Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Write Stuff
Well it's the third day in November which happens to be National Novel Writing Month. But I won't be participating. I have to write at my own pace. Anyways, I'm currently working on a writing project. I'm really excited about the direction it's going. So many ideas are tumbling down my cerebral corridor. My goal for my project which is entitled The Elemental Queen is to have over a hundred pages. I'm really happy with this story. I'm just letting the ink flow and blocking the inner critic. I'll worrry about the revising and polishing later. Right now I'm just trying to turned my works-in-progress to complete manuscripts. To stop doubting my skills. And to believe in myself and innate talent. Happy writing.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Requested
I've been sending out queries of my middle-grade manuscript The Strange World of Neve Rimbel for the entire year, nobody ever reads anything but that one page summary. Well when I checked my e-mail yesterday in my inbox was a message saying Re: query. Usually those are always letdowns. "Sorry not for us." "Not right for our list." But someone actually requested the first chapter of my book. I am delighted. I know a rejection can follow. But it's nice to know that someone read a few pages before turning you down. So here's to hopefully having more people interested in reading the first chapter.
I won't wave the white flag on my dreams.
I won't wave the white flag on my dreams.
Monday, October 4, 2010
O, Muse, Where Art Thou?
Staring at blank pages, words slowly seep out. But wait they're all jumbled. Can't seem to capture what's in my mind's eye. All the books I read seem better than any idea I can conjure. Inspiration strikes! No that was only a chill that ran through my body. Something is missing. Hmmm, where is that muse of mine? Did my muse runaway? Or did some other scribe five finger discount my muse. I think I like to report a missing person because I won't be able to finish my novel until my muse comes back.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Abandon
Well it's been a minute since I blogged. Not that I have readers or anything. Anyways, here's a short story I composed earlier this week.
A young woman walked down the street, her eyes distant as the planets. She walked with her head down, hands jammed into her coat pockets. She mumbled to herself, "this sucks. I feel like I'm stuck in a bad episode of the Twilight Zone," she fumed, a tear prickled her eyelid. A whimper derailed her mopey train of thought.
She raised her head. Something, no someone was sitting on the curb. They were dressed in an oversized brown coat.
"Are you okay?"
The hunched over person didn't respond.
The woman put a gentle hand on the person's shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"You've abandoned me," the person replied in little more than a whisper.
The woman stepped back. "I don't even know you."
The person looked up. "Sure you do. I'm the dream you gave up."
"Impossible." The woman stared.
"You waved the white flag."
"I..I..I didn't give up. It was too hard to keep dreaming and trying." The woman felt the warm tears travel down her cheeks.
The dream/person replied, "you lost sight of your gift. Doubt clouded your mind. You didn't believe in yourself."
"I've tried. I'm trying." The woman reached out to touch the dream/person but they slipped through her fingers like water.
The woman stared from the crumpled brown coat to the mirrored sky. "I believe in myself."
A young woman walked down the street, her eyes distant as the planets. She walked with her head down, hands jammed into her coat pockets. She mumbled to herself, "this sucks. I feel like I'm stuck in a bad episode of the Twilight Zone," she fumed, a tear prickled her eyelid. A whimper derailed her mopey train of thought.
She raised her head. Something, no someone was sitting on the curb. They were dressed in an oversized brown coat.
"Are you okay?"
The hunched over person didn't respond.
The woman put a gentle hand on the person's shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"You've abandoned me," the person replied in little more than a whisper.
The woman stepped back. "I don't even know you."
The person looked up. "Sure you do. I'm the dream you gave up."
"Impossible." The woman stared.
"You waved the white flag."
"I..I..I didn't give up. It was too hard to keep dreaming and trying." The woman felt the warm tears travel down her cheeks.
The dream/person replied, "you lost sight of your gift. Doubt clouded your mind. You didn't believe in yourself."
"I've tried. I'm trying." The woman reached out to touch the dream/person but they slipped through her fingers like water.
The woman stared from the crumpled brown coat to the mirrored sky. "I believe in myself."
Friday, August 6, 2010
Chapter Excerpt
Today's blog will be the first few pages of my manuscript. They say you have to hook the reader in the 1st 5 pages. Well lets have a stab at it. Here's the opening chapter of QuestSeekers
Chapter 1
Quest Seekers
The country of Ishmar was home to four kingdoms. Lindor in the east. Salnon in the north. Taneer in the south and the heavily taxed kingdom of Dilroc in the west. People fell into one of two categories: the crumbs or the upper crusts. The crumbs were the working class folks such as blacksmiths, seamstresses, shoemakers, woodcutters, etc. People who had just enough for a hot meal and a roof over their heads. The upper crusts were mostly those born into nobility such as kings and queens, also aristocrats, dignitaries or anyone lucky enough to work within the royal courts. In the country of Ishmar the relationship between the crumbs and the upper crusts were quite strained, except in the kingdom of Lindor, where the two just kept their distance.
The Lindor kingdom was populated with several villages scattered throughout the land. One of those villages was called Pleasant Hills. In that village, a farm girl rationed out chicken feed to several hens. “Don’t be greedy,” she scolded a plump brown and white hen. She sat on the rickety fence and wiped her brow with a dusty hand. She watched the hens peck away at the ground. The farm girl was named Xanith Tinsdale. She lived with her adoptive parents, Alma and Winston; they found her abandoned in the woods seventeen summers ago. A merry whistle diverted her attention from the hens. Coming down the dirt pathway was Chartreuse, Xanith”s best friend since the time they learned how to talk.
Chartreuse was as different from Xanith as the sea was from the sky. She was the daughter of a whitesmith (her father was the only one who polished metal weapons in all the villagers in the east). This paid handsomely so Chartreuse often wore clothes that made her appear to be a member of the middle crust (a disappearing class). Today was no exception as she floated down the pathway in a pea green ankle length brocaded dress, complete with a cinched waistline. Loose raven curls framed her ebony cheeks and fell around her shoulders. She was no doubt one of the most resplendent maidens in the village. Xanith on the flip side was mostly plain. Often her butterscotch face was powdered with dirt, her hair often plaited and pinned into a bun. She was dressed in an oversized brown tunic, cowhide belt and tan leggings.
“Xan, they found another one.” Chartreuse thrust the Eastern Gazette at Xanith’s chest.
Xanith read the bold face headline: servant girl found outside the palace grounds.
“She was nothing but skin and bones and aged like a hundred times over.” Chartreuse’s eyes were wide as any sea.
Xanith shuddered. “That’s terrible. That’s like the tenth one or so,” she said dusting off her leggings. “They need to catch that mad man.”
“I’m terribly frightened.” Chartreuse ran her fingers through her hair.
“Have no fear, Wilhelm the brave is here.”
The girls spun around to see their friend, Wilhelm, the baker’s son bounding toward them. He was easy to spot in a crowd with sun bright skin and a tuft of sandy brown hair. A lopsided grin decorated his face. “I know what we’re going to do today,” he said merrily.
Xanith traded sidelong glances with Chartreuse. “What do you have in mind?” they asked in unison.
“Going on a quest,” he said, his grin growing wider.
Chartreuse groaned.
“We have mini-quest all over this village.” Xanith made a sweeping motion with her hand toward the expanse of the farm. “There’s nothing interesting around Pleasant Hills.”
“That’s because we need to go on a maxi-quest. Somewhere beyond this village, he said.
“Maxi-quest. Is that even a real phrase.” Chartreuse pondered aloud.
“Where?” Xanith tapped her fingers against her hips.
“To find the onyx sword.”
Xanith traded glances with Chartreuse again. “Never heard of it.”
“Rumor has it that nobody has ever been able to hold onto it.” he said his voice layered in a whisper.
“Why?” Chartreuse inquired.
“I don‘t know.” Wilhelm shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps the right person hasn’t claimed it, like me.
“You can buy a sword,” Xanith said.
Wilhelm scoffed. “I’m so broke I can’t even pay attention.”
“Did you know they found another girl, aged and dead,” Chartreuse said in a quiet voice.
“So, that’s an upper crust problem,” Wilhelm said.
“The victims are usually servant girls,” Chartreuse retorted.
Wilhelm soften a bit. “Well when I get my sword I’ll slay the killer,” he said feigning a sword fight.
Xanith shook her head. “Just yesterday you wanted to get a glimpse of the mysterious porcelain skinned woman.”
“I still do. We have to travel through the Hillshire forest on our way to finding the sword. We can hit two birds with one stone.”
“I hear she shuns the sun,” Chartreuse added. “And she’s misanthropic too.”
Wilhelm scrunched up his face.
“She hates people,” Xanith explained.
“We should head to the town square and try to win some funds for our quest,” he said.
The girls rolled their eyes.
The town square was located in the center of Pleasant Hills. All forms of commerce and entertainment happened in the square. Everywhere someone was selling something. “Get your alligator on a stick. Taste like chicken,” a robust man yelled through the throng of people.
“Funny, how everything tastes like chicken,” Xanith said as she made her way pass the alligator seller.
“Would you like a satin shawl?” a hump back woman asked the girls.
“They are very pretty.” Chartreuse reached out a hand to touch the fabric.
“No, thanks,’ Xanith said.
“These shawls come from India,” she said, holding them toward their faces.
“Sorry honey, we’re here to make some money not spend it,” Wilhelm said to the woman.
Chapter 1
Quest Seekers
The country of Ishmar was home to four kingdoms. Lindor in the east. Salnon in the north. Taneer in the south and the heavily taxed kingdom of Dilroc in the west. People fell into one of two categories: the crumbs or the upper crusts. The crumbs were the working class folks such as blacksmiths, seamstresses, shoemakers, woodcutters, etc. People who had just enough for a hot meal and a roof over their heads. The upper crusts were mostly those born into nobility such as kings and queens, also aristocrats, dignitaries or anyone lucky enough to work within the royal courts. In the country of Ishmar the relationship between the crumbs and the upper crusts were quite strained, except in the kingdom of Lindor, where the two just kept their distance.
The Lindor kingdom was populated with several villages scattered throughout the land. One of those villages was called Pleasant Hills. In that village, a farm girl rationed out chicken feed to several hens. “Don’t be greedy,” she scolded a plump brown and white hen. She sat on the rickety fence and wiped her brow with a dusty hand. She watched the hens peck away at the ground. The farm girl was named Xanith Tinsdale. She lived with her adoptive parents, Alma and Winston; they found her abandoned in the woods seventeen summers ago. A merry whistle diverted her attention from the hens. Coming down the dirt pathway was Chartreuse, Xanith”s best friend since the time they learned how to talk.
Chartreuse was as different from Xanith as the sea was from the sky. She was the daughter of a whitesmith (her father was the only one who polished metal weapons in all the villagers in the east). This paid handsomely so Chartreuse often wore clothes that made her appear to be a member of the middle crust (a disappearing class). Today was no exception as she floated down the pathway in a pea green ankle length brocaded dress, complete with a cinched waistline. Loose raven curls framed her ebony cheeks and fell around her shoulders. She was no doubt one of the most resplendent maidens in the village. Xanith on the flip side was mostly plain. Often her butterscotch face was powdered with dirt, her hair often plaited and pinned into a bun. She was dressed in an oversized brown tunic, cowhide belt and tan leggings.
“Xan, they found another one.” Chartreuse thrust the Eastern Gazette at Xanith’s chest.
Xanith read the bold face headline: servant girl found outside the palace grounds.
“She was nothing but skin and bones and aged like a hundred times over.” Chartreuse’s eyes were wide as any sea.
Xanith shuddered. “That’s terrible. That’s like the tenth one or so,” she said dusting off her leggings. “They need to catch that mad man.”
“I’m terribly frightened.” Chartreuse ran her fingers through her hair.
“Have no fear, Wilhelm the brave is here.”
The girls spun around to see their friend, Wilhelm, the baker’s son bounding toward them. He was easy to spot in a crowd with sun bright skin and a tuft of sandy brown hair. A lopsided grin decorated his face. “I know what we’re going to do today,” he said merrily.
Xanith traded sidelong glances with Chartreuse. “What do you have in mind?” they asked in unison.
“Going on a quest,” he said, his grin growing wider.
Chartreuse groaned.
“We have mini-quest all over this village.” Xanith made a sweeping motion with her hand toward the expanse of the farm. “There’s nothing interesting around Pleasant Hills.”
“That’s because we need to go on a maxi-quest. Somewhere beyond this village, he said.
“Maxi-quest. Is that even a real phrase.” Chartreuse pondered aloud.
“Where?” Xanith tapped her fingers against her hips.
“To find the onyx sword.”
Xanith traded glances with Chartreuse again. “Never heard of it.”
“Rumor has it that nobody has ever been able to hold onto it.” he said his voice layered in a whisper.
“Why?” Chartreuse inquired.
“I don‘t know.” Wilhelm shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps the right person hasn’t claimed it, like me.
“You can buy a sword,” Xanith said.
Wilhelm scoffed. “I’m so broke I can’t even pay attention.”
“Did you know they found another girl, aged and dead,” Chartreuse said in a quiet voice.
“So, that’s an upper crust problem,” Wilhelm said.
“The victims are usually servant girls,” Chartreuse retorted.
Wilhelm soften a bit. “Well when I get my sword I’ll slay the killer,” he said feigning a sword fight.
Xanith shook her head. “Just yesterday you wanted to get a glimpse of the mysterious porcelain skinned woman.”
“I still do. We have to travel through the Hillshire forest on our way to finding the sword. We can hit two birds with one stone.”
“I hear she shuns the sun,” Chartreuse added. “And she’s misanthropic too.”
Wilhelm scrunched up his face.
“She hates people,” Xanith explained.
“We should head to the town square and try to win some funds for our quest,” he said.
The girls rolled their eyes.
The town square was located in the center of Pleasant Hills. All forms of commerce and entertainment happened in the square. Everywhere someone was selling something. “Get your alligator on a stick. Taste like chicken,” a robust man yelled through the throng of people.
“Funny, how everything tastes like chicken,” Xanith said as she made her way pass the alligator seller.
“Would you like a satin shawl?” a hump back woman asked the girls.
“They are very pretty.” Chartreuse reached out a hand to touch the fabric.
“No, thanks,’ Xanith said.
“These shawls come from India,” she said, holding them toward their faces.
“Sorry honey, we’re here to make some money not spend it,” Wilhelm said to the woman.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Synopsis
Today's post will be a synopsis of my manuscript. I got the idea from my friend Sherrie. It's just a rough summary of the main points in the story. It's entitled QuestSeekers. Here's the rundown:
The day begins in Pleasant Hills as three villagers Xanith, Chartreuse and Wilhelm enter the Town Square where they anger a giantess. Meanwhile in the Lindor kingdom preparations are underway for Princess Trulie’s birthday ball. When she throws a tantrum her brother, Prince Emmon flees the castle grounds. He soon meets the three villagers on their way to the Hillshire Forest. Prince Emmon joins them in the forest where they meet the porcelain skin woman, Dia, who drugs them and leaves them as food for her wolves. The wolves scatter when the village elder, Wessley and his staff enter the fray. The old man takes one look at Prince Emmon and tells him someone near him will die. The night ends with the murder of King Aquarius.
Prince Emmon witnesses his step-mother murder his father. But it is he that is accused as Queen Thessily screams regicide. Prince Emmon flees the castle grounds. He seeks help from the three villagers he met earlier. Wilhelm is reluctant to help the prince until the Lindor knights burn parts of the Town Square. Now it’s personal. They evade the knights by heading to the outskirts of the village.
On the outskirts of the village they come across the home of the village elder, Wessley. Prince Emmon tells him how the queen murdered his father. And how he’s the one taking the blame. The village elder tells them about the truth stone that lies in the fountain of truth. “It can reveal any truth asked of it,“ the old man says. But it’s well guarded. He tells them they will find their clue from Lady Kelendria in the land of Misnor, home of the giants. The dangerous quest for truth begins.
Wilhelm, Xanith and Chartreuse find out Lady Kelendria is the giantess from the Town Square. And she’s mad as hell. Pursued by Lindor knights and stomp happy giants they barely escape with their lives on a boat named the Quinta. Unbeknownst to them Queen Thessily is watching them from her third eye.
After escaping the clutches of a boy crazy mermaid Prince Emmon and company land on the island of pygmies but before they can proceed with their quest for the truth stone they have to rescue Wilhelm from the volcano worshipping pygmies. Once away from the pygmies Prince Emmon and company head to the city of Valdaron.
Inside the city of Valdaron Queen Thessily, the court council and the knights await them. Xanith and Chartreuse create a diversion allowing them to flee toward the green mountains of Illera, where the fountain of truth lies.
Prince Emmon and company make it to the fountain of truth. Queen Thessily close at their heels. The guardian of the truth stone allows Prince Emmon to fetch the stone. Queen Thessily kills the guardian with a fireball. The three villagers wrestle with the queen while just as the court council enters the mountain. Queen Thessily tries to lie but Prince Emmon with truth stone in hand asks for the truth to be reveal.
The queen is revealed to be an old hag with years of stolen youth
The day begins in Pleasant Hills as three villagers Xanith, Chartreuse and Wilhelm enter the Town Square where they anger a giantess. Meanwhile in the Lindor kingdom preparations are underway for Princess Trulie’s birthday ball. When she throws a tantrum her brother, Prince Emmon flees the castle grounds. He soon meets the three villagers on their way to the Hillshire Forest. Prince Emmon joins them in the forest where they meet the porcelain skin woman, Dia, who drugs them and leaves them as food for her wolves. The wolves scatter when the village elder, Wessley and his staff enter the fray. The old man takes one look at Prince Emmon and tells him someone near him will die. The night ends with the murder of King Aquarius.
Prince Emmon witnesses his step-mother murder his father. But it is he that is accused as Queen Thessily screams regicide. Prince Emmon flees the castle grounds. He seeks help from the three villagers he met earlier. Wilhelm is reluctant to help the prince until the Lindor knights burn parts of the Town Square. Now it’s personal. They evade the knights by heading to the outskirts of the village.
On the outskirts of the village they come across the home of the village elder, Wessley. Prince Emmon tells him how the queen murdered his father. And how he’s the one taking the blame. The village elder tells them about the truth stone that lies in the fountain of truth. “It can reveal any truth asked of it,“ the old man says. But it’s well guarded. He tells them they will find their clue from Lady Kelendria in the land of Misnor, home of the giants. The dangerous quest for truth begins.
Wilhelm, Xanith and Chartreuse find out Lady Kelendria is the giantess from the Town Square. And she’s mad as hell. Pursued by Lindor knights and stomp happy giants they barely escape with their lives on a boat named the Quinta. Unbeknownst to them Queen Thessily is watching them from her third eye.
After escaping the clutches of a boy crazy mermaid Prince Emmon and company land on the island of pygmies but before they can proceed with their quest for the truth stone they have to rescue Wilhelm from the volcano worshipping pygmies. Once away from the pygmies Prince Emmon and company head to the city of Valdaron.
Inside the city of Valdaron Queen Thessily, the court council and the knights await them. Xanith and Chartreuse create a diversion allowing them to flee toward the green mountains of Illera, where the fountain of truth lies.
Prince Emmon and company make it to the fountain of truth. Queen Thessily close at their heels. The guardian of the truth stone allows Prince Emmon to fetch the stone. Queen Thessily kills the guardian with a fireball. The three villagers wrestle with the queen while just as the court council enters the mountain. Queen Thessily tries to lie but Prince Emmon with truth stone in hand asks for the truth to be reveal.
The queen is revealed to be an old hag with years of stolen youth
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Writing in Color
The other night sleep prove evasive, so I had the TV on and I serendipitously came across a discussion panel on diversity in children's & young adult books. It was part of the 12th annual Harlem book fair. Listening to the discussion it seems there isn't much diversity in children literature. Around 5,000 books for children are published a year. Out of that number only 83 are written by African-Americans. That's quite a small number. At least two of the authors on the panel (Jerry Craft and Zetta Elliot) had to self-publish their books to break into publishing. Most of the authors talked about the publishing industry having this misconception that books with African-American kids are only for those kids. And there's the presumption that white writers write for everyone.
I believe books just like music have an universal appeal. The Harry Potter series was read by people of all races and ages. It really shouldn't matter rather the protagonist is white or black because books contain themes like sibling rivalry, friendship, growing up that all kids can relate to. Once upon a time every child believed in the
tooth fairy. If there was a story where a black girl wanted to prove the existence of the tooth fairy, couldn't that appeal to every child? As I listen to the discussion it made me think about my 20x rejected manuscript. Often they would say sorry we can't market your story at this time. I wonder if
it is because the protagonist isn't ivory skinned. I would like to hope that isn't the case in 2010. I write in the fantasy genre. I have read several fantasy books and most that contain charactors of color they're usually in secondary roles. I think it's time for a change.
I believe books just like music have an universal appeal. The Harry Potter series was read by people of all races and ages. It really shouldn't matter rather the protagonist is white or black because books contain themes like sibling rivalry, friendship, growing up that all kids can relate to. Once upon a time every child believed in the
tooth fairy. If there was a story where a black girl wanted to prove the existence of the tooth fairy, couldn't that appeal to every child? As I listen to the discussion it made me think about my 20x rejected manuscript. Often they would say sorry we can't market your story at this time. I wonder if
it is because the protagonist isn't ivory skinned. I would like to hope that isn't the case in 2010. I write in the fantasy genre. I have read several fantasy books and most that contain charactors of color they're usually in secondary roles. I think it's time for a change.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
This Road
Traveling down this road
mapless
hapless
useless
compass
left, right
no direction
broken concentration
need some assertion
to take way this emotion
dreams disappearing in the rear view mirror
they are close but I'm no nearer
the future is a blur, can't see no clearer
the laid out destiny
that's before me
as I travel down this road.
mapless
hapless
useless
compass
left, right
no direction
broken concentration
need some assertion
to take way this emotion
dreams disappearing in the rear view mirror
they are close but I'm no nearer
the future is a blur, can't see no clearer
the laid out destiny
that's before me
as I travel down this road.
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Saffron Moon Project
Well, it's been a long while since I blogged. It's not like I have a bunch of readers waiting to read my words. I'm currently working on a middle-grade manuscript. Well I've only written the first chapter. I'm not quite sure what direction I'm going with it. It's called the Fantasy Life of Saffron Moon it's a coming of age story with hints of magical realism. At first it was going to be about a lonely girl with a crowded imagination, but then...I decided to make it a bit more fantastical. So Saffron Moon is a lonely girl with two different colored eyes. And she can see hidden truths with her right eye.
So the first hidden truth she sees with her eye is a fellow classmate's home life isn't so sweet. So Saffron is faced with keeping quiet or trying to find a way to help. Along the way she'll deal with dodging gym class, a rival student, unrequited crush and a bully of a big sister. I suppose it sounds ok. The Fantasy Life of Saffron Moon, her eyes sees your truth. I might change the title. Maybe to Saffron Moon.
So the first hidden truth she sees with her eye is a fellow classmate's home life isn't so sweet. So Saffron is faced with keeping quiet or trying to find a way to help. Along the way she'll deal with dodging gym class, a rival student, unrequited crush and a bully of a big sister. I suppose it sounds ok. The Fantasy Life of Saffron Moon, her eyes sees your truth. I might change the title. Maybe to Saffron Moon.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Hard
Life is hard. Finding love isn't easy. You can be patient as a rock but frustration crumbles your resolve. Staring at blank pages trying to write a book with a catchy hook. In my waking dream I'm already there, a publishing phenom. But writing is hard. Getting published isn't easy. True love is more difficult. Everyone has a story to tell. Will you listen to mine?Like that rock of a mountain I will not be moved. Dreaming is easy. But making them real is hard. In my mind I hear that Journey song, "Don't stop believing" because I must continue to believe and never give up, eventhough it's hard.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thoughts
My thoughts run like wild stallions
when it comes to you
free flowing, free falling
I'm sure I never cross your mind
like a ship on the ocean
one-sided
forced hellos
and wry smiles
are all I get
I must depart from this reverie
and empty my thoughts of you
when it comes to you
free flowing, free falling
I'm sure I never cross your mind
like a ship on the ocean
one-sided
forced hellos
and wry smiles
are all I get
I must depart from this reverie
and empty my thoughts of you
Friday, May 14, 2010
Lost in Emotion
Sometimes I'm filled with dual emotions when it comes to my publishing pursuits. On one hand I'm enliven and on the other hand I'm dubious. I feel the excitement coursing through my veins when I see that my short story isn't doing too bad on webook. But then the seeds of doubt start budding every time I open an e-mail politely declining my manuscript or how my story ranks in the triple digits on autonomy. But that's life no matter what vocation you're pursuing. Sometimes you will have doubts and question whether your energy is best suited elsewhere. I have.
But I must keep the faith and continue to believe in this dream I've been dreaming for so long. This eternal flame in my heart eclipses an shadow of doubt.
But I must keep the faith and continue to believe in this dream I've been dreaming for so long. This eternal flame in my heart eclipses an shadow of doubt.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Bird
The lark has found her song
she has risen from the ashes like a phoenix
leaving behind the old bird
she is a new bird
a starling, darling
perched high
ready to fly
like an eagle
among the clounds
sun dappled wings
the robin is free
she has found her song
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Pocketful of Dreams
I walk this concrete jungle with my
dream tucked inside my jean pocket
can I share it with you?
my heart is poetry
iambic beats on the ground
I folded my pocketful of dreams
the prose I compose
never seems good enough
to catch your eyes
words are my soul
can't let the passion perish
these pocketful of dreams
won't be deferred
dream tucked inside my jean pocket
can I share it with you?
my heart is poetry
iambic beats on the ground
I folded my pocketful of dreams
the prose I compose
never seems good enough
to catch your eyes
words are my soul
can't let the passion perish
these pocketful of dreams
won't be deferred
Friday, April 9, 2010
Three
Well I now have three completed manuscripts. Two are middle-grade fiction and the other is young-adult. All three are fantasy adventures. They're a little under twenty thousand words each. I'm quite proud of what I've been able to muster. As far as sending them out to agents, I dunno. The Strange World of Neve Rimbel hasn't been doing too well.
Of course the first manuscript you write might not led to publication. It might be the third, fourth, tenth. I don't want to give up on this, it's my passion. I know the bar is set pretty high. And the Potter books are the precipice of children's literature. And since so many MG/YA fiction are thick volumes it might be quite hard to sell something that's a little scant.
Of course the first manuscript you write might not led to publication. It might be the third, fourth, tenth. I don't want to give up on this, it's my passion. I know the bar is set pretty high. And the Potter books are the precipice of children's literature. And since so many MG/YA fiction are thick volumes it might be quite hard to sell something that's a little scant.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Writer's Quest
Well, since April is poetry month, here's something I jotted down. Like to hear it here it goes.
Blank page
pen in hand
words spill like blood
across the white canvas
Monday, March 22, 2010
Empire State of Mind
I really love music. And there are some songs that really speak to me, especially when they are about following your dreams or unrequited love. Lately Alicia Keys' Empire State of Mind pt2 is in my head. I know what does that have to do with my literary blogging. Quite a bit. The chorus part really strikes a chord with me. I'ma make it by any means/I've got a pocketful of dreams/baby I'm from New York/concrete jungle where dreams are made of.
I'm not from a big city like New York but my dreams are just as big. Big enough to believe there's space on the bookshelf for my book alongside the Stephine Meyers and J.K. Rowlings of the literary world. I gonna make it by any means despite how daunting and difficult it is to navigate the publishing terrain. The arrows of rejections won't pierce my pride b/c I'm gonna keep writing and polishing my manuscripts. I've got a pocketful of dreams, baby.
I'm not from a big city like New York but my dreams are just as big. Big enough to believe there's space on the bookshelf for my book alongside the Stephine Meyers and J.K. Rowlings of the literary world. I gonna make it by any means despite how daunting and difficult it is to navigate the publishing terrain. The arrows of rejections won't pierce my pride b/c I'm gonna keep writing and polishing my manuscripts. I've got a pocketful of dreams, baby.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Today
Today I mailed the first 30 pages of The Strange World of Neve Rimbel to Bookstop Literary Agency via snail mail. I also sent an e-mail to another agency. So far my manuscript hasn't had the best of luck, but I haven't exhausted my list yet. So I'm ever hopeful.
Of course I'm not resting on my laurels I'm still working on the revisions of my third manuscript, it's called QuestSeekers or I might change it to the Quest or TruthQuest. Anyways, it's about a young prince and three villagers who search for the fountain of truth to clear his name. I know I have to work on the pitch.
Today I learned a new word, insouciant. It means to be calm and carefree. Here's to tomorrow being insouciant.
Of course I'm not resting on my laurels I'm still working on the revisions of my third manuscript, it's called QuestSeekers or I might change it to the Quest or TruthQuest. Anyways, it's about a young prince and three villagers who search for the fountain of truth to clear his name. I know I have to work on the pitch.
Today I learned a new word, insouciant. It means to be calm and carefree. Here's to tomorrow being insouciant.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Tenacity
I just finished reading an interview with this seasoned author named Mitali Perkins (I actually follow her on Twitter) I found her writing journey inspiring. She let the rejections she received shape her vision as an author and improve her craft. Despite numberous rejections she refused to give up on her novel, letting it sit at the bottom of a desk drawer. She was unwilling to abandon her vocation. That's how I feel about writing, despite rejections I keep writing. Keep honing my craft. I believe in my stories and that there's a better place for them beside my notebook.
In the interview Perkins also stress discipline being vital to a writer if they want to be successful. And that writers should treat their craft as a serious profession not a hobby. Besides that I took to heart when she said, "good books take time to write, edit, get published, and reach the hands and hearts of readers."
In the interview Perkins also stress discipline being vital to a writer if they want to be successful. And that writers should treat their craft as a serious profession not a hobby. Besides that I took to heart when she said, "good books take time to write, edit, get published, and reach the hands and hearts of readers."
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Sea of No
I started sending out queries for my middle-grade novel, The Strange World of Neve Rimbel the first week of this month. By the second week, two of the three agents respectfully declined. I've been swimming in the sea of no for so long, I wonder where the shore of yes is. I know rejection is part of the literary game and it's a subjective business. I've worked really hard on my novel. I think it's a very good story. A twelve-year-old girl and her family moves to a cursed town. The girl sees beware, bewarned, be afraid eteched on her window. Thus begans her encounters with strange things from a woman bursting into crows to alien baby imposters.
A lot of the middle-grade/young adult novels I read the protagonist are white. My protagonist Neve Rimbel is black, but of course I like to think that wouldn't be the cause of a no. I would like to believe a fantasy novel with a black protagonist could have a decent number of readers and buyers. Character race shouldn't matter if the story is well-written and compelling and you believe in the story you're telling.
Often when I look at the book sections in Target and Wal-Mart (where I work) I get a wistful look in my eyes. Given a chance I would love to see my story ideas in book form.
A lot of the middle-grade/young adult novels I read the protagonist are white. My protagonist Neve Rimbel is black, but of course I like to think that wouldn't be the cause of a no. I would like to believe a fantasy novel with a black protagonist could have a decent number of readers and buyers. Character race shouldn't matter if the story is well-written and compelling and you believe in the story you're telling.
Often when I look at the book sections in Target and Wal-Mart (where I work) I get a wistful look in my eyes. Given a chance I would love to see my story ideas in book form.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Mirror World
In the year 2004 I made my first attempts at breaking into publishing with my children's novel entitled The Mirror World. Well, actually at 53 pages it was more of a long short story. Anyways, I felt it was publishable. So off it went. And back it came. The story was a fantaasy about a lonely 12 year-old girl, named Taryn Hayes, who gets sucked into another world via an antique mirror. (What is it about mirrors being portals). From there she ends up in the land of Arnasor. (My name spelled backwards. Clever. Clever). Where a rabbit sporting a tweed jacket sees her fall from the sky. Mr. Timbleweed (the rabbit) belives she was sent to help the oppressed creatures defeat an evil giantess, Desmara.
Most agencies gratfully declined but one although they said it wasn't strong enough to market, they suggested a critique service. This lead me to DeeDee Hughes. She critiqued The Mirror World (along with all my subsequent manuscripts). She thought I had the makings of a very fun and exciting adventure story. After revising and following her suggestions, I sent it back to that agency, exactly a year later. This time they said they didn't feel they could market at this time.
Ambrosia looked at Taryn. A clod of dirt landed on the fairy, knocking her to the ground. Hoof beats could be heard from above. The wooden door started to splinter and bulge. Shamus let out a squeal. “We’re being infiltrated.” Taryn saw his foot narrowly miss the fairy that still lay on the ground. “Watch it you idiot,” she snapped. She ran and gingerly picked up the lavender fairy. She held Ambrosia in her hands; she was no bigger than a dragonfly. The fairy’s wings brush against her palms, her tiny crystal eyes looked into Taryn’s. This can’t be real she thought.
Most agencies gratfully declined but one although they said it wasn't strong enough to market, they suggested a critique service. This lead me to DeeDee Hughes. She critiqued The Mirror World (along with all my subsequent manuscripts). She thought I had the makings of a very fun and exciting adventure story. After revising and following her suggestions, I sent it back to that agency, exactly a year later. This time they said they didn't feel they could market at this time.
The Mirror World probably won't ever be on any shelves but it was a good learning curve. There are loads I like about the story and descriptions. Mr. Timbleweed broke into a loping gait, with Taryn in tow. She struggled to break free, but the homicidal rabbit had a stronghold on her. Another butterfly fluttered by.
Ambrosia looked at Taryn. A clod of dirt landed on the fairy, knocking her to the ground. Hoof beats could be heard from above. The wooden door started to splinter and bulge. Shamus let out a squeal. “We’re being infiltrated.” Taryn saw his foot narrowly miss the fairy that still lay on the ground. “Watch it you idiot,” she snapped. She ran and gingerly picked up the lavender fairy. She held Ambrosia in her hands; she was no bigger than a dragonfly. The fairy’s wings brush against her palms, her tiny crystal eyes looked into Taryn’s. This can’t be real she thought.
In 2006 The Mirror World did get published online with Sweetgum Notes. My former creative writing professor had accepted my submission. She said her staff thought it was delightful. (Why weren't they agents). Well there are some characters I'll use in other stories. I really like Cyan and Rue, my goth-like rainbow sprite. The Mirror World started it all.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Often rejected....but not dejected
Well my middle-grade manuscript, The Strange World of Neve Rimbel has received a slew of rejections. More than 30. Most just are curt (sorry not for us). Or its not right for our list. My most recent rejection had an explanation attached to it. She liked my concept, and opening pages. But she wasn't in love with the writing itself. She found my middle-grade voice uneven and my length a bit short. My novel is 19,037 words. But the Literary Marketplace states that MG fiction lengths can be from 20,000 plus. So I'm not that far off.
I know most books on the market are as thick as the Bible but I've seen a few slimmer ones, like the Spiderwick Chronicles, and the Chronicles of Narnia. I haven't been told before that my MG voice was uneven (but then again all the others just say they'll pass). I have been told by another agent that my concept was original with interesting characters. But of course she passed on it. Maybe it's the character's voice. GREAT. Now I'm questioning Neve Rimbel's voice.
I know most books on the market are as thick as the Bible but I've seen a few slimmer ones, like the Spiderwick Chronicles, and the Chronicles of Narnia. I haven't been told before that my MG voice was uneven (but then again all the others just say they'll pass). I have been told by another agent that my concept was original with interesting characters. But of course she passed on it. Maybe it's the character's voice. GREAT. Now I'm questioning Neve Rimbel's voice.
Friday, January 8, 2010
I hear a song or two
If I had a theme song(s) that summed up my literary aspirations and frustrations it, would be a mashup of Natasha Bedingfield's unwritten and these words.
Unwritten/These Words
I am unwritten/the pen's in my hand/
staring at the blank page/trying to find the magic/
trying to write a classic/Don't you know/Don't you know/waste bin full of paper/nothing I write is ever good enough.
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