Graeme Stone's Publishing Quest

I took your advice and started a humor blog

2012-01-16T09:02:00.000-08:00

Hey,

A lot of you have suggested picking a topic that I can sustain that is not related to work, publishing, or writing. Well, I took your advice and have started a blog that's just humor. Check it out and join if you think it's funny. It's called Graeme Stone's Diatribe.

Happy New Year,

Graeme
http://graemestonesdiatribe.blogspot.com/

Take Your Time

2010-05-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by;
but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.

- J.M. Barrie

We rush. Through everything. Through traffic, through the newspaper (online or off), through our day. It's exhausting. So why do we do it? Everything needs so much tending that we worry the weeds will get us if we stop too much, too often, or even at all. And yet, when we do, there's a certain delight in those stolen moment where nothing is happening but nothing. A sigh. A certain relaxation of the shoulders. That can't be bad for us now can it?

Today, I'm stealing a couple of hours. One to go to the bookstore to wander among the shelves and see what jumps out. I've been meaning to buy a calendar since... oh yeah, January (do you see how much time goes by?). I also want to check out the iPad at the Apple Store. That's right. To add to my collection of all thinks "i". A woman I encountered was using one and my eyes lept to it and I thought "that is so cool, I'd love to see one of those up close." So rather than just hoping that a calendar will just saunter down my wall, or that an iStore will open in my back yard, I'm going to head out and lose some time.

What do you do to let time slip by?

Tax Banshee Fun

2010-04-15T00:55:00.001-07:00

To celebrate tax day, I wanted to bring some levity to all the number crunching. Hallmark might be kind of corny, but they've really branched out in recent years. And one of their most hilarious creations is the Screaming Banshee. And the Tax Banshee is the best. Click the link below to watch the video.

Enjoy

http://www.hallmark.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ecard%7C10001%7C10051%7C542866%7C147551;-102001;11441;-102254%7Cecard%7CP1R3S%7Cecards?cardType=premium&isComboCall=false&template=o&categoryId=-102254

I won something!

2010-04-12T06:17:00.000-07:00

Hey you guys,

This is probably one of my only sincere no-jokes-attached blog entries, so get it while it's from the heart. I went to the LA Writer's Day on Saturday, and won first place for my YA novel entry "The French Class Confessional of the Mysterious Mr. Bridge." It was very exciting to be called up front with the other winners, to hear my words read aloud, and to get some external validation that yeah, the writing works for others too. There were so many echoes from the conferences I've gone to where published authors spoke of their days starting out, figuring it out, and finally breaking out. Writing can be very solitary and isolating; it was wonderful to see my people for a day, and hear so many great speakers. So much humor and frank advice.

I was lucky enough to have dinner with some other writers (you know who you are!), and they even got to meet Luis, my partner, who some people were convinced was just a "Jan Brady/George glass" figment of my imagination.

Newly inspired, I'm back at they keyboard, channeling all the energy I've got leftover after cleaning the house, tending to the cat box (nothing like a pet to keep you grounded), and making sure I get out for some fresh air now and again.

Keep at it, there are rewards.

Now get back to your books (and that goes for me too!)

What I Saw on the Street - Pennysaver

2010-04-07T15:01:00.000-07:00

Who has time to write anymore! I'm going to try vlogging for a while. I mean, if the Pope does it, so can I, right? Oh, that's flogging?! Oh. I stand corrected.

What I Saw on the Street: CVS Art

2010-03-30T04:20:00.001-07:00

Now THIS is what I'm talkin' about.

I never expected to find art at my local CVS, but there it was, staring me in the face. She said it takes about a half an hour just to do her eyes.

I love the friendly smile, the splash of hair color, and the cheetah-print eyeshadow. Where else are you going to see this? Ok, ok, I admit I have make-up envy.

Now get back to your books!

Colon-Go

2010-03-30T02:43:00.000-07:00

It's hard to make puns about colons. It doesn't really rhyme with much, and the subject is just not that funny. So I'll just go straight to the photos.

So it was all clear. A mystery bout of colitis. I hope it never returns. It was no fun. On to more entertaining blogs.

Now get back to your books!

4 Liters of Yum: Timeline

2010-03-09T06:23:00.000-08:00

3:53 pm – the Alarm goes off from a very pleasant nap (complete with kitty by my side)
4:00 pm – scramble to drink the first 4 oz glass in the first 10 minutes. By 4:08, already feeling kinda crampy. Yikes. This stuff works fast. Maybe I should move the computer from the kitchen to the bedroom for easier typing/toilet dashing.

4:12 pm – 2nd 8 oz glass, here I come.
4:15 pm downed glass 2 with a shiver. The stuff is somehow like water, and yet like river slime. Not pleasant to drink. Took photo showing how much is 8 oz, and how HOW much more there is too go. The jug mocks me on the kitchen counter. I don’t think I’ll make it to 4:30. Any bets?
4:18. Houston. We have movement. Not much, but I’m sure it’s just the beginning. It’s awful living in fear of your own toilet. I keep telling myself: thinkoflunchthinkoflunchthinkoflunch.
4:20 pm. Incredible! It’s ALREADY 4:20!? I’m so glad. Time for another yummy glass of pre-d (as in pre-disarreha, oh God how can anyone think that this is a good way to lose weight?!) Here goes. Bottom’s up.

4:26. 3rd glass “down.” As in, maybeIwon’tbeabletoKEEPthisdown. Nothing like nausea-inducing waves of near-puking to make you want more. Yes more. The photo is the 4th glass full, and the jug still leering at me like a whore with v.d. c’monbabyyouknowyouwantsome.

4:29 pm. 4:30 is SO far away. Maybe I’ll do some gardening. Or Taxes! Yeah. Taxes! Anything to take my mind off of this. But wait a second! I made it to 4:30 without Niagara coming out my rear. What’s going on. When will it hit? What will happen then?
4:31 pm. A slight knife-edge turn in the gut. Maybe more of a fork tine. But something is happening down there. I’m so glad my houseguests from France are out for the day. And that no one else is coming over. And I can turn the heat up to 80 degrees if I want to.
4:32. Going for it. Glass number 4. Oh God. Involuntary salivating. As in pre-vomit salivating. I am halfway through glass #4 and it’s winning. Though they advised heavily against it on the packaging, I’ll have to judiciously sip. Ahh, the cocktail of colon cleansers: Golytely. Back to the sink incase I do actually have to throw up.
4:37 pm. Wild parrots fly over-head, squawking their little green lungs out. God I wish I were one of them.
4:42 pm. I can’t do it. My hand puts down the glass after each sip. And I’m barely able to get it down without really almost spewing it all back up. And that’s 3 and half glasses I’m not going to RE-drink. So down it stays. The directions do SAY “drink until all 4 liters are consumed, or until effluent is clear.” I didn’t know I could be put in the same categories as the Amazon and the Orinoco, but here goes. Now I say I won’t make it to 5 pm without my very own rush hour. I’m distracting myself with CNN and Yahoo News. Go Katheyn Bigelow. Heh…heh…
4:52 pm. Glass 4 is waiting. Waiting. And now glass 5 is behind it. I’m busy watching SNL clips on Hulu, and praying for ‘clear effluent.’ It’s like rolling intestinal dice at medical Vegas: C’mon clear-effluvient!!!!
5:01 pm. Ok, so clearly Vegas-style betting is not my strong suit. And maybe I have to “drink” more of the “liquid” over there. Way over there on the counter. Across the kitchen where it belongs. OhGoddon’tloseyourhealthit’sallyou’vegot.
5:27. Nothing. Well, something. But nothing significant. Perhaps I will have to drink more. Oh God in Heaven No Please Don’t Make Me Drink More.
6:09 pm. Have downed the rest of the 4th glass. Something, but not the Promised River. Am going to prep clothes for tomorrow. The 5th glass is waiting. There has GOT to be a more pleasant way to do this. Like maybe several days of starvation instead.
7:00 pm. Though I texted them, my housguests are back, and I’m not quite “ready.” The word “ready” in this instance means “empty.” So while chitchatting about their tourtisting down the tacky Hollywood Boulevard, Beverly Hills, and beyond, I’m wondering Will I suddenly explode during this conversation?’
7:`5 pm. I drive from my place to Luis downtown, the entire time wondering, Will I get pulled over, and explode during sobriety tests? Or Will I make it to the apartment building only to let loose in the elevator as it lurches skyward?
8:00 to 11:30 pm. Two more delicious glasses of Holly Golytely await me. Yes, I brought the jug with me! I wouldn’t want to go anywhere without it! Finally, around 9pm, what I’d started involuntarily chugging at 4pm finally started to become that magical word “effluent.” Sometimes it was worthy of launch-pad metaphors. When the body wants to get rid of something, there’s really no stopping it.
It’s now 6:21 am the Day of the Procedure. I’m completely empty and ready for lunch. Forget determining what is the source of my problem, I’m starving!
It’s now 6:21 am the Day of the Procedure. I’m completely empty and ready for lunch. Forget determining what is the source of my problem, I’m starving!
6:32 am. We will leave any minute to to go the Tower Imaging Center on Wilshire. My favorite part? Talking to the gorgeous anethestesiologist while I'm still on drugs so I say embarrassing things like, 'you're MY McDreamy!"
And when I get my pictures, I’ll be sure post them (blame Christy).
Now get back to your books.

4 Liters of Yum

2010-03-08T09:49:00.001-08:00

The thought of drinking 8 oz of fluid every ten minutes until this 4-liter container is empty is enough to make me sick.

Which is why I'm drinking the stuff in the first place. I'm having a "procedure." The kind where they put you "under." It's for "Colitis". Inflamation of the... (insert high school Latin here). They're not sure why the "itis" is happening, but it was enough for an emergency MRI. What a joy that was. Nothing like an early morning enema on a sore bowel to get the day started. Then my doctor scheduled a colonoscopy for a week later, and antibiotics to calm the area down. Calm it down from what? Nuts & Seeds? Lactose intolerance? Cancer?

All I know is that the instructions for this Golytely (don't you just love the clever Audrey Hepburn-esque product name?) will make me trot to the toilet like a race horse, and I'm not allowed to eat anything after taking it. Until TOMORROW AT LUNCH! And the fear of all that "evacuation" is making me not want to eat today. So over 24 hours fasting and boy do I have an appreciation for all things illness related. We really do only have our health.

It's incredible how thin a line separates us from feeling good, or from even feeling normal. Go without drinking water half the day and see how you feel. Try skipping food for more than 8 hours. Now imagine that this is a state in which much of the world lives for a lot of the time and it really puts a new perspective on things.

I keep wanting to be productive, or use the down time productively, but all I can wonder is 'what is it?' 'Will they find something?' 'Will they find nothing?' and more importantly, 'What am I going to eat after I wake up when the procedure is done?' (I have a sneaking suspicion it will involve the Girl Scout cookies that I bought.)

Stay tuned.
In the mean time, get back to your books!

What I Saw on the Street: Uh Yeah, LA is just Like Everywhere Else

2010-02-17T16:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that LA is just like any other place. Part Big City, part Small Town. But then I see this on the rooftop of my partner's building. Yeah, of course, a fitness model being photographed at sunset on a ledge overlooking the city at sunset. Something you see everywhere. Right?

But I think maybe a closer view is needed, don't you?

This is Mark. He's 26ish, and has 8% body fat. And he's, well, gorgeous. And sweet, too. I console myself with my 25% body fat with the knowledge that, were our plane to go down in the Rockies in one of these winter storms (he's on his way to star in an action movie, I'm on my way to sign with a NY editor), I'd have to kiss him good-bye like Kate did with Leo in TITANIC, or like Ralph Fiennes and Kristen Scott-Thomas in THE ENGLISH PATENT. Because at 8% body fat, there is NO WAY that he would survive. I would be the lone lover, sailing (or flying) back to civilization to tell my brave tale. Oh Mark, we could have been so happy together. Instead, you'll just have to live on in my rooftop memories...

Alright he rest of you, get back to your books!

What I Saw On the Street: SIGNS OF THE APOCALPYSE

2010-02-02T06:26:00.000-08:00

How is that Madison Avenue continues to come up with New products. Just when you thought chocolate milk was as stable and nostalgic as an After School Special, they go and invent Chocolate Flavoring Straws. Not flavorED mind you, but flavoring. Screw nouns, these folks have moved right in verbs.

Your food product will now flavor other food products! This is the most exciting development since perhaps GOOBER, the peanut-butter/jelly hybrid jarred foodspread of the 1970's, or the do-it-yourself salsa/chili/Velveeta party dip.

I'm not much of a football fan, but maybe I can make an attept to slyly enter straight-guy sports-world by bringing some Flava-Straws to a SuperBowl party this weekend. It's sure to pursuade everyone that I'm with it, that I'm hip, that I'm so Lady-Gaga-NOW, right? Right!!?? Oh, wait, Lady Gaga's not a straight-male reference? Oh, no. I'm doomed! Doomed!

Now get back to your books!

No "Blow and Go"!

2010-01-27T12:50:00.000-08:00

It really is the little things.
Like leaves in the laundry room.
How?
How do they get there?
And the dust, too?
Ok, so I'm a guy, and I live in my own place.
I can't blame any roommates. And I can't say that it's all dryer lint.
So where is it coming from?!

From this guy!

And believe it or not, it took MONTHS to figure this out.
The yard guy (Juan), comes every Wednesday when I'm not home. Days later I would go into the laundry room to fetch something from the fridge (it's a small place, the fridge is on the service porch), or to do laundry. And it was always, well, dirty. Eww, a dirty laundry room! Who wants that?
So I'd vacuum, figuring that the lousy door, or the old windows, or maybe the gas vent for the water heater was letting in dust. And leaves? It was like having a ghost, but not being able to admit it at first. Hmm, leaves? Ok...I'll just go with it...
But then I noticed that the floor mat by the door was sometimes moved away from the door, as if by a gust of wind. But it's just not that windy in sunny, weatherless southern California. Hmmm... Really, what could this be?
I moved into this place in June. It November before I finally figured it out.
The Yard Guy! The Blower!
As he goes by the back door, he uses the hurricane-in-a-backpack they're all sporting these days. It's enough to blast under the gap in the door. In just a few seconds, leaves, dust and sand are blasted in. Dust settles everywhere, the leaves scatter, the mat moves. And when I wandered in one day, I finally had a Newtonian moment: Aha! It's the Blow and Go!

Well today, no more. I waited in hiding (see photo from behind kitchen window and screen), and popped out at the appropriate moment. Finally, no more tornadoes in my laundry room. And what's funny is that I caught my neighbor asking Juan for EXACTLY the same thing at her back porch. And she's lived there for THREE YEARS. So now I don't feel so bad.

Sometimes it takes a while to figure things out. And sometimes it's the little things that make a big difference. Right now I've got things so clean that I'm eating off the laundry-room floor!
Now get back to your books!

What I Saw on the Street: Why Would You Ever?!

2009-08-17T14:00:00.000-07:00

Ok, maybe I've just never been an overwhelmed, sleep-deprived parent, but this warning really made me wonder.

Mostly because of where it was located. On this fold-out baby-changing rack.

In this lovely rest room.

Now is it just me, or are there very few circumstances that would result in leaving a child unattended here? Maybe a massive earthquake involving the ground splitting between you and the changing rack? Or maybe security guards storm the bathroom that you're sharing with Larry Craig (they don't see the baby) and you're hauled away to bathroom jail somewhere? Or maybe aliens abduct you and their tractor beam doesn't 'perceive' the baby.

These are just some theoratical possibilities. Because I can't even imagine forgetting my luggage or cell phone in a place like this, much less something I worked on for at least 9 months.

Now get back to your books!

Last year: nada. This year: Glaucoma?

2009-07-17T04:58:00.000-07:00

Yes, this really is me, facing down one of those Clockwork Orange-esque eye-test contraptions that you sit your mug into when you go to the optometrist. Having fairly recently re-acquired insurance (after a 6 year gap), I get eye checkups every year now. And just to remind me that time was passing, God gave me a hiccup this time. Last year: nada. This year: Glaucoma?

Yes, that glaucoma. As in: pressure-on-the-eye-that-eventually-causes-blindness-disease. My internal eye pressure which was normal last year was high enough this year for my doc to order more tests and put me in a waiting period. To say the least, I was pretty unexcited at the prospect of going blind sometime in the future. I have always taken good care of myself, and the idea that nature and fate were going to curse me just out of a random throw of cruelty darts was really getting me down. My eye doctor told me not to worry (easy for her to say, she’s got glasses, and apparently nothing to worry about), and that I should come back in 1 to 3 months for a follow up.

I chose 1 month. Best to find out when my eyeballs were going to explode from the volcanic pressure that I was sure was mounting even as I felt my way along the corridor outside, wondering if I’d even be able to see it next time.

A month is a nice length of time when you’re on vacation in Hawaii. It’s an eternity if you’re waiting to find out if a cloak of darkness will eventually descend upon your eyes. The realization of mortality, of human limitation, and all that I have not achieved fell like mattress-sized dominoes. I wondered if I would still be able to write if I could not see. Maybe this was a good time to switch to that acting career everyone always told me I should pursue. Or maybe it was time to dip into savings and go to Hawaii before I couldn’t see it anymore.

When I revisited my eye doctor, I went through a round of tests, much like looking at an old computer game. I was sure I was missing peripheral dots of light… that my plunge into blackness was just around the corner. Would I get a cane? Or a dog? Would I have to move back home where I’d ramble around the house like Lynn Holly Johnson in “Ice Castles” until finally rescued by a Robby Benson-like hero? It was all too much to think about. Until she told me that my pressure was fine.

“Fine?” I asked. I’d already checked with relatives to see if there was a history of glaucoma. I’d already begun working on my ‘Well, I’d love to keep working for this company…but’ speech. What? I’m not going blind?

She said that sometimes the pressure rises and they don’t know why. It was just a glitch. I left feeling two feet taller than I’d felt in years. I took off my sunglasses and really looked at everything around me.

The truth is that it could come back, or I could be in an accident, or that maybe there’s a transatlantic plane in my future that’s headed for the bottom of the ocean. But in the mean time, I have the knowledge that the future is unsure. The only thing that is sure, is appreciation. Look around. See, hear, taste, feel, and do.

Eyesight is as tenuous as life itself. Lose one, and the other is drastically different, or ceases to exist at all. So finances be damned, maybe I'll be taking that trip to Hawaii after all!

Now get back to your books!

What I Saw in My Kitchen: Eye vs. Orange

2009-07-10T03:54:00.000-07:00

Ok, is it just me, or does this bisected orange look like a science diagram of a human eye?

No, I did not drop acid in my kitchen. But you know how patterns and shapes in nature repeat and borrow, right? Like the “clouds” in your coffee look strangely like the soft, dried foam that remains after high tide recedes on a beach. Or how the veins of a leaf resemble the branches of a winter tree seen at a distance.

Well when I cut into this orange, I was struck by how much like a human eye it looked like. No, no the L’Oreal Eva Longoria long-lash kind, but the kind you might see in a science class diagram. It’s a little antiseptic, yes, but pretty fascinating to think that nature crosses barriers as wide as fruit and the human being to borrow designs that work for her. Just something to look at next time you’re slicing citrus… or at the eye doctor.

Now get back to your books.

What I Saw on the Street: Advertising Misstep

2009-07-10T03:37:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure exactly when advertising and pornography crossed swords (pun intended) but doesn’t this ad from a “classy” parfumier do just that? If they decide to follow it up with something even more daring, where is there to go? Come Even Closer? Or maybe something really classy like Pearl Necklace. Sorry. I didn't make the ad up, I'm just running with it.

Now get your minds out of the gutter and get back to your books.

What I Saw on the Street: The Escaped Shopping Cart

2009-07-09T04:47:00.000-07:00

Ok, I’m obviously a mystery fan, but it’s even better when you see the mystery outside the local Super A Foods/ El Pollo Campo. How? How did this shopping cart a) lose its wheels? And b) how did it make its way to the curb?

Let’s say you’re shopping, and you lose the wheels. I’m down with that. It could happen. But would I then continue to drag the cumbersome and rather uncooperative cart all the way to the curb to catch the bus?

Or let’s say the cart just became defective. Would the employees drag it all the way to the street instead of just leaving it out back for the garbagemen to take it?

In my entire life, I have never seen a shopping cart without its wheels, much less one that has managed to find its way to the curb, where apparently, it’s waiting for a bus to the wheel factory. Who knows, maybe next week, the cart will have returned from its travels and gone back to service at the Super A Foods. Now to track down the disembodied wheels somewhere...roaming the streets of Los Angeles, looking for a cart...

They Melt in Your Mouth, and In Your Conscience

2009-06-21T00:44:00.000-07:00

I’m trying to lose weight. Not that you can tell. But I can. At work, over the long and lonely nights that are the “Sunrise Shift” atop the 25th floor of an empty office tower, the vending machines call to me. “Come….” They say, “behold our wares, taste of us, we are sugar.”

I try to resist. But at 4:15 am, trying to stay awake while editing legal documents, a tempting way to revive oneself (albeit temporarily) is the loud crunch in ones own ear of the beloved M&M.
Always peanut. Never chocolate.
Chocolate is too sweet, too easy, too…junior for my adult palatte.
Only the slightly larger, almost imperceptibly varied curvatures of the peanut buried beneath the factory-glazed coating can satisfy a discerning landscape of sugar-enhanced tastebuds waiting for a flavor journey.

The outer coating strikes like glass at first, and to the first-taster, it must seem like he’s about to eat rocks. Then the thin layer of not-too-much-milk-chocolate gives way to the yielding flesh of the peanut that has nested there, fresh as the sun-baked Georgia soil where nature’s tender rays brought it to fruition.

The crack/yield/flesh is too much for just one M&M. Oh no! You must have more. And therein comes the genius that is dieting on these rainbow’s end of indulgent would-be waist-busting beauties. They come in very small bags. Bags that cost almost a dollar each. One bag is enough to satisfy my eternal craving for crunchy and salty and sweet all rolled into a shell of hardened candy goodness without having to resist a tray of say…cookies. But don’t get me started on those.

For now, take up my battle cry of M&M! America’s Next Subway Diet. The US Solution to the Biggest Loser Desert Plan. And if the little marbles of mmm never make it past the vending machine front-lines of sugar-satieting service, then perhaps their modest placement in the pantheon of national sweet-n-savory snacks is right where they belong. May they never go the way of Bacon Thins, Mother’s glazed animal cookies, or (gasp) the cheap but oh-so-satisfying Marathon bar. Indeed, may it be M&Ms that last a long, long, long, long time.

What I Saw on the Street: Dirty Robbers!

2009-06-20T04:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes just a walk down the street is enough to make you smile.

Like this small sticker I saw on a power box on Hope Street.

Ironic, no? Right downtown, in the heart of LA’s business district is

a sign that really tells it like it is. Now if they only had this sign posted

on the roads so people could be really aware of what’s going on.

As it is, the PC police will probably remove this sticker, so I was quick

to get it on film before it’s gone.

What I Saw on the Street: Handy Man Haulin'

2009-06-19T02:41:00.000-07:00

Now you don’t see a truck like this every day. But you might see one every day — at Kmart. Right there in swanky Burbank, just one street over from the IKEA/Bed Bath & Beblond Complex lurks a low-end, barely-staffed, so-ready-for-five-finger-discount Kmart. Surely a blight on the neighborhood, hidden barely by it’s proximity behind a Ralph’s grocery. I can even imagine Burbank Galleria architects' slightly altering the entrances, windows and store layouts to hide the Nuevo Mall-riche-ness from America’s dirty, early, unretouched retail roots.

But what a wonderful truck this is. In the face of an economic meltdown, I imagine that this non-Apprentice-ready entrepreneur is probably picking up some business from the newly-down-and-out who need a lot of stuff hauled away. And need a paint job? He’s ready.

You don’t get these kind of pictograms except in primitive caves, and the sides of do-it-yourself-man vans by guys who create their own opportunities, even if the tons of scrap metal they’re haulin down the high way in their Roald-Dalh-esque junk jalopy may threaten your life in a sudden stop, blowout, or a 'but-officer, I-was-jus'-reaching-for-my-coffee moment.'

Maybe we’re turning a corner in LA. A corner where Zza Gabor will be eclipsed by the return of some Joads like this guy who might just be moving up in a world that’s long been over due to come back down a notch or two. Who knows? Maybe IKEA and Bed Bath and Beblond will end up going Chapter 11 along with Linen’s & Things and free up some store front glass for this guy to display his wares, and maybe even his painting skills. With his ‘naïve’ approach to art, maybe he’ll be selling on canvas and not just putting a brush to the walls. I say more power to him. He's not asking for billion dollar bail-outs, that's for sure.

What I Saw on the Street: "i" Family

2009-05-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

Ok, so it's not exactly digital, but these windshield family stickers are a wave of the digital age. i Family. or M"i" Family. or Famil"i".

Iconized representations of everyone from baby to grandma and cat included, they are a plague on the already competency-challenged Angelinos. And there's a down side.

Not to be morbid, but whenever I see one of these family stickers on the back of a car or truck, I can’t help but wonder what happens when the unthinkable happens. When Jr. or Tina or Grandma or Bobo the dog doesn’t make it. Do you go out and scrape them off the window? Put an “x” through them? Put a halo over their head? It just seems like if you go and put everyone in your family on a windshield, you, like bugs, are asking for it. Me, I’m not putting my loved ones on a windshield. It’s the last place I hope they end up.

What I Saw on the "Street": Have You Been Xlerated?

2009-05-24T10:30:00.000-07:00

Have you been Xlerated yet? No, it’s not a ride at your local Six Flags, it’s a turbo-charged air blower in your local bathroom. Not to be outdone by the simple but now-woefully-outdated hand-dryer, the Xlerator has gone 2.0 reboot. This ain’t your mamma’s hand dryer. But you might wish it were.

Featured in water-and-paper conscious establishments all across LA, this device boasts "xlerated" drying time by blasting water from the washer's hands. What it doesn't boast is that the air pressure is so xtreme that the skin on your hand will fold and flap like a turkey waddle.

Not what anyone wants to see, much less an age-conscious gay may facing down an army of OC/Gossip Girl look-alikes every day on the city streets. Maybe don't need to see that right now in my fragile, close-to-shattering, delicate frame of mind.

Watching my hand ripple and turn into a skin sail, I immediately Roger Moore's brush with death in the G-Force Simulator from 1979's "Moonraker". His face ripples back and we get a look at what a dive in a jet plane would look like with Joan Rivers flying it to plastic surgery hell. No thanks.

I don’t even want to see it on my hand. So as sanitary and fast as the Xlerator might be, I’ll be looking for paper towels, the old fashioned hand-dryer, or maybe just wiping my hands on my jeans. So what if people think I wet myself. At least they won’t think I’m old. Oh- Wait a second…

What "I" Saw on the Street: Apartment Hunting

2009-05-16T15:34:00.000-07:00

First, I put "I" in quotes because this first picture is actually what Google "saw." I love it when the Google Camera is in front of a large object so that whatever it was you were looking for is not visible. Not even from the robo-satellites that are apparently photographing the entire planet.

here's the house I live in now.

Even from space you can see that it's a four lane, divided road, that yes, is the fire/police/wailing siren corridor. See why I'm trying to move?

And here is a house that someone else wanted me to move into. And when I say "house," what I really mean is garage.
When I asked the landlady who had lived here before, what I really meant was "who died to vacate the place for me?" She was very enthused to tell me that her mother had lived there. Now that's love. No, her mother didn't die (she only WISHED she had), she moved in with another daughter. A daughter (I'm guessing) with no spare cellar, garage, or closet to put her. The landlady was proud to show off the new appliances (they really were new, she scored points there). But the bedroom was the size of a cell, hard-tiled on the floor, with one small window. Well, really, it was a ventilation grid. The bathroom was equally dark, and I only ventured to put my head through the doorway in case maybe there was an automatically locking door and she was planning to keep me there as an unwilling domestic.

"The last girl was here two years," she exclaimed. 'And then the pneumonia set in?' I thought. Then the landlady then showed me the best feature of all. When you want to lose the view of the cars in the driveway and just get away from all the fresh air and sunlight, just click the garage door button the side of the wall.

Down rolls the automatic door, each segmented panel lurching quietly into place until the white, aluminum wall slams like a whisper into the coarse brickwork of the driveway...brickwork which is your kitchen floor. Perfect for stubbing your toe on a Sunday morning.

I began to wonder if I had any enemies I could send the listing to. "Christian" teachers who had beaten with a ruler in school. Bullies who'd made my life hell. And then I came up with the perfect tenant. Bernie Madoff. He'd love the savings. And the TB, it's totally free!

What I Saw On the Street: Box Man

2009-05-12T16:31:00.002-07:00

I'm starting a new blog feature that I call "What I Saw on the Street". Whether it's stainless steel "balls" hanging from the back of a trailer hitch, or a man with a box on his head on Hollywood Boulevard...there is no predicting what you'll see on city streets here in LA. Because I'm using my cell phone for most of the shots, they may have a slightly Bigfoot Tabloid 1973 quality, but I really think that adds to the whole look.

Driving through town the other day, I indeed saw this man on H0llywood Boulevard with a box on his head. He was homeless, and had a beggar's cup out. Whether he knew if he got any money, I'm not sure, since the bag seemed to block most of his view. But one thing is for sure, every time I see a homeless person, it puts my problems in perspective. Some of you might have a bum here or there, or maybe a town drunk. LA has a population numbering in the thousands (the country's largest. See, LA can boast about lots of things!). There is even something called the Mission District. Not the toni section of San Francisco, it's where the missions are. As in prayer and soup kitchens and priests tending to the down-n-out.

It's easy to think, 'eh, things aren't going THAT well.' But when you pass someone laying in their own decayed filth, it really makes a ride in your 1994 Geo Metro feel like you're driving a Rolls Royce. So chin-up, look on the bright side, and be glad that despite your problems, you're not panhandling on Hollywood Boulevard with a box on your head.

Now get back to your books!

The Lost Keys Mystery

2009-05-09T04:08:00.000-07:00

Christy put me up to this so blame her.

HOW?

In the 90’s my sister was in the military and visiting me and my mother in our hometown. Pensacola, Florida. Our life WAS the military. We had lived on bases most of our lives, shopped at a commissary instead of a grocery store, and banked at the Navy Federal Credit Union. After my father retired, the bank was no longer very conveniently located because we moved. But you do what you’ve always done in the military, so we banked Navy.

My sister borrowed my mother’s car to make a deposit and get some cash. She drove to the other side of Pensacola where the bank was near two bases. She did her business and returned. And could not find the keys. Anywhere. We looked in the car, around it, under the seats. We looked in the house, in the sandy drive and among the leaves. We checked the dogs bowl to see if she’d perhaps been chewing on a plastic key fob. We looked inside the bathrooms, the fridge, and the garbage cans.

About an hour later, we got a call. From the bank. Navy Federal Credit Union. The one on the other side of town. They had the keys. At the bank. On the other side of town.
Now if my sister drove TO our house with the keys, how did they end up back at the bank? I ask you, How?

All the Time in the World

2009-05-03T14:57:00.001-07:00

It seems like you have 365 days when you start the year. But then you have to take out all the days you work, all the hours you sleep, all the times that you’re sick, and then all the times you are unexpectedly sick. Like last week.

I was cruising down a trail in Griffith Park when suddenly I realized that not only was the hill too steep, but the gravel made it feel like ice. My back tire started to fish-tail, and then I was falling, just to the side of the handle bars as the bike went down. Hand and knees striking first. The bike and I sliding another five feet or so on the fine powder on a steep incline. Coming to rest, I lay still, taking in the dirt, the coming darkness and how quiet the trail was. If I’d broken something, would anyone else be coming down the trail? If I had to stay there the whole night, would coyotes find me? Eat me? Or just toy with my broken body as I screamed in vain?

I felt my body, nothing broken. And I’d worn workout pants and a long-sleeve jacked and gloves. Very, very lucky because usually it’s just me and shorts and a sleeve-less t-shirt. My knees were banged up, but I tried not to pay attention to the dirty black-and-red streaks under my pants. If I could just get back to the car, stow the bike, and get on my way, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

Now it’s about 2-weeks later and I’m on crutches and fitted with a one-size-fits-all leg brace. A growing dome of fluid on my knee cap, bruising, and odd grinding noises told me something was wrong. Toddling off to the Emergency room two days ago, I had it x-rayed and looked at by a doctor. No breaks or fractures, but maybe something wrong with the ligaments. Further doctoring is in order.

In the mean time, keep it elevated and warm (not iced). Until then, I’ll be out of circulation for a few days. Despite a fairly busy schedule of writing, reading, and revision, a year always has moments that you can’t plan for. That’s why they tell you to have your manuscript ready when you write to agents. Because they don’t want to hear, “Well, you’re not going to believe this, but…” It was J.M. Barrie who said that some times is precious precisely because it’s wasted. Here’s to the two weeks I’m losing to a bum leg, laid up at home, reading books, hanging out with my boyfriend and our cat. Maybe it’s a God-imposed vacation. Or the universe reminding me that some of the 365 days granted at the beginning of the year have already been struck from the calendar by fate.

Now get back to your books!

Zoinks! Rejected Again

2009-05-03T14:44:00.000-07:00

So if (ahem, I mean) WHEN I get published, I'll share it with you, so why not my rejections. It's part of the process, and doesn't often see the light of day. Rejections go along with unwanted mail. But there's always a story to the submission of a strory.

I submitted to AHMM (Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine for those in the know), looking to plume my hat with a national publication. And who knows, maybe I'll get to meet him some day. I LOVE his movies. I sent in my submission on January 3rd. The rejections is dated April 29th. And my follow-up note is for June. So they're actually two months AHEAD of schedule. That's good news, isn't it? And they sent me a 60%-off coupon. They like me. They REALLY like me!

But seriously, it's a form rejection, but they did reply in the time they said they would (which beats the Tumbleweeds effect of some responses. That's when you've waited so long that you can hear tumbleweeds blowing in the howling wind outside). And it's a chance to revisit the short story as the editor did. Open the letter, re-read the piece and see if my attention flags at all. If it does, it's time for a rewrite. If four more months I could have submitted and heard back again. And eventually, somewhere down the line, I'm going to meet this Alfed Hitchcock guy. Or at least get into his magazine.

You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile

2009-04-30T16:58:00.000-07:00

With a strange flu season upon on us, I love that the richest nation on Earth has as it's virus-fighting slogan: Cover Your Nose and Mouth. Is that what we've come to? It's right up there with the post-9/11 "Just Keep Shopping." Because that's worked so well. It reminds me of a kind of 50's girl slogan that my mother used to say sarcastically: You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile. This, foisted upon women who ran the frickin' country while all the men were off at war. When the men returned, all the Rosies were supposed to put up their rivets and go back to the home. Where presumably all that concerned them was whether or not they were properly dressed. I'm sure in their time of psychic stress, that the fashion slogan "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile" came as great comfort. About as comforting as our flu-fighting mantra: Cover Your Nose and Mouth.
But it's not all bad, I mean, it's ultimately harkening back to the pioneer spirit. Whatever Doesn't Kill Us Makes Us Stronger. Or the Boy Scout motto: Always Be Prepared. Which kind of make some of the post-war slogans seem a little wimpy. Boyscouts and pioneers are at the ready to bite a stick while taking out a bullet, or steeling themselves for a long winter trapped at Donner lake. We could take a page from their book in these uncertain financial and epidemiological times. Today I'm neither shopping, nor - apparently - am I fully dressed. But I am ready to cover my nose and mouth. Mostly because I'm not leavin' the fricken house until all my hotpockets and juiceboxes are gone. And I've got a 2-year supply!

The First "Dip"

2009-04-24T15:23:00.000-07:00

So roughly 12 hours after my submission frenzy, I already have my first "dip." Now I'm going to define dip as two things:

1) the first screaming drop of the aforementioned roller coaster
2) the first dip into a pool after a long winter

Rejection ain't that hard. I have been trained by experience and by other writers to expect it. So as they letters come back "not for our list at this time," I think of them as a first dip in a pool, a first contact, parties that I've missed, moments when a connection didn't quite happen.

A long list of inspiring stories of "right place, right time," come to mind and I remember that each contact is a potential opportunity for the future.

Newtonian physics tell me that potential will eventually become kinetic. When, I'm not sure, but the idea that Isaac Newton is shining down on me gives me some faith. So bring it! Here's to the first dip!

Hitting "Send" is like the first hill on a roller coaster

2009-04-24T00:17:00.000-07:00

Finally, I've done it.
Today I hit "send" six times. Six.
Six small strikes of a key on a keyboard.
Six huge lurches in my gut.

It's not the absolute first time I've submitted, but it's been while, and I've forgotten what a mini-production it is. It's like a tiny publishing cycle all by itself.
Write letter. Proof letter.
Write synopsis. Proof synopsis.
Write bio. Proof bio.
Re-write.
Re-proof.
lather. rinse. repeat, until hair falls out.

And still. STILL I found errors. There was the Horror of the Missing Hyphen. Only to be followed by the Accidental Centering of the Last Line of Text. There was the Last Minute Discovery of An Agent's Name Needing Mid-Name Capitalization (think McIntosh, or DeLeandro). And all the time I spent on spacing paragraphs in Word so that titles had their own lines and page breaks (like great Byronesque poetry) had real meaning, was lost. Lost to the vagaries of email. Font choices stripped of all seriphs. Line breaks controlled by distant screens in distant states. It is now only the words themselves that can have impact. But isn't that the sign of a good writer? That the words have impact whether typeset for a hard-cover book, or scrawled on a bar napkin in a lightning-bolt-moment of inspiration.

In the end only two things got me to send those query letters.
1) another deadline for another project
2) realizing that sitting in my home office, the Ed McMahon of publishing probably woudln't be driving up in the Victory Van to write me my winning check.

Fly query letters! Be free! And then come back with good news or I'll hunt you down and burn you. Or maybe that's not the right spirit exactly...

Funny Monday (bonus track)

2009-04-05T04:32:00.000-07:00

"Taser the Flavor"

This is the title of my dream from two nights ago. I swear to God, I woke up laughing because the last thought I had before waking up was a cooking show called "Taser the Flavor." Chicken, turkey, and even sides of beef would be seasoned, and then tasered until cooked to perfection. The chefs would be dressed as cops - or even better! - security guards.

Convulsing and spasming meat would drive the audience into a frenzy. And the first one to blacken his entree wins!

Advertising Gone Too Far - Monday Funny

2009-04-04T08:25:00.000-07:00

This is my Monday Funny, early. I'm off to Vegas with Luis for two days and to see my sister and her family. But before I go...

"Guest" Blog

2009-03-22T17:44:00.000-07:00

I've-- well, just click the link in the title.
My graemestone.com website has a blog, and well, that explains why there's a "guest" entry from, well, me.

Readers Wanted - Trades Offered

2009-03-12T06:46:00.001-07:00

I'm post-conference and jonesing to submit work. But not without some independent readership. I'm going to check out Critique Circle. But if any of you guys want to read/trade, I'm putting it out there. I'm not sure if this is like offering to "let" a friend pet-sit, but I don't know a ton of other writers so I figure: start with a small pool.

The first chapter of both books is at my website. If you like what you read, let me know and I'll PDF you the rest.

Graeme

Perky "Monday" contribution

2009-03-11T05:21:00.000-07:00

I was...traveling on Monday...so... And then I just got home Tuesday, and I work Tuesday night, so I just got on the blogs after two weeks off, so here's my contribution to Perky Monday.

I know this totally Holly Hobbys my hard-core masculine image that everyone had of me, but I love this picture. It makes me want to BE the kitten. The kitten and mom look so blissfully happy. From the kitten's smile, to the mom's half-lid's, to her armrest-paw, I just love it.

Graeme

Back and Ready for Action. Well, sort of

2009-03-11T04:57:00.000-07:00

hey ya'll,

I'm back from Psuedo Big Sur (it's in Monterey until either the mountain slides off, or they the conference go back to its original location.) But the conference/workshop itself was geunine. I learned, wrote, revised, was criqued, made friends, and even left the hotel. But now what?

I want to apply for the SCBWI General Grant, but of course have a challenge. "The Pardy Boys" was clearly the front-runner. "Dr. Rasp" was seen as too run-of-the-mill. Problem: "Pardy Boys" is a cliff-hanging series. The advice: end the first book to make it a stand-alone. Problem: I've worked for a year to create a series. Advice? (this is the part where you come in).

I'm cutting and pasting the synopsis below. But it does have spoilers in it for anyone who might volunteer to read the book. So do I write a new ending? Submit as-is? Turn to goat herding to get out of this crazy racket?

Graeme
p.s. the mailing deadline for the SCBWI Grant application is March 15th.

The Pardy Boys: Mystery of the Black Book
Synopsis by Graeme Stone

When their billionaire father is murdered and they’re framed for the crime, adoptive brothers set out to catch his killer.

Mercifully adopted when their straight-laced families rejected them for being gay, adoptive brothers Joe and Frank Pardy are day and night. Frank (16) is an impulsive, asian party boy, while Joe (17) is a button-down, white, wannabe Wall-Streeter. Like any siblings, they love to fight. That is until their father’s body is found hanging in his bedroom, his lover Armando the most obvious culprit.

But when Armando is found innocent, and bank accounts are frozen, the boys suspect that family lawyer Alden Roche is framing them. Fleeing with a sack of cash, the boys only have one weapon: their father’s infamous black book. Kept in a code they only partially understand, it reveals that he had one last appointment: Provincetown in 3 days.

Taking assumed identities, they decipher a name from the black book —“Henry”. But their job becomes infinitely more complicated when Frank gets caught with his pants down and is wrongly accused of stealing jewels from a very handsome hotel patron named Roland Garret. They cut a deal: if the hotel delays contacting the police, they will find the real thief or go to jail in two days. The real plan: find Henry on borrowed time and get out of town before the deadline.

When some electronic sleuthing reveals that a small-time hustler named Trent is faking the jewel theft for insurance money, they confront him. But Alden’s men show up, forcing the boys to follow Trent to a secret speak-easy called…Henry’s. And the owner of Henry’s is none other than Roland, the jewel heist’s true mastermind. Furious at the intrusion, he is going to lock them up.

But when Roland realizes the boys are James’ sons, he apologizes for embroiling them in his con game. Regretfully he divulges the reason for their father’s visit: a lost love letter. In college their father had an affair with another military man known in the letters only as Soldier. Love turned sour when Soldier betrayed their father. If he has already resorted to murder, the letter puts the boys in grave danger because it is the only hard evidence linking the two men.

Ducking Alden’s goons, they escape Provincetown for Boston. Searching the Harvard library, they hope an old yearbook will reveal Soldier’s picture to put a face to the name: no luck. That is until they find out at a local bar that a military-wide reunion in Miami will turn up people who knew their father…and his killer.

Hitch-hiking aboard a ship called “The Flying Dutchman” the boys realize all too late that the boat belongs to Soldier, a man crazy enough to sail them right into a hurricane. This cliffhanging ending leads to the next book in the series, Attack of the Phantom Yacht.

On Wet Toilet Seats

2009-03-01T07:40:00.000-08:00

How is that our aim at home is flawless, when our aim in public is so cruel? It's Toilet-Seat Sociology. How you treat yourself is completely different from how you treat others. I made the mistake of stopping by the Highland Del Taco the other night. I sometimes make a pit stop when passing through Hollywood. I used to live very close by, but after a developer bought my rental house and turned the lot into condos, I was forced to move out of a neighborhood I could no longer afford.

But just down the street lingers this Del Taco, infamous for it's exterior (former gas station?) bathroom which requires a quarter to enter. Yes, you pay for the privilege of seeing a restroom that rivals the squat-holes of eastern European train stations. This place was so bad that the flies were gagging. I wondered what would possess not the first person not to flush, but the 2nd, 6th or 8th. As the excrement piled up, surely there must have been the temptation to relieve the porcelain of its burden. Or maybe the fear (my case) was greater that one tap on the malfunctioning handle would bring forth a foul flood, and then the attentions of the staff who would probably blame the unlucky flusher for deposits beyond anything but a pachyderm.

Until we can keep a restroom clean amongst us all, is there really any hope for cleaning up the rest of the world?

Now get back to your best aim on your writing.

Life Intrudes

2009-02-21T02:46:00.000-08:00

This Valentine's Day, I went to a funeral.

I met Jessica when I worked briefly at USC as a temp before escaping to full-time work. I labored in the student office for the Dental School, which was almost as much fun as flossing. Jessica and I shared the same sense of humor, and often emailed back and forth across a four-person office when things got weird with co-workers, or heated with pushy students who didn't realize that they were about as much fun as a root canal. She was a freak-magnet who always had hilarious stories like aisle-blocking long-legged men who's i.d. tag on their briefcase said "M. Stork" or other ridiculous encounters. Quirky, smart, and sly, she was my new best friend, and a welcoming face in a new job where I feared I wouldn't fit in.

We shared lunches at the music school down the street, traded commuting stories, and laughed at the absurdity of USC's sometimes bureaucratic way of business. When you first meet someone, you think you know them because of your first impressions. As you see them day after day, week after week, they reconfirm your first impressions because nothing intrudes to alter what you perceive. But first impressions only go so far because people only show you so much on the surface. Beneath is a complexity that can take a lifetime to appreciate. That appreciation is called friendship and you're lucky if someone lets you in deep enough to be considered a friend.

Subtle signs of Jessica's outside life began to sift into daily conversation like flour dusting a cutting board. She would mention that she was going to spend the weekend in the desert with her sister. So, adding to the picture was the image of a sister. I filled in some blanks by imagining parents, and a family home somewhere not too far away. I also thought briefly that maybe she and her sister were spending a weekend in the desert together as a kind of getaway. But as the weeks went by, I realized from the regularity of the visits that this sister must actually live in the high desert that sits high above sea-level Los Angeles and a world away from celebrities and car chases.

As the holidays approached, I was invited to the school potluck for Thanksgiving. I brought squash casserole and carpooled with the office gals, each of us clutching a dish we'd made. Christmas plans came up and Jessica mentioned that her sister, Jennifer, was a twin, and that she had been battling cancer, but was doing a little better with treatment. So all the time that I had pictured family get-togethers and sisterly visits, there was more going on than I could know. Retreats were revealed to be vigils, and visits unveiled as measured time made bittersweet by illness. I wanted to imagine that I'd sensed something... a depth, a gravity to things. But the truth was that until Jessica said something, I didn't know a thing. I remember sitting at my desk the Monday following Thanksgiving and seeing her so differently eyes just visible above her computer monitor. Everything was the same, except now I knew enough to appreciate that amidst the swirl of scheduling student exams, calculating grades and attending to the needs of professors there was a river of emotion quietly running underneath my friend.

I never did meet Jennifer. She remained a fixture in screen-saver photos and stories. Jessica talked about her, the visits to the high desert, and periodically mentioned how her treatment was going. It sounded unpleasant, but like it was being managed, that there was hope. I left USC to take a permanent job at the law firm where I now work, but I didn't lose touch with Jessica. I visited USC for lunch, and emailed. We often talked of seeing each other for dinner, a movie, or just to hang out. But the plans never materialized because, I reasoned, we were both just too busy. But there is the busy of grocery lists and plumber's visits. And then there is the busy of a sister who is sick.

Checking email a week ago, I saw the announcement for Jennifer's funeral service and my heart just sank. All this time I hadn't known enough to reach out, hadn't asked enough to know, hadn't understood what my friend had been going through.

The funeral fell on Valentine's Day. One heart-shaped arrangement of flowers dedicated to Jennifer from her husband made me feel that one can never say 'I love you' often enough. Jessica's family is very spiritual and their faith is helping them through an incredibly difficult time. Made all the more difficult by the the fact that Jessica also has cancer now, as does her mother. There is the saying that God does not give us more than we can handle. I have never been a big believer in this expression because it seems to remove compassion when it is needed most. It isolates and imbues with strength and independence that which is most in danger of loneliness and collapse.

As I wept at the funeral, I realized that my tears were just a tiny reflection of a family's profound grief in the wake of immediate loss, and more loss that may come in the future. The most I could do was be present and share in their difficult time, trying to see it as God letting me share the burden instead of leaving it all to them. I can't say I felt even adequate to the task. And for someone addicted to 'doing,' just 'being' was very difficult. What is there even to say? For all of the truly important things in life, there are no words.

What has stayed with me is that that you can never know what is going on in another person's life. I have been very productive this past year; managing my own family illness with my partner (kidney failure), writing, holding down a job, and squeezing in some travel. But how I wish my eyes had been open wider so I might have taken in a little more of life as it was happening around me. There is a balance between creating lives on a page, witnessing them, and participating in them. Sometimes life seems to intrude on my writing, and sometimes that very intrusion is the thing worth writing about.

Now go tell someone you love them. It doesn't have to be Valentine's Day for that.

The Last Hundred Is Always the Hardest

2009-02-20T15:56:00.000-08:00

I'm "finished." Well, at least with a draft. "The Abominable Plan of Dr. Rasp" will be ready for Big Sur. That sounds like a headline doesn't it? Like those crazy Hollywood Reporter lingo-jingo headlines that you practically have to be an industry insider to understand. But I guess I'm getting closer to being an industry insider because I know what Big Sur means. It means a white-knuckle, nerve-wracking joyride to the a month of all-nighters trying to finish 100 weenzy pages.

The previous draft of this book was over 200 pages, and now it's sailing in at just over 100. But it is so much better. This is after getting notes a year ago from an editor-for-hire who had great notes. But notes that took a year to accept. I keep thinking of one of the speeches (Lisa Yee?) in which the author talked about complete, major rewrites over several years to get what her editor was after. So this last 100 pages as been the hardest. I am so ready to move on, but a polish is in order before heading up to Big Sur in (gulp) couple of weeks.

Now get back to your book!

Stuffing

2009-01-23T18:07:00.001-08:00

The stuffing was terrible. We both agreed. From a box, too wet when finished, flavorless. In a word, mush. But I was craving comfort food and I just can't throw out food, so I stuck with the stuffing. I spruced it up with more onions than they asked for. I put in raisins, poultry seasoning, cayenne pepper for some kick. Still not great, the stuffing was just something I couldn't give up on. The next day, I added celery, and it had dried out a little in the tupperware where it was journeying back and forth to work. Today I had butternut squash, soup and salad for lunch. I broke the stuffing and suddenly it wasn't just so-so, it was fantastic. How is that one day and a few ingredients made all the difference? I'm not one to say that God is speaking to me through my box-stuffing, but that appears to be what's happened. And God is saying, 'stick with that story you're working on, have patience, and before you know it...'

Now get back to your stories.

the Moment of Truth

2009-01-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

Or at least the Moment of Commitment.

So I'm sure I was one of the last to submit to Firebrand, but I did it. At first I was trying to cram in 20 full pages, and then realized that a 20 page chapter in a boy's tweener book just wouldn't fit. If I can't convince them in 9 pages, or even 5, then the story has bigger problems not solved by length.

The same sample is what I'm going to use for Big Sur. It's both a relief and a fire to have submitted. A relief because I can stop sweating. A fire because that's what's now lit under my ass to make everything as good and exciting as it is when there's a deadline.

I even used a few lines for the Westside Schmooze "First Pages" night which was great. Lee and Rita really had fun, and the format of the evening (mixing published/famous/unknown writings together) was also great. I think last year I did a lot of writing in a vacuum, and the Schmoozes give me a sense of community that I was missing. Hats off to the Westside Schmooze; it's a good group.

All that writing took it out of me, though. I've been off my blogs for over a week. And tomorrow I'm taking some time off for the MLK Holiday/Inauguration Build-up. I'll see you all reliably again in a week.

Now get back to those books!

Dr. Rasp vs. the Pardy Boys

2009-01-08T06:55:00.001-08:00

Ok, so I'm very excited at Firebrand's internet special (submit by January 15th, and NO QUERY). But it's like the old saying goes: you don't know what you have 'til it's gone. And now that the query is gone, I'm wondering if the submission is stronger WITH it. I did sell a script, and I did win a script contest. But here's my real dilemma. Just because I'm not using a query doesn't mean I'm not queer.

the Pardy Boys is gay YA. One editor said it bordered on soft-core. Yikes! The kiss of death. I've since gotten better opinions, but I think maybe a query letter would bouy the novel by showing the submission in context, while also demonstrating some kind of marketability for my writing.

That said, Dr. Rasp, which is pretty darn cute and cuddly, is squarly a boys tweener action-adventure story. But I can't query it to save my life. So maybe I should submit "The Abominable Plan of Dr. Rasp" via no-query month, and then wait until the 16th to submit "the Pardy Boys" via the normal channels.

Oh this is all so indulgent now I feel I'm wasting valuable blog pixels on drivel. But not before asking you guys: whaddyou think?

Now get back to your books!

Submission Schizophrenia

2009-01-03T07:55:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I'm sending a short story to a magazine. No big deal.
Printed the labels, the SASE, have my follow-up date marked on the calendar.
Submitting to an agent... not so easy.

I'm paranoid of making the wrong impression, of missing an opportunity. Should I wait until I've gone to Big Sur in March before submitting? But Firebrand's offering a great Query Holiday special until January 15th with no pitch letter--just pages! It's the deal of a life-time.

Pardy Boys is ready to go. Certainly the first 20 pages. So why can't I just bite the bullet? Is there one "perfect agent?" Does one have to think of a career trajectory, or is it important just to get into the game? I've researched about 14 agencies. They fall into three categories:

- No, Too Snooty.
- Wow, Will my Letter Burn up on Entry?
- Hmm, they seem cool AND approachable.

Coddle me, advise me, encourage me.

Driving Self Insane in LA

Stage Fright

2009-01-03T02:51:00.000-08:00

This week I'm submitting.
Surrendering.
Giving in.
Throwing myself at Fate's Mercy.

And naturally that led me to watching "Somewhere in Time", the 1980 time-travel-fantasy-romance starring Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour. Well it's not good enough to just watch "Somewhere in Time" is it? I also had to go on IMDB and check out Jane's credits and find out about her twins, her mini-serieses (what's the plural? anyone... anyone... Beuller?), and some of her amazing bio facts (her eyes are different colors! and she's only 5'4''. Marilyn was only 5'2'' but I digress.)

In the quotes section of IMDB there was this amazing quote about auditions gone wrong, and it's inspiring because AFTER the audition, Jane went on to some pretty great things. So here's the quote:

After I had my first child, I stopped breastfeeding early because I had been told that there was a possibility that I might star in "The Thorn Birds" (1983), which I wanted more than life itself. I went to do the screen test and everything went great until we [Richard Chamberlain and I] did the love scene. I had stopped feeding for three weeks and unexpectedly my milk came in! I lifted myself up in my pink 1930s negligee, and it's a wet T-shirt contest! I looked up and it was just terrible. There was a big puddle of white milk all over his bare chest. I mean a puddle. This was a serious incident. His reaction was not good. You just say, "What can you do?"

Ok, so after that, I'm ready for anything. I'm sending out my letters, hoping for the best, and preparing for... well, I'm not prepared for spontaneous lactation, but I think that I'll have a healthier appreciation for the process of putting myself out there after Jane's encouragement.

now get back to your books!

Where is the Love?

2008-12-21T06:18:00.000-08:00

the love is right here.

After holding onto the Love Award for way too long, I'm passing it on to someone who inspired me when I was in doubt and didn't even know I needed encouragement. I met Jacqui Robbins at the NY SCBWI last February. She's funny, confident, professional, and someone I always want to sit next to in the conference rooms.

This summer I had a very mixed review of my manuscript and she caught me in the lobby and kind of pressed me about what I was doing with it. She was very encouraging and really ignited my enthusiasm when I was thinking of putting The Pardy Boys aside. So here's a small token for your help. I love you THIS much.

The University of the Kitchen Timer

2008-12-16T07:28:00.000-08:00

I went to the SCBWI Westside Schmooze where we all shared stories of procrastination and secrets to avoiding writer's blocks.

There were some great ideas on things to keep us writing (like jot.com (I have this down wrong if someone has the correct name, it sounds like a great idea), and www.critiquecircle.com). My contribution was the kitchen timer (which I use to just get my butt in the chair and start writing). What I forgot to mention was the 50 Minute Rule.

I often find my mind wandering after about an hour (ok, usually under). Coincidentally, this is also the length of the average class in America. If, after about an hour, you don't leave the writing entirely (say, for a completely different project), it can be a great time to stretch for a minute, to make a cup of tea, or give your mind and eyes a rest for just five minutes. Sometimes I push myself for hours, and it's not very rewarding. I'm punishing myself like some kind of marathoner and it doesn't really help my writing. I forget who said it in the meeting, but they mentioned that Roald Dahl's secret was stopping each day while he was still having fun. That, I'm definitely adopting.

I have a lot of time to write so I often feel the pressure to write, or do write-centric things, for up to 7 hours. Lemme tell ya, it's exhausting. I read Stephen King's book on writing, and thought I could do the master one better (I'm that good, right?). Even though he recommends against writing too much, and especially working on more than one project at once, I gave it a try. And I burned myself out. And the Schmooze just reinforced what I already knew. Don't work too hard.

Breaking your day up revitalizes and reinforces your own strengths. The mistake I was making was activities that were too similar. Like writing on the novel for a couple of hours, and then switching to a short story. Or writing, and then doing some agent research. All of those things are on the computer, involving writing, and don't really use different parts of the brain.

One of the most interesting things brought up at the Schmooze was the Activity Epiphany. That's when you're driving, or in the shower, or on a hike and voila, you have this incredible epiphany, breakthrough, or idea. It's often revelatory, effortless, like magic. So I try to emulate that by doing some light filing, or exercising, or doing what I call puttering. I recently moved and I have pictures to put up, curtains to hem, doors to fix. All kinds of small, physical tasks that break me out of the highly mental/emotional process of writing. And it works. I get both kinds of work done, come out the other side feeling accomplished and kind of invigorated.

I call it Graeme U. because it feels like I'm back in school. And when I look back on old notebooks of school, I can't believe all the work I did. And all of it was just 50 minutes at a time, five days a week. The Activity Epiphany seems to be especially strong with a change of environment when I'm nowhere near a computer or something to write with. I bike up to Griffith Park here in Los Angeles. It takes about two hours round trip from my house and I always have great ideas while pedaling my heart out. Usually it's just two or three distinct things, so I remember them and jot them down as soon as I return. I refer to the whole package as Bikewriting.

So thanks to Greg and Sara for the Schmoozes past, and Lee and Rita for Schmoozes future. This is Graeme Stone for epiphanies present.

Holiday Catalog Madness: or, Attack of the Jule Nisse

2008-12-13T03:42:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend made the mistake of buying something from Williams-Sonoma. Once. 18 years ago. The catalog still comes, and the Christmas catalog is the best.

Growing up in north Florida (or LA as we jokingly referred to it - as in, Lower Alabama) our only views of the outside world came through HBO (when my parents finally broke down and got it circa 1981), the New Yorker, and catalogs. Stacks and stacks of catalogs.

My mother got everything from Miles Kimball and the Sharper Image, to its competitor Hammacher-Schlemmer. We also got LL Bean, Sears, JC Penney, the Horchow Collection, American Dolls (which was enough to give anyone with eyes a nightmare), Childcraft (way past childhood), and any number of other catalogs I've since forgotten.

A pass-time around the house was for friends to visit, to have coffee, and sit and talk about the world while flipping through catalogs and making fun (or secretly coveting) whatever was in them. In that light, I bring you the 'Nisse' mug collection from the holiday catalog of Williams-Sonoma (pictured above):

(actual catalog copy)
In the regions of the far north, mythical elves are famous for spreading good luck during the holiday season. We collaborated with Norwegian artist Svein Solem in creating these mugs from his popular renderings of nisse, as gnomes are known in Norway. Each mug is different, together telling the tale of an industrious elf who builds a snowman and decorates it with classic kitchen wares – a copper pot, wooden spoons and a kitchen towel. Use the companion mugs for all sorts of warming beverages, especially hot chocolate. 16-oz. cap., 4 1/4" high. Sets of four, one of each design. A Williams-Sonoma exclusive.

My favorite adaptation of W-S is that the snowmen are decorated with self-referential W-S cookware. Now imagine if Target or Kmart produces their own line of decorative mugs? It suddenly slides from class to crass. Or maybe it's all what my brother Brian calls 'crapitalism.' I mean, do we really need cook-ware hawking Nisse mugs? Or $78 coconut cake, or $16 hand-made marshmallows? No, but then what would I make fun of in our apartment while trying to figure out Christmas dinner and what to get my relatives this year?

While the auto industry begs for $15 billion dollars, and the country lurches toward a depression, all that keeps my spirits bright is making fun of things I've never been able to afford, and will never buy when I'm able. I am making cheese/sausage balls, and my mother's Danish recipe for peppernutter. That's my scandinavian contribution to the holiday. Maybe I'll decorate the cookies with images of our industrial loft-space surrounded by the homeless and the missions trying to save them. Now that's something you won't see in any catalogs.

Whether there is Weather

2008-12-05T03:04:00.000-08:00

Ok, so it's a lame title. Like "I Wonder as I Wander." What was Johnny Mathis thinking? Didn't he realize how many 5th graders like me who had to sing this song at the Christmas Show would be totally confused? "I wonder as I wonder out under the stars..." hmmm, that's an odd lyric. Or: "I wander as I wander out under the stars..." hmm, I think maybe the music publishing company had a typesetter asleep at the printing press.

But seriously, Whether there is Weather.

I'm a huge weather freak. I love extreme, unpredictable, record-breaking weather. Like back in 1978 or so, my brother and I were out in the yard when suddenly the tops of the trees started swaying, and the air temperature dropped about 30 degrees. No kidding. Years later I read in one of my weather calendars (yes, I own weather calendars that I keep to peruse later after I've forgotten some of the factoids, like the ones about the 1888 NY Spring blizzard, etc. you know the one), when I came across that very event, which is the largest single-recorded temperature drop to date. It was just so cool to be standing there in our yard and sense that something really big was sweeping over us, all around us. We were wondering as we wandered so to speak.

But here in LA, there isn't much "weather," so to speak. Yes, technically there is temperature and humidity, and sometimes it rains. But it is so seldom, and the differences from season to season are so slight as to make any comments about meteorological conditions sound ridiculous. For a long time people have made fun of my Weather Channel addiction, and the fact that I know Jim Cantore from Dave Schwartz (not to mention that I used to run into and chat with, Schwartz at the YMCA lockerroom), but I finally figured out why I really love weather. It's one of the only things left in our society that is without bounds, without controls, and impossible to predict.

Sure they can get pretty close, but even hurricanes, which they've been studying for decades, confound them. It's pretty exciting to think that the entire coast of Florida can have a weekend planned, only to have it interrupted for a day or two by a gigantic, cyclonic storm whose birth is somewhere off the coast of Africa days or even a week or more before that very weekend. Tornadoes... just amp up the timing from days to minutes or seconds. One day the house is there, the next, it's gone.

In LA where the rain can refuse to fall literally for nine months at a time, the idea that a white-out blizzard can paralyze the central US and Canada, or that a thunderstorm cannot knock out power to metro Atlanta is pretty awesome. It reminds me that there is more than just the computer, the TV, the car, the electricity. There's something up there that is unconcerned with me. It's daunting, forbidding, and gives me a thrill to think about. Sure, in LA I can feel the earth, move, under my feet, but everywhere else I can feel the sky tumbling down.

For the Whether Channel, this is Graeme Stone reporting.

6th Grade Glamour Puss

2008-11-22T00:11:00.000-08:00

Ok, ok. Here it is.

Now it's all become clear to me.

It was jealousy.

Jealousy of my blond hair, peaches 'n cream skin, and eyelashes that curled the breezes on which butterlfies flew.

If only I hadn't gotten my teeth knocked out for it... What price beauty!

The experience sure made me question organized religion, private schools, and cliques. I ran. RAN to high school. After a class of 15, it was a cake walk with its 2,000 member student body, range of diversity, and wide hallways where you could hide a Titan missile, much less an escaping homo.

So there you have it, soul bared. And to top it off, they spelled my name wrong. They got "Yoneice Mitchell" right, but couldn't spell "Graeme"? Bastards!

Did I say I was done? I've just begun

2008-11-21T03:22:00.000-08:00

Didn't someone write me recently and say that their kid said that when you think you're finished, you've just begun. So Pardy Boys 1 is basically done, but now I have PB2 and PB3 to go. See, they've even lost all their majestic length of title and become abbreviations. It's all business. I recently discovered that people have been writing on my "wall" and the "Facebook." I use quotes because me navigating Facebook is like a Southern Baptist talking about "the Gays." I have no idea what I'm doing, and yet enter the waters like they may welcome me. So to all my writers who have "walled" me, I did just find the "wall" and have written back. Email is best. That I'm really good at.

So other than writing, I've been horrified to be contacted by someone from Middle School. Oh, so horrible. But I will have you know that of all the pasty white rich kids I went to private Christian (not really very Christian at all) school with, I was absolutely the prettiest one. I swear someone I have apple cheeks and Betty Crocker hair (if she were a blond). If you beg me, I'll 'grab' the photo and email it to special requestors. Even I cannot believe my innocent beauty, even as it was being crushed by God's Soul Suckers. Now there, there is a title for a book. I'm not sure who else was destroyed in Middle School, only to be reconstituted in High School, but that was me.

Now get back to your books!

Egads! the Research to find an Agent!

2008-11-09T03:38:00.000-08:00

Ok,

Since I only had three agents on my list, I went to Writers Market.com and did a search for all the agencies that handle gay material (and thrillers, mysteries, novels, and YA).

There are 12 agencies on that list.
Of those, 1 has already sent in a rejection.
Two agents I found on my own are also not on the list.
That leaves 14 possible avenues.

Most agencies list what material they've sold recently (some of it so recent, it does not come up on Google searches), and the authors they represent.

By looking at the authors they represent, and then in turn, those authors' books, I can get an idea of how good a match these agents might be.

Egads that's a lot of clickin' and mousin' and huntin' and peckin'. But I think it's the only way. The confidence that I gain in approaching an agent with some knowledge is well worth it. Plus, once I get an agent, think of all the free time I'll have.

Thanks to everyone who responded to my preliminary query letter. All the feedback really helped make it the best it can be. Now the material has to stand on its own.

Now get back to your books.

Graeme

Read It And Not Weep

2008-11-03T14:31:00.000-08:00

Ok,

One more stage and then I'm printing this sucker and submitting: The Query Letter Pirate Plank.

I've drafted a basic query letter and just need an Idiot Check because I've re-written it too many times. It's one page:

Dear Anne,

I was fortunate enough to meet you at the first ITW conference in Phoenix two years ago. Thank you for being so friendly to a first-time fiction writer. At the time, I pitched a gay mystery series called “The Pardy Boys.” You had expressed interest then, and I’d like to pitch you the first novel, “Mystery of the Black Book”.

When framed for their father’s murder, adoptive brothers must catch his killer or go to jail. With evidence pointing to the family lawyer, it’s time to flee. He might have access to the family fortune, but they have access to their father’s black book. In it is the last appointment he had: three days away in Provincetown. There, the discovery of a lost love letter reveals their father’s secret life and enrages his mortal enemy known only as the Soldier. Find him and they’ve caught their killer — get caught by him and they’re dead.

I previously sold the action-thriller “The Devil’s Pocket” to Regent/HereTV and have written one other book, the tweener boys’ adventure story “The Abominable Plan of Dr. Rasp.” The local LGBT bookstore A Different Light said “the Pardy Boys” was perfect for them and that they’d put it on the shelf tomorrow. That said, I’m sure it needs the fine-tuning of an experienced agent like you to really be ready. Enclosed is a synopsis and the first 30 pages.

Please let me know if you’d like to see the complete manuscript.

Yours,

Graeme
www.graemestone.com

Any thoughts?
Anything unclear?
Can I be more nervous about this submission?
Should I use professional labels instead of writing on the 9x12 envelope by hand?
Why? Why are we all here?

Now get back to your writing!

The Curse of the Were-book

2008-10-31T09:28:00.000-07:00

What is "ready"?
What does "ready" really mean?
What happens when a seemingly innocent manuscript turns out to be riddled with typos, grammar and punctuation problems?
It's the Curse of the Were-book, a shape-shifting demon that has confounded writers through the ages.

I read recently that a book should be three months finished before you even begin to approach people about representation. Whoever it was, she was right! Now that I've narrowed my list, and I've got my queries drafted, I can't lick the stamp, hit send, or even sit down anymore from worry. It's the Curse of the Were-book.

I'm reading, re-reading, and have had several readers give me their line notes. But is it "ready?" Will it ever be "ready?"

By Monday it will be ready. I'll have had four more days to ponder and procrastinate. They won't get it until after Halloween, Day of the Dead, and the scariest day of all, Election Day! Finally the Curse of the were-book will be broken!

Happy Halloween to all. I'm renewed, refreshed, ready to kick some curse ass!

Now go get some writing done!

Chicken or the Egg

2008-10-20T12:13:00.000-07:00

So after more research and picking out a handful of agencies (two of the agents I met at conferences), I'm now afraid to submit. I've read in most of the submission guidelines very cautionary language about submitting before the book is ready, and suggestions for a professional editor. Doesn't this suggest targeting editors first?

I did hire an editor, and Tyler's observation is right. I liked a lot of her changes, but a different editor will most likely have their own suggestions. That said, all my readers have suggested a technical edit for stupid mistakes, and that the book could be "tightened" with regard to confusing plot elements, or language that sometimes bordered on too cute or too on the nose.
I think I could accomplish both of those before submitting to an agent, but will they see that it's not been given a thorough professional edit?

Chicken or Egg?
Editor or Agent?

Graeme

Ghost Writing?

2008-10-15T21:51:00.000-07:00

For the cover of The Pardy Boys, I hired two actors to portray Joe and Frank. One of them has a pretty great life-story he wants adapted into a YA thriller and he wants me to write it. I love the basic story and he's flexible and enthusiastic. Does anyone have any ghostwriting experience. I want to sign a contract with him, but don't know what to charge?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

- Now get back to your writing!

Graeme

Great Reads and Good News Needs Advice

2008-10-14T01:13:00.000-07:00

Ok,

So I've gotten some good reads on "The Pardy Boys," and Jake (the buyer) at West Hollywood's A Different Light read the book and said it was perfect for them. He was so enthused that he said I should go to Kensington and start talking a deal.

Readers have suggested a professional edit to smooth out the bumps before submitting, but said it was a good enough read to submit.

So now what? Do I approach an agent? An editor?

Lastly, the book is intended to be part of a trilogy, and I've only outlined the other two books. Do they have to be finished before starting a dialogue with Kensington, or editors or agents?

- Happy in Hollywood

The Agony of the Finish Line

2008-09-04T05:59:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm not at the Galley stage on Pardy Boys, but I am finishing what seems to be a close-to-done draft. And it's agony. Five hour spell check, including formatting, etc. I've spent hours going over 30 pages of line notes. And at the last moment a draft got lost in the shuffle, so I had to painstakingly recreate it using TrackChanges: merge. It was as much fun as it sounds. But I am really familiar with my own material which feels nice. But I fear getting so close to it, I'm not seeing the problems from above. My mind wanders to "the next" book. I feel so well-armed from the conference that I don't want to lose momentum. But my arms literally ache from the hours of typing and mousing. Secretly I dream of sleep and Kansas where a country house I seldom get to visit waits for me.

The finish line. It waits.

Now get back to your book!

Graeme Stone Agency Review Invitational

2008-09-04T05:56:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm in the "readers" stage of the Pardy Boys, I've got to start thinking about agencies. Anybody else poking around, got feedback that's printable? If not, email me privately and I swear it will go with me to my grave.

My dream is Writer's House, though I secretly believe they're too literary for me. I'm intrigued by FireBrand, and have a card for an agency from two years ago, which is when I first started pitching Pardy.

Lastly, if anyone wants to read it (250 pages of wild, young gay detective-ness), I'll gladly trade. If you know anyone who would like to read it, please pass them along to me.

If it’s good enough for Pixar...

2008-08-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody,

I was listening to a podcast on a local show called The Treatment by host Elvis Mitchell. He interviews people in the film industry. So it’s not publishing per se, but his show is sometimes it’s really amazing in terms of the art of storytelling. In his interview with Andrew Stanton, one of the creators of Wall-E, one of the most inspiring things Andrew said was that it was four years of failures and creative mistakes. So if making mistakes and moving on to the artistic successes is part of the process for an outfit like Pixar, that’s pretty inspiring. Check out the link above to listen to the entire interview.

Another inspiring story is John Favreau’s adaptation of “Zathura” from picture book to film. The original story is a sequel by Chris Van Allsburg’s “Jumanji” also a picture book that became a film. The bare bones suggested by Chris’ story are brilliantly fleshed out in a script by David Koepp. Capitalizing on an antagonistic sibling rivalry set against a fantastical background, what is simple on the page becomes complex in the script story. It just goes to show you that if you pull on the yarn of a story, you can weave it into some great stuff.

Last on my list of inspiring adaptations is screenwriter Tony Gilroy’s novel-to-film work on Stephen King’s Dolores Claiborne. King has said it’s one of his favorite adaptations. Though the film did not do well critically or commercially, it is one of King’s most somber, realistic, moving, and frightening stories. From its trappings of a family melt-down on an island in Maine, the book is told in first person by the titular protagonist, the battle ax Dolores Claiborne herself. But the script takes a spare two paragraphs that mention Dolores’ daughter and uses that as a springboard for one of the thriller genre’s most complex mother-daughter relationships. While Taylor Hackford’s masterful direction, and the haunting cinematography Gabriel Beristain illuminate the darkest corners of a family implosion (during an eclipse no less), it is Gilroy’s genius that is the vaulting point from which all that creativity followed.

I was living in New York when I first saw the film (3 times at the then World Wide Plaza’s dollar theater). So obsessed with the film’s effect, I called Gilroy after finding his number in the phone book. He was gracious enough to chat with me for a few minutes and told me that he credits a background in journalism with his spare, economical style. Much like the Michelangelo analogy you hear a lot (‘chip away everything that is NOT the sculpture’) he wrote to emphasize what would work on screen. A line-by-line study of the script that two friends and I undertook one afternoon in LA a few years later showed that almost every line of dialogue overturns, contradicts, or illuminates the one before (not a wasted line in the script).

The story also has the most seamless set of flashbacks (one flashback within another) I have ever seen. While I’m sure I’m a little gaga over this particular story and adaptation, I’m sure that even if you don’t become a cultist like me, you’ll appreciate a rich script borne of two simple paragraphs of a novel in which the main character had no foil to help her tell her story. Stephen King said of the final product that he wished he’d thought of the angle himself.

The examples above are all fiction-to-film adaptations, which is not what we’re writing. But the revision process often involves re-examining your original position, finding a new one, and proceeding with a better version than your first (or 2nd, or 3rd!) draft. So take inspiration from some of the most entertaining stories I’ve seen that weren’t afraid to fail miserably, or radically expand a story, or radically depart from a story. Writing is re-writing.

Now get back to writing!

Signs of Apocalypse

2008-08-29T06:47:00.000-07:00

Sliced apples.

Looks like Sunkist has been comparing apples to oranges. On the same day that I was busy blogging about the pre-sliced apple phenomenon, Sunkist announced that it was launching a joint venture with Taylor Farms of Salinas to market pre-sliced Sunkist fruits to grocers, schools and fast-food chains.

Taylor Farms sells more than $750 million in pre-packaged lettuce and vegetables to McDonald's, Subway, Burger King, Red Lobster, and the Olive Garden. Bruce Taylor, CEO of Taylor Farms, predicts the sliced-fruit venture could reach sales of several hundred million dollars in the next two years.

“We think there is a tremendous opportunity for fruit at the retail level as a consumer snack. It could be a healthy alternative to what people eat today,” Taylor told the Los Angeles Times.

Sunkist's Chief Executive, Jeff Gargiulo, told the Times that the idea was to make eating fruit as simple as munching on potato chips. “Not even my kids will peel an orange.”

“If you're too lazy to peel your own fruit, get scurvy and die,” was Bill Maher's reaction on last Friday's HBO's Real Time With Bill Maher. “Hoping to appeal to teenagers who say they're too busy to peel oranges,” Maher reported, “Sunkist is introducing a new pre-cut, pre-peeled snack version. Not to be outdone, Baskin Robbins has created a new, coneless ice cream that your mother pre-chews and spits down your throat.”

Now Get Back To Work.

This Will Take Time

2008-08-17T04:42:00.001-07:00

In today's Pop Culture Conveyorbelt world of lazy-susan entertainment, I'm often left with a debilitating sense that I'm not productive enough. Just flipping through an Entertainment Weekly at the check-0ut stand leaves me bewildered by how much is being published, filmed, recorded and sold. It's daunting. But none of the good books are being written at the break-neck pace at which the stream is issuing forth. It's hard to remember that it takes months to hone a book, and that's the process at its fastest. From concept to printed-book-in-store is usually at least two years. It sounds like an eternity to someone like me who has not been agented or published. But it is a necessary eternity, and one that should be used wisely. I've made the mistake of submitting work that was not typo free--and I got rejected immediately. I've learned to let something sit for long enough to forget what I've written, and then the mistakes jump off the page. I keep telling myself, 'slow and steady pressure.' We'll see if it works.

Notes from Lisa Yee's Revision Session

2008-08-16T04:44:00.000-07:00

Wow, what a boring title for such an inspiring session. (And Lisa Yee is nothing if not inspiring.)

But the class was anything but boring. In fact, she made a few people cry with her essay twists.

Ok, so here's a very down and dirty version of what she recommended for effective revision (also with an eye toward a direction you can gain in the beginning of the novel-writing process.)

Take a character and write a 5 minute essay involving 3 specific items from a child's room.

Write in the 1st person as the child.

Then write the same passage, same details, but from 3rd person.

Then, after that's gelled, rewrite the passage again from the point of view of a mother who has lost that same child. (yes, this is what got more than one attenddee cry.)

What was great about this was the exercise of it. I know that sounds obvious, but despite all the reading that you can do about writing, it's not as effective as literally writing as a form of exercise. It changes synaptic connections, and makes you experience things from new and different perspectives.

I took this same idea and combined it with the Career Strategy session that Steven Malk gave. Taking several ideas I have for upcoming projects, I put the titles in columns according the genre and whether the idea was appropriate for kids, YA, or mabye even adult. Just the exercise of putting things on one page made me look at them with a revisioneering (yes, I just made that up) eye. What books would be the most interesting to work on? Which ones would be most marketable? Which ones crossed genres? I would have asked myself none of these questions if it weren't for Lisa and Steven's talks.

The second part of Lisa's talk had to do with simple techniques for revision that aren't so much about exercising the writing muscle as they are about shaking yourself out of your comfort zone. After you finish a draft, try the following when you're revising:

Revise the font and the margins, then re-read it like it's brand new.

Read a hard copy in different location from where you write.

Read it aloud.

Circle the great stuff with your goal being to bring everything up to that level.

My addition to that is to change your music playlist, or edit without music.

Lisa also recommended reading:

The Lovely Bones, and Bird by Bird.

listening to and the KCRW Tobias Wolf episode on podcast on Bookworm, he wrote This Boy’s Life

Last. Talk to the writer's you know about how they revise. You never know where the next best idea will come from. I ran into Jacqui Robbins who recommends: Writing the Breakout Novel: The Workbook, by Donald Maas. Again, exercise is the operative word. You can talk and blog and pontifiate about writing all you want. But the writing itself is the only way to get to a finished manuscript.

Now get to work!

To Age or Not To Age

2008-08-14T03:46:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm FaceBooking now (is it a verb yet? If only all this electronic activity burned calories), and I'm wondering how everyone feels about birth YEAR in addition to the date. Some people have their full date, which gives their age, others discretely have the date tucked away like a quarter under a pillow.

Does anyone really care how old I am? My LA-inspired nightmare is of course that a publisher will see my hideous Dorian-Gray-esque age and run screaming from the website. Or worse, the Plastic Surgery Commission of Beverly Hills wills end in agents or robots to perform an emergency procedure while I sleep.

But seriously, I'm not an actor (but I play one on TV), who what's to fear. And maybe I'll get some responses exactly because I'm a certain age. Please, chime in.

Now, Get back to work!

Chapter Titles for Grown-Up Fiction?

2008-08-08T06:21:00.000-07:00

Like all reviewees this last conference, I took an entire manuscript in hand because I knew that behind the Hyatt ballroom is a secret print shop that does print-on-demand for publishers who are looking for the hottest new authors. Well, they didn't snatch up my Kinko's 3-hole punch, double-sided copy this time, but next year I just know that after signing with an agent at breakfast that my book will be in the conference book store at lunch.

So new to the industry, I only recently read (and realized, duh!) that YA and adult books do not have chapter titles. But what's the fun of that? It certainly didn't stop me from putting them in my YA cross-over "Pardy Boys" draft. And though I know I'll have to take them out (wah!) for a more market-aware professional look, they have really helped me define sections of the book. It's one of the tricks I learned in screenwriting. Yes, my tawdry Hollywood past has come to haunt me (I feel like the poor girl in 1984's "Angel", tagline: Honor Student by Day...Hollywood Hooker by Night.)

In screenwriting, the script is broken down into "beats", much like paragraph breaks might represent the scenes of a novel in an extensive book outline. But an extra recommendation to really fully illuminate your intentions with each beat is to give each movement of the script (or book) a chapter title. And though you can't keep them for your book, chapter titles are not only kinda fun to write, but give an instant road map to where your novel goes. And if you insert a Table of Contents (using Word's "insert: reference: tables: toc") you will literally have a one page listing of your chapters. Think of it as an at-a-glance reference tool.

I found this really useful when dividing the book into its chapters without being limited to just the stale breaks of "chapter 1...chapter 2...", etc. Dividing chapters into fairly even breaks of 5 to 10 pages is a great start, but chapters don't always break evenly when a chapter is often unified by a theme, goal, or pursuit for the characters involved. Chapter titles make it much easier to see where the story breaks organically. After you find those natural breaks, you just take the descriptive titles out, leaving the professional chapter listings behind. Your reader/agent/editor will never know you dipped into the customs of a chapter-book, but they'll definitely be caught up in the powerful rhythms of a book that has its own ebb and flow.

Now get back to work!

Dirty Secret

2008-08-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

I drive a ’94 Geo Metro, and I drove it before car recycling became cool six months ago. (Touch that, bitches!). Though I’ve never had any engine trouble, the car has charming quirks like missing hubcaps (stolen in Atlanta where I guess someone was desperate enough to steal, umm, Geo Metro hubcaps), and windows that are increasingly hard to roll up and down. In keeping with my efforts to ‘go greener’ and in deference to California’s drought, I also don’t wash the car very often. I’m not sure what my excuse is for not washing the inside of the car is, but the interior is definitely sorely neglected. Blame the straight genes, ok? (Or is the straight-gene what causes MAOCD? (Masculine Automotive Obssessive Compulsive Disorder)

But as I was going to be attending a conference, and the possibility of leaving the SCBWI campus with passengers became a possibility, I thought I might invest in a ‘wash and detailing’ that is so popular in car-conscious LA. $40 later and probably 20 lbs of dirt lighter, I drove away from the Palms Car Wash II (even car washes have sequels in LA).

Looking through a windshield so clear that I had to reach out to touch it to make sure it was still there, I realized all the windows were still up. Rolling down the driver’s side, I was amazed at how smooth the handle turned. And then it dawned on me: the windows were just…(gulp) dirty! It’s like my grandfather who was nearly deaf because he hadn’t had his ears cleaned in too long. Oh, the shame. So from now on I’ll be going in for a wash ‘n detailing every six months, or whenever I start building biceps trying to roll the windows down.

Signs of the Apocalypse

2008-08-08T05:55:00.000-07:00

Remember I told you about the Q4 Network's show "Hurl." See, I wasn't making up a show about force-fed contestants competing to see who barfs first (or is it last?) while enduring carnival rides.

Read all about it on Defamer.

I just don't know why they keep rejecting my proposal for a spin-off (or would it be a spew-off?) called "Dump" in which the losers of "Hurl" are forced to wait 8 hours, climb back on the same rides, but this time chugging laxitives and wearing diapers. Lows are the new high on reality TV.

Same Page, Different Music

2008-08-08T05:50:00.001-07:00

Lisa Yee's brilliant tip on changing the fonts and margins before printing out a working draft was brilliant. I've also found it useful to change my playlist (or at least the song order), as well as where I work. If I do too much writing in one place, I find myself stagnating, or procrastinating. So a combination of printing a reformatted draft, new music, and a trip to the library usually produce newer, better results faster. God, it's beginning to sound like some kind of efficiency seminar instead of the Zen-pleasure that I'm proposing. Without a pastoral view and chirping birds, these few things really have helped me go from one draft to the next without it being drudgery.

Facebook? I've got SNSF!

2008-08-07T01:12:00.000-07:00

To take Tyler's lead, I've got SNSF, or Social Networking Site Fatigue. First it was MySpace (musicians), then LynkedInn (hotels), now it's FaceBook. Models? No, writers. Or so an editor claimed at the SCBWI conference. One more "age" "name" "birthdate" set of blanks to fill in. Pictures to post. I'm scared! Someone hold me! What am I, a layout studio?

But if it will get my name and (no pun intended) face out there, then dammit, I'm all for it. But please let this be the end of it. I can barely keep up with it all. Mac needs to create a magic "cloud" to update all the sites at once (oh Graeme, you're a genius, if only you had the technical know-how and some capital...).

The Glass Table

2008-08-06T06:06:00.000-07:00

You've heard of the glass ceiling, right? Well in publishing-especially at conferences-there is the glass table. The one you don't get to sit at. The one where sparkeling, witty, and life-changing conversations must be going on. Or at least I imagine they must be going on. For most of the conference I sat with my posse, cutting up, telling highs and lows of the day, and hoping that before it was all over, I'd have met an editor or an agent. But throughout the days and nights, we all cast a curious glance at the tables where we longed to be. Inviting glances were never cast our way, nor was there the expectation they would be. These are closed tables, a refuge from the day's work. And can you blame them?

The editors agents and published writers are faculty, giving lectures, signing books, and having professional dialogues. And when they're eating, well...they're eating. Imagine if a very green writer crashed your table, asking questions that just a little research would answer, how would you feel? Still, the glass table stood just out of reach, tantalizingly real. All the more so because a place at the table has to be earned. Not just for the asking, but through the accomplishment of being published.

We were lucky enough to have editor Elizabeth Law of the forthcoming American launch of Egmont come visit our table. She was very friendly, talked a little shop, but mostly hung out. The house is obviously looking to expand submissions, but she could easily have relied on the normal submission process. Instead she came and put her feet up for a while. It was demystifying to have a visit from "the other side." She didn't levitate or quote Tolstoy or anything, and revealed that an editor can be just as easy to talk to as any other conference goer. If only writing like a published writer were as easy, we'd all be sitting at the glass table.

Submitting: No, Not an S/M Essay

2008-08-06T06:01:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about the SCBWI Summer Conference was submitting a manuscript for review. Though I wasn't quite ready (are you ever?), I went ahead, pulled together 15 pages, and submitted the work. The synopsis was even rockier, but I went ahead and sent it in. And you know what? It didn't burst in to flames. It didn't bring down the ire of an editor who I had imagined would scream something like "How DARE you submit such garbage, now kneel! Kneel swine!" Ok, so maybe this veers slightly into S/M territory, but only because the whole process lends itself to that.

But what I took away, regardless of how the review had gone (I mean, how many editors are there? That's how many opinions you'll get, right), it was the idea of a deadline that got a fire going under me. Months before I was actually going to be ready, I had to turn in pages. And then for the conference, I HAD to have the entire manuscript entirely finished. That was another deadline.

Now that I have a response, and have talked the book up a little, I now have another deadline: one week to polish this and submit it to the boys at A Different Light here in LA. They read, they gave me great tips on some recent book purchases, and they said they'd read it.

conferences -specifically SCBWI

2008-08-06T00:29:00.000-07:00

Ok,

So the Summer SCBWI conference ended yesterday and it was stellar. I made a lot of new friends, half of them published, and had good manuscript review with a New York editor. New York editor people. That's royalty. Although "manuscript" isn't really accurate because it's just 15 pages and a synopsis. But what good editor can't predict the trajectory of a novel from that, right?

It was a long, but very satisfying 4 days hanging out at talks, break-out sessions, and the bar, and all at the Hyatt Regency in Century City, a pretty swanky hotel. I paced myself, sleeping in at my loft, and then heading over whenever I got up. One afternoon I took off and went for a swim in the fabulous pool, sunning on the steps, chasing the sun across the large round disc of grass.

The things that stuck out:

- One speaker said that they themselves weren't the important contact that we'd make, but other people in the room. And it was true. The friends I made there will be people I'll stay in touch with as we rise up the publishing ladder.

- Slow down. Publishing is a slow process. It was Steven Malk at his talk on a career strategy who advised not only thinking of the long arc of a career, but of giving it enough time to happen.

- Michael Stearns of Firebrand Literary encouraged being sure of an offer on a manuscript before accepting it. This was kind of a running theme through several of the break-out talks actually. If an offer comes in, it doesn't mean it's the right offer. It might be another six months or a year before you get the right editor/money/agent/house that you're looking for.

- The keynote speakers like Susan Patron and Sara Pennypacker reminded me that there is great heart in great writing. Sara's speech literally brought me to tears, inspiring me to create something new out of the ashes of something that is dying.

- Lisa Yee's talk on revision was so inspiring, hearing that "Millicent Ming: Girl Genius" took six years and three completely different versions to be successful.

I ran into a few agents/editors in passing, and there was that awkward stalker/victim dance you have to do at conferences. They seem to hold magical keys to the universe of publishing, while you may hold a magical manuscript. But they were all gracious and willing to take a question or two. Each answer illuminated a path or gave a direct answer.

After my editorial review by Mark McVeigh, I'm still not sure if my gay boy-detectives book needs to be fully pulled out of YA or not. Mark was sure, and I feel kind of silly doubting someone with such impeccbable credentials. But after looking at some of the hard-hitting YA books, I can't imagine that I'm squarely in the adult category either. I heard that Firebrand has an expanded list of YA/adult crossover, that Laura Rennert has taken on some properties that straddle both, and that another house (as yet no word on the name) has a list that ranges specifically for cross-over at 18-36. The best advice I got was to just write the best book, get the best agent, send it to the best editor, and then work with them to place it where it fits best.

Well I've got notes to type up, pics to put on the web, and reading, writing, and research to do.

How Many Licks Does It Take?

2008-07-20T02:26:00.000-07:00

A lot apparently.
It has been months since I've blogged. But that's because I've been writing. And writing and writing and writing. I have this illusion that I'll turn into a Stephen King or a Ray Bradbury one day. These men who can do three drafts and a polish and then send it off to be published. Maybe they can. For me it's six, seven drafts. And then I'm not sure. And the conference (SCBWI) is coming and I've got to have the pages ready and on and on.
Meanwhile life swirls around. A very complicated life that constantly intrudes on the solitude that writing needs to flourish. I don't remember writing, but each day I'm 20 pages ahead in my edits, rapidly approaching the finish of the draft. A pretty good draft. I think. I think.
So that's where I am. "The Pardy Boys: the Midnight Meeting Mystery" is almost done. I had a photo shoot today to get images together for the business card/ website. It was a lot of work, but so much fun, and from the looks of it, we got some great stuff.
Half of me thinks it's silly to have wasted so much time on images for a book that has not been bought. But it helps me visualize it, made me really think about the characters, and I think in today's web-aware world, it can't hurt.
More stories swirl, and short stories keep telling me how short and easy they'll be. Like bar sirens luring me onto rocky coasts. But I stick to the book, and after it's done, maybe I'll take a break and write a couple of short stories.
And after that, a trip to an oasis to do nothing but get a daily massage by a handsome Arab.

Slow and Steady Pressure

2008-03-29T06:49:00.000-07:00

Writing is like First Aid. To survive, you have to apply 'slow and steady pressure.'
I'm 40 pages from the end of a 9th draft.
I've hired an editor.
I will sign a contract with said editor.
Then I will pay the editor first half of money for said contract.
I will wait until editor is done in 2 weeks.
Patient. Yes, I'll wait patiently because that's part of my mantra: slow and steady pressure.
Then I'll have to see what she says.

In the mean time, I'm editing about 20 pages a day.
Reading the books that I'm logging at LibraryThing (2 so far, but that's a start).

And I'm journaling and thinking about other projects, mainly the one I start after this one, which I want to have ready by SCBWI's summer conference.

In addition to being like First Aid, writing this book has been like archaelogy. You know where they brush away layers of a great find. Well this draft has been kind of fun because I've changed almost something in every sentence. I thought I was done, but I've discovered all these tiny changes that just had to be made. I haven't felt this confident in a long time and it's a great feeling.

Pay Attention

2008-03-15T04:26:00.000-07:00

In my never ending quest to grow up, I'm trying to stop and really listen. Paying attention isn't easy when you're busting at the seams to show everyone how amazing you are. Or how amazing you think you are. Ok, so 40 is no time to grow up, but I can learn to pay attention.

I'm getting replies back to my queries for a freelance editor. I approached the mailing with all the seriousness of a college application. I'm sure that every email will arrive, that it's the most exciting thing that any of these prospective editors will get all day, and that they'll write back with the following message:

"Graeme, I know there's a God because I reviewed your website and what else can I say? Let me get an agent on the phone because the bidding war has already started!"

Well, I got three bounced emails, a few replies, and some emails are just waiting out in cyberspace where it's probably getting cold enough for a blanket by now. Bounced? How is that? Well, some of the emails were incorrectly addressed (my fault) and some were bounced because the editor never updated their email address. So of the 17 emails I wrote, I've heard back from five so far. Two can't do any editing, one was so impersonal I know it's not a good match, one was so-so, and one sounds really good.

Since my goal is to find one good editor, my search may already be over. But I'm going to give it until the middle of next week before making a choice. Just like I believe there isn't just one agent for me, or just one publishing house, I know that there are a lot of good editors. What I'm looking for is a clear understanding of what I'm paying for, a realistic deadine for the job to be done, and a good working relationship with someone who's as industrious as they are responsive.

Now I have to go do some writing, research, or procrastinating on Weather.com. A tornado just hit downtown Atlanta. How often does THAT happen?

I Want Patience and I Want it Right Now

2008-03-14T03:32:00.000-07:00

WARNING: thsi bolg containes typsos

Ok,

So I just finished my first set of emails to freelance editors for my book, "The Abominable Plan of Dr. Rasp." I'm naturally very impatient and want someone else to "figure out" all the messy stuff, like polishing the book. Fortunately the universe has a great sense of humor and I'm stuck dotting my i's on my own. This all started though, becasue I blew a submission to an agent I'd been courting for two years.

Yes, stupidly, I didn't fully proof my own text for my website, and it bit me right on the ass. They rejected the book based on the one page they read - a page with typos in it. Of course I railed because "they're just typos" but agents use simple mechanics as a screening tool. If you can't get your ass organized enough to do your own math, then how will you show up on time, make it through a book signing, or a host of other challenging situations? It's akin to showing up late to a meeting.

So instead of writing even more agents, I got one friend to proof the book, and another to proof my pitch letter to freelance editors. Yes, a work-for-hire editor. I'm taking a step backward because I want to put my best foot forward. Eventually. In a formal move to address my own impatience, I'm purposefully taking more time than I want to take. As much time as it takes to draft a letter, to interest an editor. (And embarrassing as it might be, out of the list of 15 or so that I wrote to, three of them have already come back as undeliverable because I made typos in the email addresses! Proofing, proofing, and more proofing is still needed.)

What's good about this? I realize that I have a horrible, blind weakness in the fine, technical part of my writing. Why is that good? Because it's just math. Someone with a finer eye than mine can find ALL of the mistakes where I might never be able to. How often do you have the luxury of knowing that all your mistakes can be corrected?

So now that I'm not chomping at the bit to go directly to publishers or agents, why pay someone? I mean, what about a writer's group? Or friends? It's debatable. First of all, I don't have a lot of free time, not the kind it would take to read the work of three or four other writers. Second, friends are just that: they know me too well to do the sometimes-difficult work of a professional. And third, a trained editor is going to contribute a wealth of knowledge from a perspective that will allow me to polish the book to publishing-industry standards. And although everyone I know reads, none of them work in the publishing industry. But because we all read, we assume that a casual reader can do the same job as someone who might seem a little pricey on first look. Where we wouldn't give a computer to a friend for a repair job, we want to be able to give our manuscript to someone with no professional experience.

If you can find someone who you really click with, who will edit for free, then do it. I'm just at a point in my life where I do not want to have to spend six months combing through Craig's List for experienced (but free) readers only to wonder if I'm really getting my money's worth. No pun intended.

Now I'm not completely tied to the pay-for-evaluation service, but I'm completely ready to invest in my career. Just because writing is a virtually free pursuit does not mean that there are not expenses that are worthwhile. Conferences is a great example. I've gone to three conferences, and after air fare, hotel, registration and food, I've easily spent a couple thousand dollars. So $500 for a close read of my book doesn't really seem like poorly spend money.

And since I'm on a roll: Writer's Groups. I joined one, and it wasn't a great experience. While the book is in mothballs right now, the experience is still freshly unpleasant. Most importantly, I do want to find a group, but I recognize that it's important to trust my instincts. From the first moment I stepped into the room, I felt that something was off. More valuable than any critiques I recieved was the lesson in knowing what was good for me and my book, and what was not. A second group was more helpful, but too large for in-depth work, so the search continues. People have recommended on-line groups, or trading via email, both of which I'm looking into. But if I never find a writer's group, it doesn't mean that my writing won't shine. But I will miss a sense of community that I know I would find rewarding and fun if I'm unable to find a group.

Perhaps I should break this blog up. To further the topic I started with - patience - I wanted to talk about the time the overall writing process takes. I finished the bulk of the book months ago. I'm on my 9th draft now, but what has taken lots of time is the business of writing. And I know that I've barely scratched the surface. Writing to people I met at the last conference I attended. Researching prospective editors, agents, and publishing houses. Exploring websites to see how other people are working. Working and reworking my own website and my submission materials. There is so much to do that for the moment I've stopped writing. I don't feel like I can move forward with the book I've written until I have some handle on how to begin placing it. Part of that is slowing down enough to do something like placing the book with a freelance editor BEFORE even thinking of submitting to agents or publishers. That has taken weeks of time and is another investment because it has already begun to streamline itself. In the beginning all the information was new and overwhelming. But now I have a way to organize the information so that it grows without drowning me. And as I write to people, I get a better sense if I'm a good match for them with this project. Some people are not right for this book, but I put them down for the next couple I'm working on. So already I've begun to gain a little ground for the next time I have to do this.

When I started this book last year, I don't think I realized how much work it was going to be to just get the damn thing to leave the house. I would say it's easily half the work. But it's the only way to do it. Something stuck with me from the recent SCBWI Westside shmooze that I went to. And that's to really get my hands dirty. Do the research, the hunting around, the emailing, and just see what comes of it. It's more like play than I've made it and that's where the fun is. In the spontaneous discovery, the coincidences and the finds. Just like writing itself, the business of writing can be like a treasure hunt of its own.

Submitting

2008-02-15T06:01:00.000-08:00

So after SCBWI, I was sure I was ready to submit my book. Agents, editors and publisher were just waiting for it. I was sure.

And then I got my first rejection. Too many typos to even read past the first page. And what's worse - I can't even see the typos - still - after a few read-throughs.

I had contacted an old agent who was once a publisher and have burned a contact. Sure, I'll probably be able to submit in the future, but it just feels sloppy, like showing up at a dinner with a dirty tie.

The solution?

A professional editor. No, I'm not here to take your money, or even to tell you where to spend it. But unless you're a natural editor, paying may be the best way to go. After having spent a year on the book, I can't see my spelling errors, much less catch small mistakes in logic I may have accidentally committed. While friends are great for an opinion, only an experienced editor is going to be able to give me the professional polish I need to get this past the gate-keeping eyes of other publishing veterans.

I only wish I could take back the first submission and start over.

Live and learn.

I had ready in many publications to read and read and read my manuscript over. But at some point, the saturation does me no good. So when you think your book is ready, give it away to someone who's never seen it, and get fresh eyes to mark up a fresh copy.

SCBWI Winter '08 - A Mouthfull

2008-02-15T05:49:00.000-08:00

SCBWI or Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators is more than just a comprehensive organization name, it's a great conference. Packed tightly into the New York Hilton, the intensive 1.5 day conference was loaded to the rafters with speakers, agents, publishers, and other writers.

My roommate Chris and I crashed a publisher's party and met Jacqui Robbins, Bob Cochran, and Ro (Roe) who wasn't even attending the conference, but was celebrating his recent sale of "Herbert's Wormhole," a project he'd been shopping around for ten years. If that's not inspiring, I don't know what is.

The keynote speaker at Saturday's lunch was Carolyn Mackler who's speech was "My Life as a Teen Novelist." It should have been called "Letters from the Front Lines." Having never read her material, I was so touched by the letters she read that it moved me to suggest an archive of kid's letters as evidence against censorship.

My break-out session with Molly O'Neill's presentation on the brand new imprint - Bowen - was also inspiring. Mark McVeigh's session from his perspective at Alladin was enlightening. Susan Patron's speech on her run as a Newbery award-winner was exhaustive, funny, and - did I use the word inspiring yet?

I met a couple of agents, pitched my idea through business cards I had made up. They were a hit, and I'm waiting to see how my website does. I decided to put up a tagline, a synopsis and the first 5 pages, which is basically what everyone wants to see. Rather than emailing, or snail-mailign, I hope to cut down the time and the amount of paper out there. Which I'll cover more in the next blog.

SCBWI's summer conference is in Los Angeles, and I can't wait to save on hotel and airfare by living in the right city at the right time.

Lastly, Lin Oliver's introductions and m.c. duties were charming and disarming. She took the early morning fire alarm and made it something to laugh about. I'll definitely go back. It was a well-organized, warm event. And that's got to be from the top down. Accessible authors, agents and publishers all make SCBWI a place to both listen and ask questions.

Procrastinating? Me?

2008-01-17T17:55:00.000-08:00

I'm just past the halfway mark in the second-to-last draft of my kid's book. If that sounds like I'm counting too much, and looking too closely, and measuring success in teaspoons, it's because I am dammit! How else am supposed to measure something that advances by ten or twenty pages a day if I'm lucky?

And the exhaustion. Did I tell you I'm exhausted? Did I mention that? Ready to flop on the couch for a week exhausted. And all I'm doing is editing. But it's like pulling a long squid tentacle out of my nose: long, difficult and uncomfortable. A bad sign? Not at all. I think it's just a long, pain-staking process. I made the horrible mistake of reading the how-to books by S. King and R. Bradbury (their names have been changed to protect them). Oh my God. If you follow their lather-rinse-repeat advice, you'd think all you had to do was whip up the bulk of your story, then do a quick, edit, a polish, and then drop it off at your editor's. I guess I'm not the Stephen Bradbury I imagined I would be. But I am finishing the damn thing. And this month. Dammit. Did I mention dammit?

So, enough complaining. It's time to stop procrastinating and get down to writing this article. So I'm going to a book conference. The Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. It's not nearly auspicious as it sounds. Just some really cool Children's and YA writers getting together in balmy New York. In February. I've paid my conference fee, bought plane ticket, committed to the hotel. But the book? Is it ready? Will it ever be ready? Will I ever be ready? Well I sure would be if I'd finish the book. But it's not that easy. I've got work. Then I've got to have some social time. I've got to check email, the stove, how's the weather outside? What's in the fridge? And don't I really need to start my taxes? Yeahhhh. Riiiight.

Beware all else that needs to be done lest you talk yourself right out of finishing. Beware the spontaneous phone call for drinks, the impromptu lunch invitation, the ringing phone, the email inbox, and a hundred other things that will seem like a really, really great idea. They're not. They're distractions. The great idea is the one you're avoiding. The one you're putting off while you fix the toilet leak, the squeaky bedroom door, change your anwering machine message, and starting taking "Spanish In 20 Minutes A Day".

Writing takes about two hours a day. Well, for me that's how long it takes. That's just the actual sitting in front of the computer and interacting with the text, the words, the document, the manuscript. And if I can just do that, I can really feel I've done enough. Much more than that, and I somehow start to feel drained. A lot more and I'm totally wiped out. And writing isn't just writing, it's synopsizing, and chapter-outlining, and looking for agents and publisher and reviewing the list of speakers at the upcoming SCBWI conference in balmy February New York. So AFTER you've done your "pages" for the day (that's exciting writer-speak for what you're really committed to working on), then you can play with the cat, think about cleaning the rain gutters, check out Oprah or weather.com, or see what's on your Tivo listing.

Me, I think what I'm exhausted from is all this procrastination.

Just Keep Going

2007-09-23T02:30:00.001-07:00

I was on a roll on the new book, "The Pardy Boys," the first book in a series I want to write. It's the 'through' book I'm working on while letting "The Abominable Plan of Dr. Rasp" sit and get read. I was tooling along at a really great clip when I suddenly ran out of outline mid-book. What now? How will I keep going? But I did it, I just kept going.

It wasn't very comfortable at first because I was in limbo. Certain decisions had to be made that would affect the entire series of books. I began back-tracking, landscaping, looking forward and back, charting. I even went out of my outline form into an excel spreadsheet. Oh God, it was proctrastination, time-wasting, dilly-dallying. But then...slowly...it began to pay off. The wandering, meandering, lost-feeling journeying started to go from hydra-esque split roads back onto a single path.

In two days I'd gone from a roadblock to a road map. I had plots for all six books, and a throughline that connected them all. Not every 'i' is dotted, not every 't' crossed, but that would be procrastination. Now I'm ready to just keep going, and I did it by trusting that staying at the page would take me somewhere, and not letting myself off the hook because it seem too big a task.

2007-09-23T02:20:00.000-07:00

When Is It Done?

Books are not like a bird in the oven, you can't just stick a fork in it to see when it's "done". I recently read that Hemingway said "A book is never done, it's just due." And that gave me some relief. I know when I'm headed in the right direction, but sometimes I'm not sure it's finished. But having it due is important. And any amound of due will do. I recently finished a draft of a kid's book I'm working on. "The Abominable Plan of Dr. Rasp" is something I've been thinking about for a long time. But only when you print it and have a place to send it does it seem real. Having to find young readers and send it out helped make it tangible for me. Spelling errors lept off the page. Chapter headings were suddenly so obviously in dire need of renaming. It seemed messy and awkward and just not ready to send out at all. And that's when I realized it was the perfect time to send it out.

It needs commentary, opinion. It needs someone to love it, someone to hate it, and someone to stop reading because 'it just wasn't for them.'

So off it's gone. And now it's in the trough. I'm waiting for responses, not ready quite yet to needle people about why I didn't get a response on the first day saying 'I LOVED it, you're a genius. I'll settle for 'yes, I read it.'

2007-09-23T02:14:00.000-07:00

Death of an Idea

I gave something up. For a while. A novel I'd worked on for about a year. It's too hard to say that I gave up on it forever. But I think the idea just won't work. (sniff. whimper.) But I also feel relieved, and that seems to point to my decision being the right one. If I was still fighting for it, then maybe it would be a sign that it's still alive, but I've already moved on to other projects and haven't even thought about "A Night in the Park" once.

Knowing when something isn't working is just as important as knowing when it is. The project was a struggle, trying to shoehorn in too many characters, too many plot points, too many loose threads. Can one even 'shoe-horn' a 'loose thread'?

So it's on to better, more fulfilling projects.

2007-07-19T00:07:00.001-07:00

PUBLISHING FREAKOUT

Because you can never be too insecure, I'm now worried about what to send in and how. I've had a website for about two years, but now that two agents are interested in material, I'm suddenly seeing every blemish for the first time. I'm convinced that if I don't have it all ready and perfect now, now, now, that I'll never get another chance.

It's odd how prepared I am to write, and how totally unprepared I am for the business of submitting and publishing. There is this idea floating around that publishers only want polished shelf-ready manuscripts. But the agents I spoke to said they would be willing to work with authors to polish the work before submission. Still, I hesitate to submit any but the most finished work lest I put a bad foot forward. But I laugh at myself becasue I always dreamed of this moment, the moment where I had agents I was interested in and who are interested in me. And now that it's here, I'm second guessing every decision, losing sleep, and generally freaking out. Hire an editor? Let the agent see the rough manuscript? Buy runstones and cast them before the full moon, or wait for Mercury to leave retrograde?

Either way, I'm moving forward and it's exciting to know that at least what I'm pitching verbally is interesting enough for an agent to request. Now for synopses of books, polishing of short stories, and the redux of a website that took me months to build. Maybe simpler is the way to go. All the sold authors have are the books they've finished. One page with a few pages describing each book. But as an unsold novelist, I'm trying to gain readers. Still, maybe it's overkill. Oh to have one book and just sell it. Variety is not really helping at this point. Wah! Panic! Maelstrom of doubt!

2007-07-17T07:48:00.000-07:00

NEW YORK DECOMPRESSION

The second International Thriller Writer's Conference is over, but it's shockwaves will be felt for months. Ok, that's the thriller writer talking. But seriously. I planned for a year, saved for six months, and all to prepare for one intense week of New York. I met a couple of agents with a promising interest in pitches I gave, met more writers, saw some great panels and learned more than I could cram into my brain; hence a very full notebook, the notes from which I vow to type up before the week is out. (Confession: last year's note are still in a notebook somewhere.)

My search for an editor for "A Night in the Park" was very mixed. Some people asked why I'd need one, others recommended doing whatever it took to get the book out, and one agent said that most agents will edit as part of representation.

I'm daunted, overwhelmed and inspired by return. My house seems messier, my life more complicated, my writing less accomplished. But the dishes and bills and dust can wait. I'm writing as soon as I log off this entry.

2007-06-20T12:37:00.001-07:00

Yeah, this is what it feels like sometimes. Back went out (see personal blog), and I feel like I'll never finish this book. So what am I doing instead? I'm blogging. But my argument is that it gets the juices flowing, right? I'm already "writing" if my hands are on the keyboard, fingers flying. Once I finish blogging, I'm all limbered up and ready to hop on over to the novel, right? Yes, definitely.

I did publish again and I can't believe I didn't announce it joyously to the world atop my apartment building. My friend Emily hooked me up with a friend of hers who does a lot of magazine work. A new "alternative marriage magazine" called Bond was looking for some writing. It ended up being a 95 word piece on the "threshold" marriage custom, you know the on where the groom carries the bride... across the threshold. The magazine looks fantastic and I really loved the experience. Their next issue will be out of London, and I'm sure they're going to be flying me over for a piece on Madonna and Guy Ritchie's untraditional situation. Well, that's what I'm pitching them anyway.

The novel, it has to be done by July 8th because that's when I'm leaving for the 2nd Int'l Thriller Writers conference in NYC. Whether it will actually be finished or not, who knows. But it's good to have goals, escpecially when you're procrastinating by blogging. The plan is to re-pitch it to the agents I met last year, pitch it to new agents I meet this year, and come out with representation. I will leave the steno pool!

2007-03-07T07:12:00.000-08:00

I'm getting published.
Small journal called Adventures for Women.
Piece is called "House of Plenty."
Read it and give me some feedback.

2006-11-13T20:38:00.000-08:00

I hate Bradbury.
I read his Zen and the Art of Writing.
A short story a week he says.
But he's a genius.
I just picked up Farenheit 451 and just read the first page.
He's a genius. The dove's fluttering book pages, or however he put it.
Of course he can turn out a short story a week.
That's like telling a beginning math student how well Einstein did when he really got cooking.
I love Bradbury's work.
I hate Bradbury's bravado.
He makes his genius seem so easy.
It's not.
It's genius.

2006-11-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

If you ever have six months in Kansas to write a book, I recommend actually finishing the book. I didn't quite make it and now swim upstream every day against city life. By the time I get home at 5, I'm not really at my peak to be courting the muse. But then I think of Stephen King, and how I read in his book "On Writing" that he wrote most of Carrie on a piece of board in his lap in his laundry room, kids and wife and a shitty teaching job. If he can do it, so can I.

2006-10-16T08:50:00.000-07:00

I'm That Good

I'm submitting a short story to a couple of science fiction magazines when I realize that I'm not quite ready. Or rather, the pieces aren't quite ready. I have this illusion that's it's done because I've reached "the end," because I've spellchecked and formatted, becasue I've written the cover letter. But then, glancing it over, I realize there's an adjective that's quite right, and I have question about "dove"vs. "dived." "Diven?" No definitely not 'diven.' But it just proves to me that I'm not that good.

When I say that, it's because I have this illusion that I'm going to write a story once. Just as you'll read it in a magazine is just going to be how I wrote it. Boom, perfect. From my fingertips to the pages right in front of your eyes. I'm that good. But I'm not. Few writers are. And the ones who are that good are only so occassionally. I remember reading about James Clavell's "The Children's Story," about which he said he barely wrote it more than once. Somehow the story was dicatated to him from the ether. This isn't an uncommon experience among artists, but rarely does it happen for more than a single work, and sometimes for just part of it. So why do we think that we're that good?

When we read today, which we do a lot, the text is finished. We read an article, a book, or even a soup label, and we don't see the process it's gone through to be finished. It's the same for films. You see the finished product, and immediately it's easier to point out the faults than see the huge amount of effort that's gone into getting the film to the screen.

I get anxious to see my work in print, but it doesn't serve that purpose to send it off before it's ready. In fact, it's counterproductive. Writing takes time. Submitting takes time too. Not only does the story or article have to be ready, but the materials to present it have to be polished too. That means a cover letter that shines, packaging that's unflawed, labels that are perfect. If they don't like the story, that's an opinion, but if it's mechanics or sloppy presentation, it's m own fault. If the story could have been better, but I simply wasn't willing to wait, well that's sloppy work too. So I may not be that good the first time out, but I will be. And when I finally am, then I'll submit the work, confident that it's as good as I can make it.

2006-10-15T20:53:00.000-07:00

Six Degrees

A friend recommended a new magazine for a place to submit work. I have a short story that's too brutal and gay to be considered by most of the suspense magazines on the stands. So I wrote to them when they opened their doors for submission on Oct. 1st. I was really suprised when I heard back almost immediately. I thought for sure it was one of those automatic replies. But it was actually the magazine. I'd pitched two ideas that I've had trouble placing anywhere else, and they actually asked to see both. So what started as a longshot recommendation from a friend turned into a fast-track to submitting to this magazine.

I learned to follow up on leads and to try new places. I haven't heard back from them yet, but it was an avenue I'd never have found out about if it hadn't been for a friend.

2006-10-10T17:32:00.000-07:00

I Got Rejected!

Yes, I'm ecstatic I got rejected. Number one because it's a response. Remember the old saying 'even bad attention is still attention'? Well it's true. Some magazines and publishing houses don't let you know that you've been rejected. Your hopes for publication with those venues just sort of dies a slow, natural death. Once their time limit has expired a few times, well then you can go throw yourself back on the spike. But today I got a rejection for two query letters I'd sent in to Great Mystery and Suspense.

The second reason I'm glad is because it means my system is working. I'm sending out submissions and have gotten back a response. The editor was intrigued by my queries, but my word count was too far off. (remember to double check writer's guidelines.) Even though I keep my database, I had still made an error. So she invited me to cut enough to qualify, or to submit new material. That's a great rejection.

The third reason I'm glad is becasue the contact with the editor is done, and I made a good to medium first impression. She could have been a hardliner who assumed my page-count-error was due to amateur disregard for the rules, or she could simply not have had time to answer rejections. But now I have at least one editor with whom I've broken the ice.

Last, I'm glad because six months ago, I started this process, knowing it would take a long time. Within a week of sending my second query letter, I've gotten a response from one of the magazines. Well that's not true. I also got a rejection from Men's Health. But it was a standard pre-printed 'good luck placing your article' sort and not really doing much more than putting a check in a box. When what I really want is a check in the mail box. And so it goes. But today's a great day. I'm ecstatic to be rejected.

2006-10-03T04:53:00.000-07:00

So You Wanna Get Published

If you've ever wanted to get published, but don't know how (or if you're a sadist, and you enjoy watchinig artsy types flounder around in a world that doesn't care what "their process" is) then you'll enjoy reading a Graeme Stone's Quest for Publishing.

As you might have guessed, I'm Graeme Stone, and this is my publishing quest. It actually started back in April, 2006 when my boyfriend and I decided that in order to get ahead, we had to take a step back. I happen to have a farm house in the middle of rural Kansas (as opposed to the farm house in the middle of the city), and we managed to take off six months for an artist's retreat. We have worked while out here in the hinterlands, but it's been a struggle. Still, without the distractions of city life back in LA, we have basically accomplished what we set out to do. He's finished a bunch of paintings and I've finished some writing. While I have not finished the novel I came to write, I'm well into a 2nd draft. I've also completed three shorts stories. Most importantly, I've gotten organized. While this might not sound like the kind of Walt Whitman-esque thing to do on retreate, it's exactly what I needed. That's also why this blog isn't called "Graeme Stone's Writing Quest." More and more I realize that nobody can teach me to write. But I can learn to publish; I can learn the business of writing. And so can you.

It's not what I wanted to do anymore than writing is. I have to write. I have to. I've gotten into fights with my sister over my failures to secure retirement, over my lack of health insurance. I stare down whopping student loans and wonder if I'll die joyfully in debt to the kind of government that allows students to take out loans. And all of this becaue I have to write. If I didn't, I'd have held down two or three very long-term jobs, come home to a little evening's relaxation, lived for weekends, and repeated the cycle ad nauseum. I just can't do it. It's not me, and I literally suffer the consequences. But I also write. I love to write and it fulfulls part of me that no job ever will. But what if writing could be my job? Well that requires getting published and paid for it. and that requires knowing the business of writing. Right now, I'm just like you. Unpublished, working a day job to pay the bills, writing when I can, and dreaming of a day when there is steady work from my writing. But I'm hoping, very soon, to begin to peel away from the thousands of unrealized dreamers out there, and to get published.

I used to think that publishing was a one-time thing. I would magically send in a story or a novel, and suddenly I'd be on the sides of busses and being interviewed in glossy magazines. A movie deal would happen and I'd be a household name. Because that's how it happens, isn't it? No, it doesn't. Even the "overnight" success takes about ten years. At a writer's conference this summer I heard references to a panel entitled: "The Ten-Year Overnight Success Story." I can't teach you to write. But I'm learning that part of getting published is not standing in your own way. The rest of it is staying on top of your submissions, staying in touch with the marketplace, and being organized enough to fuel your own success. This blog is a great example. At this moment, I have not one reader. I have my own professional website. I have a page at MySpace, and I also have several blogs. I have no traffic. But I plan to change that, no matter how slowly it has to happen. Because it's the business of writing.

In the same vein, I also have begun to submit work. First I had to produce the work. Some work is already ten years old, while others I've written in the last few months. Before I became aware of the market, each piece had the same history; I finished it, and then it sat on my hard drive, or in a printed file in a filing cabinet. If they were houseplants or pets, they would have died of neglect. If they were kids, I'd be in prison. As it stands, I'm dusting them of, finding markets, and submitting them. And that's just part of my day. The other part is continuing to write. But I'm finding a rhythm that keeps both parts going. The creating keeps a flow going to the business of writing. And the business keeps tugging at the writing, asking questions, tugging, making suggestions for new angles and new approaches.

My goals for the following year are to publish at least three pieces of short fiction in preparation for submitting a novel. I may end up submitting the novel first, but I've already learned that you stack the deck in your favor by building up credits, even small ones. I've also learned that to get major publishing houses to look at you, it takes an agent. But that doesn't mean I'm only going to submit the novel to agents. I'll also look at medium and small publishers to see if I can't get myself in the door. As much as I need an agent to submit to the majors, I also realize how impressed an agent will be if I can tell them that I managed to get published on my own. Even at a smaller publisher. There is no stamp of approval better than someone besides you liking your work enought to publish it. You can toot your own horn as loud as you want, but it's never quite as loud as the statement that you've gotten published.

I intend to write weekly about my quest to get published. Really my goal is to become independent of my day job. So while there will be a first story and then a first novel, this is not a one-time does it thing. I will continue to climb until I've reached a point where I can truly say I can show you how to publish.