Thursday, October 09, 2014

Can I rant about how evil pitch sessions are again?

Recently I gave away query letter critiques as part of a fundraiser.  I said "send your query, get a critique, then send it back with revisions, get another."

It was very gratifying to see how fast those query crits got snapped up.

And once we started working, it was clear, yet again, that most writers need only two or three revisions to get a good solid query.  And I don't mean little tinkering changes here and there, I mean, tear down to the floor boards and start again revisions.  TWO or THREE!

So, why the hell aren't writers conferences offering this instead of pitch sessions? It boggles my mind.

First: getting your query, your WRITTEN query, in front of an agent is 100% more effective than pitching.

Second: pitch sessions are one and done. You get ONE shot to entice an agent. With query revisions, you've got a chance to revise, and try again. Moreover, I can explain why something doesn't work, suggest an alternative, or ask a question that helps you clarify your plot.  With pitch sessions all I can say is "yes" or "no" and you have no idea what went in to either answer.

Even if there's a chance to say more like "this doesn't work" you're not in any kind of headspace to hear and consider it. You're focused on keeping your self pulled together for the next pitch.

Third: if you revise your query with one agent, you've got a MUCH better shot at enticing another agent. With pitch sessions, you simply repeat your pitch on and on with no sense of whether it's effective.

I've been ranting about this for YEARS. I don't seem to be making much headway which really just breaks my heart and fills the oceans with salty shark tears. It's damn hard to get ahead in publishing, and writers conferences are the one place that should give you the tools and the practice to get better.

I've seen this over and over: helping authors revise queries WORKS.  It's EFFECTIVE.***  Why the hell aren't writers DEMANDING this??



**here's a writer talking about her experience with crit donation mentioned above.


Wednesday, October 08, 2014

And sometimes it's just bad writing



I enjoy diving in to the query pile. There are a lot of good writers out there, sadly many of them working in categories I don't take on, and it's a pleasure to read a finely honed sentence and see a skilled writer at work.

But sometimes, splat.

Sometimes, it's just plain bad writing.

How do you know if you're in that category?

Here are a couple recent examples:

"Terror overtook her body"
"A scream escaped her throat"
"The story is located in New York City"
"We have spoken once when you called"
Without reading further, can you see what's wrong in each of these sentences??






"Terror overtook her body" versus "she was terrified"
"A scream escaped her throat" versus "she screamed"
"The story is located in New York City" versus "the story is set in New York City
"We have spoken once when you telephoned" versus "we spoke once when you telephoned"

If you can see the difference, make sure you look for it in your writing and pluck it out.
If you CAN'T see the difference, you could be in that second group. You probably need more practice before querying or publishing.
It's true that bad writing sells. I've seen it, you've seen it. But do you want it to be your book that we see it in?  If so, have at it. Just don't query me!
And if you see it, here's how to fix it:
Look at each sentence individually and think "is there a better, tighter way to say this?"  Ask "does this make physical sense?" A scream doesn't escape. A scream is what someone does.  If you use "a scream escaped her throat" use it on purpose, not because you didn't consider and discard "she screamed." You can break every rule in the book, including "write well" but you really need to do it on purpose, not in error.

It's ok to write these crappy sentences, don't get me wrong. Bad first drafts are the part of the process. It's not revising, not fixing the bad stuff that leads to problems.



Any questions?

Tuesday, October 07, 2014

Ten Common Errors In Social Media Promotion

--> 1. Sending links before they're hot.  
Don't email your mailing list with "hey read my column tomorrow"  Send the email ONLY when your column is actually available to be read.  Sending a link to something people can't see is frustrating to your readers and a complete waste of time.

2. Linking your contests and promotions to the number of followers you have or want.   
No one but you cares how many followers you have.  Link to something your fans care about. Or just have a contest for no reason. 

3. Putting too much information in your signature line
Promote ONE book or have ONE blurb, no more. Rotate often.

4. Retweeting the nice things people say about you.   
If you want people to notice, thank the original tweeter. Your fans will be able to track the conversation if they're interested. 

5. Failure to build dialogue.   
One of the best ways to attract followers and get "liked" is to ask questions. Then engage those readers by answering. The point of social media is interaction. If you're the only one talking, you're missing the "inter" part of the action.

6. Talking only about yourself. 
One of the most effective ways to promote yourself is to talk about someone else.

7. Send ALL.   
The only email that is appropriate to send to everyone in your address book is news of your death. You will not be the one to do that.   Personalized promotional emails are ideal.  At the very least divide your address book into Friends (NOT the Facebook idea of friends either), Family, Business colleagues, writers and other writing friends.  Each category gets a DIFFERENT email announcing your book.  (It's rare you will have "agents I've queried and from whom I've received a form rejection" on any of those lists.)

8. Apologize for promoting your book, or calling your promo emails spam. 
Would you buy from someone who says her product isn't really worthy of your attention?  Pay particular attention to this if you are female. I see this from female authors ten times more often than men. You don't have to laud yourself, and self-deprecation can be hilarious in MODERATION, but "oh I hate to bother you with this" is just plain bad promotion.

9. Starting too late.  
Promotion is a long, slow process. You'll build friends/likes/followers in slow increments.  You can NOT start the month before publication and expect any serious traction.

10. Long periods of silence or non-posting on Twitter/Facebook et al.   
You're better off doing five minutes a day rather than 50 minutes once a week, or worse, three hours once a month. Social media is about presence, and it's better to be present daily even if briefly than weekly or worse monthly. 

Monday, October 06, 2014

WE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE flash fiction contest results

Clearly there are a lot of you dying to get your mitts on WE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE by Jeff Somers (pubbing tomorrow 10/7/14 in fact!)

Here are the results of the contest:

 
-->
Special recognition for a great phrase:
"the smile slips from her face; splattering as it hits the floor."
Jennifer Deane 11:07am


Special recognition for a great line:
Succss smelled of patchouli and incense
D.B. Sundstrom 7:04am

"The Underpants Avenger spoke."
Kim English 2:15pm


"In the morning, he would be just another hangover."
raisedareader 1:49pm

"It’s right here in Diabetic Witch Today."
Karen McCoy 1:39am


Special recognition for entries that weren't quite stories, but if they were
the start of novels, I'd want to read on:
french sojourn 7:07am



boblozzia 11:48am



Jennifer R. Donohue 1:40pm



Jennifer Moorhead 10:37pm

A cameo for Gossamer the cat!
Mark Songer 10:19 am



A cameo for a gun wielding shark!
BonnieShaljean 11:07am





Special recognition for why JedCullan is now dead to me TWICE!
Maligning Reacher! The nerve! Poor Dead Jed.
JedCullan 1:23pm

Every Saturday librarian's secret wish
Christina Seine 4:54pm

Best  non-fiction story
LynnRodz 5:11am


Too horrifying even for me:
"In a bookstore in Tel-Aviv, the saleswoman is clueless about Roxane Gay's "Bad Feminist," and she doesn't know who Patrick Lee is."
Lilac Shoshani 7:00am


And here are the semi-finalists:

D.B. Sundstrom 7:04am
The sign on the door read EDIE'S MAGIC SHOP with no posted hours. She tried the handle anyway. Success smelled of patchouli and incense. She walked toward the psychic's booth in the back, admiring the caricatures of past patrons on the wall, when she spotted her own.

"I've never been here before. Is that, blood?"

The occupants of the past tried to warn her. Their sketched eyes fixed on the door.
But she drew the connection too late.

She found herself looking at the door with the other spirits. One eye drawn slightly larger than the other.



donnaeverhart.com 9:34am
Sunday, under a big tent, Preacher Dan was busy cleansing spirits, urging followers to drink the blood of Christ. His gospel invoked speaking in tongues, a yielding of souls, complete and utter faith.

Doubters whispered, “Its black magic!”

He adjusted his ill-fitting pants, lifted a venomous snake in one hand while waving the other in its face.

It struck!

He stood firm, unwavering, and caterwauled, “A miracle! A message from God himself!"

Believers now, the crowd surged forward, coins raining into his little collection basket.

Only when he headed to the next town, would he remove the prosthetic hand.



Shaunna 9:39am
First time Steve wore the magic pants, it rained cats for a week. No kidding! Fur balls everywhere. And dead birds! He swore he'd put them away, but there's some people...it's in their blood, seems like. Ain't nothing like the spirits of your ancestors in a pair of brown corduroys.

Anyhow, he got antsy and dragged them out again. Couldn't help it, I guess. Folks set out milk and litter boxes. Just to be ready. But they were wrong. Dead wrong. A bit macabre for my taste, but they could have used those cats when the cockroaches showed up.



Kitty 9:41am
How I Became A Man, by Luigi Abbadelli

"Wearing short pants when you're ten is embarrassing. It dispirits the soul," I told Mama.

"Che cosa รจ dispirits?" asked Nona.

"He wants to wear long pants," Mama said.

"NO!"

Papa was reading the paper. I needed him on my side, so I said, "They're old world."

Mama and Nona gasped because they're still hot-
blooded Italians. But Papa was now an American. His framed naturalization certificate was proudly displayed below Pope Pius's picture. "Old world" worked like magic.

Papa stood, straightened his shoulders and
categorically declared, "My son will wear long pants!"



Old Fogey 2:21pm
After I finished with April’s cat, Magic, I put the shovel in the shed. I washed blood and mud off my hands and poured some spirits. Knob Creek is my libation of choice. Lately, finances dictated house brands, but tonight my shaking hand found joy.

The only thing magic about that late animal? She’d only peed, pooped, or clawed things belonging to me. That yellow puddle on my novel—stored for safety on a high shelf--had been the last straw.

April entered, yawning. “Blood on your pants,” she said.

A smile.

“And poison in the bourbon.”




Gail 3:26pm
Spirits of dark rum took the blood off those pants like magic. Run away, little hemoglobin molecules, run away! He'll never find out unless he digs up the azalea in the front yard. Ah, I think I hear him now.
"And how's my dollbaby this evening?"
"Sweet and high, my love."
"And where's my little kitty?"
"Out scouting the voles. Back soon."
"What were you gardening, honey, honey, honey?"
"Gardening?" I say. Maybe he knows. Is my face red? I frowned. The shovel! My God, the shovel!
"Meow."
"Oh there you are!"
I stared, slack-jawed. The cat was back.



J.D. Paradise 3:31pm
"Blood Spirits Pants Magic!" Cat chanted, cranked up to 11, laughing in the thrashing crowd. Onstage the Chili Peppers bounced, socks flapping. It was 1996 and I loved a girl who would never love me back.

"Let's run away together," I said later, tangled in dormroom bedding that smelled of Coors and Parliaments. Propped on elbows, inches apart, Cat looking past my shoulder.

Cat, remorseful: "I'll never be that girl."

"I love you anyway." Desperately. "Always."

She tugged the sheet higher. "We shouldn't have done that."

But we had. And just before sunrise, we moved the hitchhiker to the landfill.




Alex King 4:17pm
"Pants? Really?" Ted asked.

The cat looked down at him. "Could be worse."

"Worse how?"

"Could be bloody pants."

"Could be," Ted agreed. "Depends if you're British or not."

The spirits were to blame. He'd distilled them himself, poured some in the cat's bowl for kicks. Now his cat was magic and Ted was a pair of pants.

"Some bad trip," Ted said.

The cat jumped down, onto the floor where Ted lay, limp and hanger-less. "For you, maybe." He unsheathed his claws. They were pale in the moonlight, bleached bone, not keratin. "Abracadabra, now you're a mouse."

Eek!



Just Jan 10:44pm
"Fisher, most likely," Doc said, probing my cat's jugular wounds with a pudgy finger. "She's lucky; a coyote would've killed her."

"Can you work your usual magic?"

"Maybe." He leered at me over the top of his bifocals. "For a price."

"I can pay," I assured him, glancing down at my ratty t-shirt and sweatpants.

He reappeared an hour later, smelling strongly of spirits. "Couldn't save her. Lost too much blood." He lurched toward me. "Time to pay the piper, sweetie."

"It wasn't a fisher," I said, revealing my fangs, "and it isn't me who's going to pay."









And here are the finalists:

Ruthy 9:06am
“Mommy, do cats go to Heaven?”

“God will take good care of Jinxie.”

“Can He do magic and unsquish him?
Maybe he can put some blood back in?”

“Honey, sometimes spirits are better off being free.”

“Is that why Jesus didn’t wear any pants?”

“How about we go to the pet store tomorrow and buy a turtle?”

“Ooh! Okay, Mommy. Don’t worry. I will teach him how to cross the street really fast.”


Michael Seese 9:56am
“Big Brother”
by Michael Seese

"Sorry, cat," I said to the lifeless mass at my feet.

"Mom will be home soon. Get some paper towels."

It was a mess. Lots of blood.

"What are you going to tell her?"

"If we clean up, nothing," David said.

"Can't you tell her the truth? That you heard you could see spirits?"

"Bad idea. You'll understand when you're older."

David was right. There's a lot that's confusing to a six-year-old.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"We'll be fine."

“OK.” Big brothers are magic.

"Hurry. Throw the pants in the fireplace. And her name was Kate, not Cat."


Calorie Bombshell 3:36pm
The vehicle’s occupants didn’t move a muscle as I approached with my flashlight and violation book. Seven years crunching the midnight gravel on Highway 85 and I never clocked a Jaguar doing 140mph before. An $818 magic ticket was one week’s salary, enough to keep my spirits high and mind off the woman who refused to vacate my spare bedroom although I kicked her no good Trickster son out three months ago.

“License and registration, please.”

The antique German Luger leveled at my chest was his, a wedding present from an old college buddy.

The bloodcurdling scream was mine.


Jo-Anne Teal 3:09am
In September, a tenement fence became castle wall to our cat and to my sister’s boyfriend, Geraldo. The cat was best at gaining entry. Neighbors weren’t eager to open the door to human wildlife, particularly someone wearing a blood-stained Nehru and drawstring cotton pants. Too weird even for the East Village.

So while like magic my sister’s stomach expanded, Geraldo waited across the street: sitting cross-legged in front of Renaldo’s grocery, playing broken sitar, drinking spirits from a bottle ineffectively covered by brown paper.

In October, my sister went outside to tell him there was no reason to wait anymore.


And the winner is Ruthy 9:06am!  Ruthy, please email me  your mailing address so we can send you your prize. If you've already read or bought WE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE, we'll find you something else that's delicious to read.

Thanks to all the entrants; it was a great round of submissions!  Y'all amaze me every time with your diabolical plotting and clever writing!