Sunday, March 21, 2010
John Pritchard is so pissed at me.
Never heard of him?
That's why he's mad. He's the protagonist of a novel I wrote entitled Twice As Dead. Except old John is Three Times As Dead because after he survived all sorts of adventures, including a brush with his own personal nemesis on that icy lake in the photo there, I killed him. Me.
And that's not the worst of it. I killed off a couple of nice kids, too. Perrin Summers who saved a great deal more than the world in A Parsnip Universe. And Tim O'Neal, too. He saved, oh, I don't know, all of Time? In Motes? Hard working heroes all. (160,000 words between them.) And I starved them to death. Walled them up in the basement of my Word Processor like that evil guy in The Cask of Amontillado. What's up with me?
Well, now that I've finished Chapters 9 & 10 of The AW, I kind of remember. Oh yeah. I'm a nutcase. I sent Parsnips to just about ONE publisher. She LOVED it. Wanted the protagonist to be older. I said okay. And then went to sleep like a princess in a fairy tale. And all the time said, "Well, there's obviously something wrong with that woman. Or that publisher. Or me." I finally rewrote it. The lady had moved on. The young guy who took her place was lovely to me. Gave me good advice. And then decided that the book wasn't for his audience. Which it wasn't. So, I put it in the digital equivalent of a drawer and moved on. Motes, which was the next one, is essentially done. Needs about a month of work. Drawer, too. Sorry, kids.
Then Twice As Dead? Well, I sent it to a lot of agents. Maybe 12. Possibly 15. One requested more pages. (This is a very good sign in the agent world.) She didn't want it ultimately. Sorry, John. Drawer for you, too. You hot, old, black, ex-CIA operative, you. You, I decided, I wasn't "up to." Drawer. And drawer for the 35,000 words of your second adventure, which I really loved. But what do I know about writing a) men b)black men c) black ex-CIA men. Really. Four Times as Dead and counting.
So, now we have Allie, don't call me Alice, Harper and Tom the blind bombshell and their $256 million in MondoMillions winnings -- and their cast of murderers and thieves. Poor Allie and Tom. They don't know how dangerous it is in Ann Land. I have come to "the conclusion" in the last couple of months that Somebody's Bound to Wind Up Dead needs about 15,000 more words. I'm not writing those words, you understand. I've got them pulled down around my ears like a &^%$%^ blankie.
But now, with God, and you guys, as my witnesses, I am not going to chicken out again. I'm going to start querying agents again and simultaneous look into those additional scenes. My guys have only been without oxygen for about 3 minutes. They can be revived.
So, you wonder what blocked looks like? It looks like that. For me. How's it looking for you? Which of your dreams is pissed at you right now. If it's NONE of them, weigh in and make us all feel encouraged.
And if you need a witness for your promise to go forth and kill no more, bring it here.
Posted by Annie at 6:47 AM