first day on the job as a narcotics officer, a rookie cop works with a rogue detective who isn't what he appears.

Donnie Brasco:
An FBI undercover agent infilitrates the mob and finds himself identifying more with the mafia life to the expense of his regular one.

The Silence of the Lambs:
A young FBI cadet must confide in an incarcerated and manipulative killer to receive his help on catching another serial killer who skins his victims.

Point Break:
An FBI agent goes undercover to catch a gang of bank robbers who may be surfers.

A History of Violence:
A mild-mannered man becomes a local hero through an act of violence, which sets off repercussions that will shake his family to its very core.

Body Heat:
In the midst of a searing Florida heat wave, a woman convinces her lover, a small-town lawyer, to murder her rich husband.

After looking at some of these examples, I realized I've made the process of coming up with a logline way too complicated. When I knocked my story down to the essentials, it was right there waiting for me.

I'm not going to post it here because the new novel is in its beginning stages and I want to keep it to myself for now. I will, however, tell you the logline for Diary of Bedlam:

In 1678 London, a fortuneteller's client is murdered and she must find the killer amid the politics and intrigue of Charles II's court before she becomes the next victim.

Of course, Diary of Bedlam is about much more than that, but at its core, this is the plot. I'm hoping it will make my potential audience say "Hook me up with some of that!"

Did you know April is National Poetry month? I didn't either until a few days ago. 

Back in the day, I used to write a lot of poetry. Long before I ever found the courage to write a novel, I used poetry as an outlet for my feelings. And boy, did I have a lot of feelings back then. Feelings I really didn't know what to do with so I splattered them on the page.

The poems touch upon a variety of topics; unrequited love (all my love was unrequited back then), war, social justice, whimsy, God. I was very religious until my late twenties, and I pursued religious truth passionately because if I was going to give over my life to God, it had to make some sense, I had to understand it to the best of my ability.

I'm an atheist now, so that should tell you how that went. But that's a subject for another post.

During my senior year of high school, we studied the Shakespearean sonnet, and boy, that was a form of poetry I could get behind. All that structure! The couplet at the end! Iambic pentameter! I find my creativity needs a structure to flourish, whether it's pre-defined or I construct it myself. I don't do well with unstructured creativity–all that freedom leads me astray. Must be my Catholic upbringing.

I wrote a lot of sonnets after that. And I snagged my husband with a personal ad that began with Shakespeare's sonnet #130: My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun…

I owe a lot to the Shakespearean sonnet, yes I do.

In honor of National Poetry Month, I offer you Sonnet #3, by Holly West:

Blindness is a trait of humanity
A condition that seems to come and go.
We only see the things we want to see
And we only learn what we want to know.
What does it take to see the sad man smile?
We turn away from those whose hopes have died.
If we could only stop for a short while,
And look about us, blind eyes open wide.
Those whose eyes were born blinded to the light
Can often see better than those who aren't.
They do not seem to need the gift of sight–
The see not with their eyes, but with their hearts.
  Blindness is our own human tragedy;
  Not enough men are born able to see. 

I'm not sure how old I was when I wrote this, but I couldn't have been much older than 18. One of the most interesting things about reading my old poetry is comparing the young me to the older me. In so many ways I haven't changed much.

Do you write poetry? If so, share it with me!

Originally posted April 26, 2010.

Ack! I wrote this post nearly two years ago and NOTHING has changed except I've gained more weight. My pop is running the Boston Marathon this morning–he would not be amused.

The good news is I've got a finished novel–almost feels worth the added poundage. But as I start my new writing project today, maybe it's also time to start re-incorporating some good eating/exercise habits into my life.

Fellow writers (and everyone else) how do you keep Butt-in-Chair-itis at bay?

Actually, I should really call this post the "Upside" of Butt in Chair, or perhaps the "Backside."

There are loads of writing tips on the Internet. Heck, there are even some here on this blog. But one of the most simple (and yet ironically hard to do) is this: Keep your butt in the chair and write.

If you do this daily you will almost certainly have something at least resembling a first draft, a polished novel, or whatever other goal you set for yourself. In fact, keeping your butt in the chair and writing is the only way you'll accomplish these goals.

But I'm not here to discuss the effectiveness of keeping your butt in the chair as a writing tool. I'm here to talk about a wicked side effect: Keep your butt in the chair long enough, and not only will you have a finished novel, you might also begin to notice that chair has gotten smaller. Because you, my dear, have gotten bigger.

And I have. I've struggled with my weight my entire life, but five years ago I lost about twenty-five pounds and kept it off for about three. In the past two years, I've gained most of it back, and coincidentally, that's the time I've been working on my novel.

Obviously, it's not the writing that's making me fat, it's the eating. And the not moving. One of the ways I lost that weight and kept it off was a pretty rigorous running schedule, and right about this time last year I was diagnosed with achilles tendonitis. I haven't really been a runner since. To top things off, I tore my ACL two weeks ago while skiing and my capacity for exercise has diminished even further. So yeah, I'm going to have to find a way to keep moving while not damaging any of my already wonky body parts. If you have some suggestions, let me know.

Back to the eating part though. I definitely eat more now that I'm writing, and here's why: it takes mental energy to be continuously creative, and the first thing I think of when my mind freezes is "I want a snack." I don't think "I want to go for a brisk walk," I think "I want a doughnut." Unfortunately, my mind freezes (by this I mean you're happily typing along and you hit a point where no words come and you want to get out of the chair, surf the internet, or in my case, have some ice cream) a lot.

I'd love to offer some solutions beyond "Keep the pantry door closed and KEEP YOUR BUTT IN THE CHAIR" but really, isn't that the only real solution? It's no fun, but it's a fact.

My fingers, at least, are still skinny–they get plenty of exercise on the keyboard.

Well, sorta.

I'm officially querying again and so far, so good. My only real complaint is that it takes awhile to get responses, and since I'm not generally known for my patience, I've resorted to even more obsessive-compulsive gmail refreshing than usual. Stay tuned though, I'm sure I'll have plenty of complaints later.

Yesterday I spent some time on QueryTracker.net looking for agents to query. This is a good task for me, as it feels sort of like time-wasting and yet is a necessary part of the book-writing process. It's certainly easier than actually writing a novel, and anything that feels like progress in my quest to get published that doesn't actually require the gut-wrenching task of writing is okay by me.

Should I not refer to writing as gut-wrenching? Perhaps not. Except for me it often is.

Anyway, back to QueryTracker. My search yesterday was broader than I'd done in the past and thus included many agents I hadn't heard of before. As part of my research, I went to their websites, read the QueryTracker comments, and generally did my homework to decide whether I wanted to add them to my list.

Since I started writing Diary of Bedlam nearly four years ago, I've learned quite a lot about what agents are looking for when they sort through queries. So much of it is subjective, but there are a few things, like following of submission guidelines and professionalism, that are expected across the board. But yesterday, I realized that as a writer, there are a few basic (and possibly superficial) things that I'm looking for as well.

First impressions definitely count.

1) If an agent uses a hotmail address, he/she is probably not the agent for me. Heck, at this point, I'd have second thoughts about doing business with anyone who still uses hotmail for business purposes.

2) If an agent still has the equivalent of an AOL circa 1997 website, I'll probably skip sending them a query. I certainly have nothing against AOL–heck, I met my husband via that service in 1996, but a professional web presence counts a lot. I'm not saying an agency has to spend loads of money on a fancy website, but I draw the line at websites using Comic Sans as a primary font.

3) I hesitate to mention this last one and I'm certain there will be people who disagree with me, but at this point, I'm skipping agents who do not accept queries by email. I understand they have their reasons for it and there are a few top-notch agencies who only accept queries by post that I'll probably end up querying, but for now email makes more sense to me.

I have other criteria, of course, but these are the things that stop me in my tracks almost immediately. As writers, we are all looking for the best agent to represent our work, and to me, the first two items mentioned speak to an agency's ability to represent me in the way I expect to be represented.

What do you think? Am I being too picky?

Hello fellow slackers!

Procrastination is a problem for me, so I asked some of my author friends how they shake off the lazies and get to work:

Eric Beetner
“When I finally commit to a novel or even something short I like to get it done and not lose momentum. I find inertia plays a big part in getting through a novel and keeping an even tone to the writing.”

Kris Neri
“Shortly before I fall sleep, I remind myself where I left off and what I’ll want to tackle the next day.”

Thomas Pluck
“It’s important to set aside time to daydream, as much as it is to have writing time. After all, you need something to write about.”

What does it mean to write the best novel you can? I think I might finally have the answer.

Over the weekend I attended Left Coast Crime in Sacramento. It was a great conference this year, filled to the brim with entertaining and informative panels, including a sort of "writing track" that featured panels about getting an agent, self-publishing, and the business of writing.

One session included a panel of two agents, a freelance editor, and Keith Kahla, Executive Editor at St. Martin's Press. I mention Mr. Kahla by name because he answered what I believe is an important question–one that I've been wondering about since I started writing DIARY OF BEDLAM.

As writers, we're always told to write the best novel we can. Make sure it's polished. Then, and only then, do we take the next step in the publishing process. For me, the next step is finding an agent.

But what does it mean to write the "best novel you can?" How good is good enough? Admittedly, the answer changes depending upon who you ask; no question the manuscript has to be polished, but it also has to be saleable. The structure and plot and characterizations need to be well-crafted, but it also has to be saleable.

Let's for the moment forget about the questions of grammar and spelling. We'll assume that your novel is perfect in this respect. Let's also assume that your novel's concept is saleable, that is, there's a market for it. It's a big assumption, sure, but there's no point in continuing this conversation if your novel isn't saleable (this goes for self-publishing too). 

So assuming the above, let's ask the question again: "What does it mean to write the best novel you can?"

It means, according to Mr. Kahla (and forgive me, I'm paraphrasing his actual statement), that when it first comes to him, the novel must be to a standard that if no changes whatsoever are made, he'd still be comfortable publishing it.

If you think about it, this makes a lot of sense. There are some aspects of the publishing process that the writer still has some control over, and revisions are one of them. Revisions to the story are essentially suggestions, and if the author feels strongly against a particular change, he/she can argue against it. If an agent or editor doesn't feel comfortable publishing it from the very beginning, there's no guarantee it will eventually become something they will feel comfortable publishing.

Now that I have the answer to the question, at least according to one editor, I have to admit it's a tall and daunting order. I'm finishing the last hundred pages of copy editing DOB today and in my non-expert opinion, the novel is ready for the printing press. But I thought that a year ago when I first started querying, only to begin a huge revision on it three months later when a few agents suggested it. There's no doubt they were right–the novel is 100 percent better now.

There's only one thing I'm absolutely sure about when it comes to writing and publishing a novel–there will always be something else to learn, something else that can be done to improve the manuscript. Beyond that, there's no certainty. But for now, I'm glad to have an answer to one more question.

AKA: FInish Your Manuscript Before Querying Agents

I'm at the tail end of this latest revision on Diary of Bedlam. So close I can taste it, in fact. And frankly, it's tasting pretty darned delicious.

This was a huge revision. I cut about 30,000 words, re-arranged many scenes, wrote new scenes, etc. The result is a much stronger book, there's no question about it. It's taken about six months to complete, but after reading this version I can confidently say it was worth the extra time.

That's not the reason for this post, however. I'm close enough to finishing that I have a case of "premature query-itis." What does that mean? It means I'm itching to start querying agents again. After all, it takes awhile to get a response, right?

Actually, that wasn't my experience in my first round of querying. Agents who were interested in seeing fulls or partials pretty much replied within days (sometimes hours). I was thankful I had the manuscript ready to send as soon as I got their requests.

Even agents who rejected me replied fairly quickly.

I'm not saying that every single agent had their finger on the send button as soon as they received my query, but enough did that I know how important it is to have a finished manuscript when you begin querying. You don't want to get a request for more material and not be able to send it right away. Well, at least I don't.

I've never seen an agent's submission guidelines that didn't say something to the effect of "Only query a finished manuscript." So yeah, all of this is rather obvious. But I can't be the only novice who thinks "I'm so close to being done, let me just send a query to see what response I get."

It happened before my first round of queries (but I somehow found the strength to resist it) and it's happening again now.

So really, this post is just about me telling myself "Whoa there, take your finger off the send button. FINISH YOUR MANUSCRIPT!"*

*And by finished, I mean properly formatted, copyedited, ready-to-go, no exceptions.

 

"It's important to set aside time to daydream, as much as it is to have writing time. After all, you need something to write about." –Thomas Pluck

Hello there, fellow slackers! Today we have another installment of "GET TO WORK," this week featuring Thomas Pluck. An outstanding crime fiction writer and all-around good guy, Thomas is the co-editor of Lost Children: A Charity Anthology. It's a collection of 30 incredible stories, the proceeds of which go to PROTECT and Children 1st.

Lost_children

If you recall, the question I asked was:

Do you have trouble buckling down and getting to your writing? If so, what is your no fail (or mostly no fail way) of getting yourself concentrate and get the work done? Or is it such a habit now it's really not a problem?

Thomas Pluck: I wish I had one, because lately I've been succumbing to sloth. Guilt always works. If I say I'm "off to the word mines" on Twitter, I know I can't keep jabbering with my friends without knowing they'll be looking at that tweet and thinking, "This guy's no pro. He's here goofing off, when he said he was on the clock. I bet he's still in his boxers, and that his feet smell like Frito's corn chips because he hasn't showered and it's 4pm." That usually works. It's also good for keeping you on your diet, and not buying Frito's corn chips. 

But seriously, folks… the old adage of "set aside time to write" is what I do. When I get in my pink dining room chair in front of my laptop, I'm all business. I plug in the headphones and choose the proper playlist. (If I'm writing the novel in progress, it's AC/DC, all Bon Scott and Flick of the Switch, their most underrated album; If it's Denny, I put on Run DMC and Grandmaster Flash). By then, I'm usually thirsty and get a beer, and the cat steals my chair. I can tell how focused I am on writing by how much effort the cats put into getting my attention. Shadow, a twenty pounder we call Cat Loaf, will jump on the table and sit on my hand. Charlie, the Siamese rescue we call the Gimp, will paw at my elbow. Word count low? Blame the cats.

Christa Faust said that what separates the amateurs from the pros is that the pros write even when it's tough. Like the famous Jack London adage- you can't wait for inspiration, you have to after it with a club. The other great piece of advice is from Hemingway, who said to stop writing while you still know what happens next. It works like a charm. By the time you write again, you've (hopefully) been daydreaming and taking notes about your work in progress, so you go a bit further, and further the next day. It's important to set aside time to daydream, as much as it is to have writing time. After all, you need something to write about. I've always been a daydreamer, so I steal moments where I can. So if you're a lazy, guilt-ridden daydreamer, writing should come easy. 

Just lay off the corn chips.

Note from Holly: Well, it's 12:26pm and I'm still in my PJs. Make of that what you will.

Thanks for stopping by, Thomas! Some great advice here (I especially like the playlist idea).