Is it Spring Yet? (and a ballsy writer's story)

Me, wind-whipped

I was in Florida last week with my family.

It was a nice reprieve, if we only got
a whopping two days of sun out of five.

And even on the sunny days, the wind was whipping.

I mean, 30 mile per hour winds.


Still, I lay at the pool,
grateful to soak in the sun and relax.

self portrait in bathingsuit

I swear, if I could, I would do little but swim and lie in the sun. . .

Alas, I am back, and have a shitload of writing stuff on my plate:

"Frankie Sky" is finally on it's way to copy edits which puts me in the throes of doing all the behind-the-scenes stuff -- getting permissions, fretting over my author photo ;\ , and mulling over new titles, because my editor has concerns about "Frankie Sky."

Next will come cover ideas and the dreaded, dreaded jacket copy. How can that be so hard?

In the meantime, remember my women's fiction? Well maybe not since it's yet to be published. :\

But it's never far from my mind.

So, I did something ballsy the other day and it paid off, if only in the quietest "validation" sense of the word.

What happened is this: Looking for something else, I inadvertently pulled up an old email rejection letter from an editor who had read Swim Back to Me in 2009 (when I was with my first agent), and it filled me with the kind of longing that only that manuscript (and its history) can fill me with:

I know that one doesn't look like a rejection and it isn't. It was this one that had followed:

Well, especially if you are a writer reading, you can see how it was hard to let go of this one after feedback like this? And, I will tell you that I had at least three other close-but-no-cigar encounters with major publishers like this one. . .

So, anyway, back to my balls. Turns out I had this editor's email and I reached out as politely as I could, starting with the fact that I had no idea if she'd remember me or the ms, but that, if she did, I had done a subsequent rewrite with my next agent that had left the manuscript just the tiniest bit less (in their words) bleak.

I figured that was the end. She would write me off as a crazy stalker-writer-girl and change her email address as fast as she could. But instead, she wrote back to me within the 1/2 hour, told me she remembered me and Swim and asked if we could to talk.

I've seldom been as blown away -- or felt more validated -- in my ten-plus years as an aspiring writer.

Anyway, we had a great conversation and if nothing else comes of it, that was enough.

What she told me was that she had -- and still does -- love the book as is, but that she could not ever sell it this way. . . but that, if I wanted to try to tackle a few of the other editors' concerns in a rewrite, she would look at it again.

So, that's what I'm doing. I'm attempting a rewrite, which, as always, is way harder than I thought.

But whatever happens, that? That was a good writing moment.

In other (and final) book news, The Pull of Gravity is now out EVERYWHERE in paperback and I would surely love you to go out and grab a copy from Barnes & Noble or your local indie bookstore. It's also got a spiffy new trailer that was made by a 15-year-old kid named Jude Bourke.

He's the son of a friend and his dad, Karl, did the amazing original drawings. If you like it, leave him a note, and please, please, please pass it on.

Anyway, that's it for now.

Come on, Spring!

xox gae

One of Those Truly Meaningful Days

Lately, I've been talking a lot about what it means to matter.

For me, so much of my self-worth feels tangled up with my writing career, and what it means to be successful there.

And in this publishing climate -- where being commercial can be more important than being good -- it's a tentative place to rest one's self-esteem.

Sometimes, I worry too much about what I haven't achieved yet, instead of what I have. Some of that is ego, sure. But part of it is truly the desire to leave some small, indelible mark on this world that actually matters.

So, while another day passed without an email in my inbox announcing a book deal for Frankie Sky (I don't matter! I don't matter!), I spent the afternoon at a local high school in a "shaky" lower-income school district, not too far from my home. When I got home, I emailed this note to a few of my close author friends:

"If I ever complain again, remind me of this day."

The rest of this blog post is extracted from the remainder of my note to them:

"I got to the school and there were posters all over.

The teachers, librarian, and vice principal were there to greet me, and were all so excited for my visit. The school had ordered 50 copies of my book this past fall after one of its awesome teachers had heard me do a reading at a bookstore and thought it would be a good addition to the curriculum, as the school teaches Of Mice and Men.

The students came in -- they had stayed after, by invitiation only, for extra credit, and there were 50 of them, one for each copy of the book that had been temporarily distributed in connection with the unit.

The kids were smart, engaged, warm, funny, and respectful, and completely enthralled with the book.

I talked about my journey to get published and how subjective criticism is. And, how to persevere when rejection keeps flowing in. I applied this concept to sports, art, and life in general. As I spoke, faces paid attention and heads nodded. As I spoke, I reminded MYSELF to heed my own words, if I meant them. And, I did. I meant them.

After, we talked about Nick, Jaycee and the Scoot. The kids asked endless (smart, amazing!) questions about the book. They wanted me to sign everything. Their tickets, pieces of scrap paper, bookmarks. They wanted to know if there's a sequel coming. They want a movie. And, most importantly, they want
my next book NOW.

I read aloud from the opening of Frankie Sky, and they went nuts for it. Even if no editors, yet, are. . .

At the end, the vice principal stood up and announced that, given the amazing display of enthusiasm he had just seen, he had decided to let the kids keep the books -- that the kids could take the 50 school hardcover copies home with them, if they wanted. It blew me away, but cheers actually erupted. I'm not kidding. As they ran up to get them signed, the vice principal held the late buses for 15 minutes...

Not a single copy of the book was left behind.

After the students left, the teacher who originally brought the book into the school told me she actually got teary-eyed at her vice principal's gesture, though she was not surprised by it because it is the kind of administrator he is. "These are not kids that are just given books, or that get to meet authors and talk with them . . . " she said.

As we walked to my car, she told me that the book stuff was all fun and cool, but that she was most grateful that I had talked about the subjectivity of art, and about rejection and perseverance. She said she could see the kids' faces taking it in, and internalizing it. She said she hoped that, if they took nothing else from the day, it would be that one thing, because it was a message they so badly needed.

Me, too, I kept thinking, me, too.

As for the book's future in the school next year, the vice principal assured me he'll be ordering 50 new copies for the fall.

Man, talk about your "shaky: districts. ;)"

I drove home elated, trying to memorize the feelings swirling in my heart and brain, reminding myself to hold onto the more important aspects of what I do.

I might not ever have the huge success I'm hoping for (whatever that is), but today, to a few kids, and a few teachers, for a few short hours, what I do mattered. To them, and to me.

- gae

Inertia, and the Art of Water Cycle Maintenance.

So, thank god I swim. Because other than swim, (ok, and a few paid mediations) I've done absolutely nothing productive in more than three weeks.

I'm in what is known as a rut.

At least as far as my writing is concerned.

As far as my writing is concerned I am annoyed, frustrated, heartbroken, befuddled and shut down. I'm sure I could add to that list.

First there have been the endless rejections on Swim Back to Me, several that have started with great hope -- a jazzed editor sending my agent a note about how she can't put it down, how the writing is gorgeous, how the mood is evocative. Then, the inevitable silence. Either that or a brief rejection at the executive board level. And then silence from my agent again.

Follow that with mixed feedback from my editor on my option WIP, Frankie Sky, a manuscript both I and my agent strongly believe in.

Now, I've got two pieces I'm working on: a women's fiction piece (I actually started a long time ago and was -- at the time -- excited about) called The Garden of Ruin and Story, and a rewrite of my YA manuscript, Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me (titles inevitably to change). But I find I open the screen on either one of them and just stare. Or maybe type a sentence or two and then switch to email or Facebook.

The bottom line is, I'm in a rut.

Utter inertia.

At least everywhere except the water.







*top photo credit Rick Kopstein, http://rickkopstein.com/

*bottom photo credit Carol Moore, http://thewater-blog.blogspot.com/

Whining and Complaining