How are all y'all doing?

This might be the weirdest week of my life.
It's weird because I'm sort of afraid to leave my house, and I really don't ever need to, but also feeling like what am I so afraid of, cause I'm not planning on joining a flash mob, getting on the subway or interacting with anyone at all if I do.

I'm going to go out for a walk.

Events are cancelled, most everyone I know is now working from home, but no one knows how long this is going to keep going. Do we settle in, build new routines, or treat this like an extended winter break?

"The duration" was a phrase from World War 2 that we may see in use again.

I can't think of any comparable experience in history short of the plague and that lasted for 100+ years. And of course the flu epidemic of 1919, neither of which involved a world economy, or "just in time" delivery for grocery stores.

It's like I have no parameters on how to think about this.
No guidelines for when to worry, and when not to.


How are all ya'll holding up?

Grandma had a novel

I've been given a manuscript written by my great grandmother over 60 years ago. She never got it published, in fact, she never got beyond just writing it. My grandparents didn't get it published and it was forgotten by my mother.

It was written on a typewriter and I have typed the entire thing onto a word doc (well over 500 pages). It's currently with a proofreader. I will then go over it, edit where necessary (nothing serious), add notes and definitions (there are some archaic and old terms) and then get some opinions on it from friends and family.

Essentially, I would like to get it published because she was a fantastic writer (wrote and directed plays) but also because her personal story adds so much value to the book. It's set during WW2 in Poland & Russia and I think it has real potential. I believe she did in fact meet with publishers who wanted to take it forward but then life put a stop to it I suppose.

I am pretty sure that the first step is to officially obtain the rights, and although she had one son, and he had one daughter, and she had one son (grandfather, mother, me!) and although there's complete faith and trust, it still seems like I need to get this sorted legally. I'm not entirely sure how to do this though?

Furthermore, once the rights are obtained, I really don't know where to begin with the next stage. I'm totally new to this and haven't got any contacts I could talk to.

N.B. I am based in the UK

You need a UK intellectual property lawyer before you do anything else.
As I understand this, you are now working on a manuscript that doesn't belong to you. It belongs to whomever your Great Granny left her estate to, and if that person has joined her in the great Library Beyond, it belongs to the heirs of that estate.

Possession doesn't count here.
You're going to need real live paper documents here.

Beyond the question of ownership, you've fallen into the "this is great everyone will want to read it" trap.

You don't know ANYONE, let alone everyone, will want to read this.

You should get some objective (ie NOT family) eyeballs on this, and by that I mean a professional editor.

You can't get an agent to read this right now; because you're not the author, most agents including me won't even respond to your query. (You're not the author is #7 on Query Letter Diagnostics).

That your Great Granny had a career in the theatre is certainly a bonus point.

Any publishing contract you sign will REQUIRE you to warrant you created, or are the owner of the material. The last thing you want to find out the hard way is that Granny left all her intellectual property to the British Library, and they now want all the proceeds from the hit Broadway musical made from the book.

And if you think that kind of thing doesn't happen, you're 100% wrong.

Seek advice. NOW.

Housekeeping reminders

1. If you comment several times on any given post, Blogger thinks you're a spammer, and relegates you to "awaiting moderation."  It can take me several days to fish you out.

If your comment doesn't appear, that's the most likely explanation.

And remember, you should not comment more than two or three times at most on any given post.


2. If you see spam on the blog, please let me know by email.
Don't post in the comment column, or on Twitter.

3. If you see a typo on the blog post itself, please email me. I'm VERY glad to hear about those, particularly now that Blogger has disabled the spell check feature.

4. If you have questions you want answered on the blog, email me. While I do see the comments, it's not the best place to ask. It will help if you identify yourself as a blog reader. I'm more careful now about assuming people know questions are answered in public forum.

5. It's ok to post news in the comment column about upcoming publications.  Please be respectful of the topic of the day however. Don't post news more than once. (That's a fast way to get deleted, and relegated to spam.)

6. It's ok to link to YOUR stuff. It will be really helpful if you learn how to post links.

7. Be aware that the flash fiction contests CLOSE at a specified time. Even if the comments are still open, your entry is DQ'ed if it's AFTER the deadline. Often I don't close the comments right at the appointed hour, and the reason is that I am a slothful shark, and probably still sacked out in my hammock dreaming of tormenting writers.

Any questions?

Even if your agent is dead

Dear Janet--

First of all, thank you for the slap upside the head (blog post of Tuesday, March 3rd).  I think I needed to generate some anger, and you helped me do that.  I will make one more good-faith effort to contact my agent; if I fail, I'll consult my contract and write that letter.  Because you're right--this is my life, my writing life, and it's just dribbling away from me.

But I do have one last question, and it's a good one: as far as I know, my book is still out there with seven publishing houses. How do I find out what happened to it?  I do have a list of all the editors.  May I email|call to find out where the manuscript stands with them?  (And suppose, just suppose, that one of them actually likes it and wants to . . . pursue it further.  Would that pull the agent back into the picture for negotiations and a 15% commission?  Unlikely, this last, I know, but I like to be prepared for all possible outcomes.  If Martians land on the roof, I'm ready.)

Since you've got the sub list you email the editors to let them know that you've changed representation. Of course, you send this AFTER you've terminated. 

You don't need to explain why.
You do NOT ask the status of the submission.
This is just info only.

Should your agent rise from the dead to let you know s/he got the termination letter, s/he will probably say s/he'll withdraw the submission. That's normal.

The question is now if this flurry of activity coughs up an offer.

If it does, you're in a bit of a pickle because the agent is still entitled to the full commission. It doesn't seem fair now, I know, but you're honor and duty bound to pay it for a certain amount of time after you've parted ways. Your author agency agreement should specify how long. If it doesn't, six months is reasonable.

And you'll want someone else negotiating the contract. Which means you're going to pay for a contract review specialist or a second commission to  a second agent.

BUT the good bad news is that if your agent isn't keeping you informed, chances are the submission is languishing too. Editors are increasingly unlikely to respond until you've pestered them to the point you're starting to feel sorry for them. "There's that Janet Reid on the phone again. Doesn't she have a blog post to write??"

Fact checking memoir

With the controversial news of the Woody Allen memoir announced (being released next month by Hachette) and the backlash this received (particularly from Ronan & Dylan Farrow), I was wondering in general about the expectation of fact-checking in memoirs. I remember there being a scandal around A Million Little Pieces by James Frey back in the day, but I don’t know what (if anything) came out of the scandal in regards to publishing standards.

Are publishers expected to have some fact-checking completed with memoirs? Is the expectation different when the writer is a known public figure with known allegations of sexual abuse? Does this last answer change depending on whether the memoir covers that time period of life or mentions the accuser at all?

Obviously, the internet has opinions, but I was hoping for some general industry insight.

Publishers do not fact check memoirs. Memoirs by definition are one person's experiences, and what looked like baby food to you looks like refried beans to me, and of course we're both right.


What the publishing contract DOES require is a warranty that the book doesn't libel anyone, doesn't violate anyone else's right to privacy, does not materially misrepresent the Author or the Author's background or life story.

The specific wording varies publisher to publisher, agency specific contract to agency specific contract.

The only thing that's different for a public figure is the libel standard. It's harder to libel a public figure than someone who is not.

The Woody Allen memoir controversy didn't rest on the author's warranties.

The Woody Allen memoir controversy was that Hachette wasn't forthcoming with their employees that the book was in the works, and very specifically did not tell Ronan Farrow who published Catch and Kill with Little,Brown, a division of HBG.


Very understandably Farrow was furious.

Very understandably many HBG editors vehemently took issue with the idea of publishing the Allen memoir at all.

It was a tone-deaf decision, and the people who said so were very courageous.


The memoir has since been cancelled and rights returned to Allen.

Despite what Stephen King says, Allen was NOT muzzled. Given the number of publication avenues open to writers, and the number of sleazeball publishers who will print anything for a buck, there are lots of alternatives

Ron Charles, book critic for the Washington Post had this to say:

These Hachette employees who walked out did something extraordinarily brave in an industry that’s highly concentrated. But it’s also an industry dominated by women.

Maybe after all this country has gone through and on a day when Merriam-Webster reported that lookups for “misogyny" spiked 2,400 percent, the prospect of editing, marketing, selling or even being associated with the memoir of a man accused of abusing a girl was just one humiliation too many.

Publishers, after all, are not neutral platforms like Facebook or public spaces like a town square where free speech must reign. Publishers make extremely selective judgments, and when one of those judgments is morally offensive to employees, it’s encouraging to see those employees speak up and walk out.

The era of silence, of looking the other way, of playing catch and kill needs to end.

Save Me From My Reading flash fiction contest results-FINAL

As usual, you all stepped up to deftly hold my attention after a long week of reading.

Herewith the results:


Filed under the why do I even try column YET AGAIN.
Steve Forti

Special recognition for words I had to lookup:
Sunnygoetze
feen

Special recogniton for a great line
Johnelle
She who controls the toilet paper controls the world


The Duchess of Yowl approves of this entry:
Lisa Bodenheim


Here's the long list of entries that stood out

Matt Krizan

“The Plot Thickens!”

“Twist The Knife!”

The old friends greet each other warmly, regaling one another with stories they’ve been in. From the far end of the table, A Snail’s Pace glowers at them.

“I thought they weren’t bringing him back,” mutters Plot.

Knife shrugs. “Can’t have one of these without him.”

“I guess.”

The moderator approaches. “Anyone seen On The Same Page? No? Well, we can’t wait any longer.”

They settle in next to the moderator, who taps on her microphone, asks everyone to please take their seats. “Welcome,” she says, “to today’s panel discussion on clichés in literature…”

Timothy Lowe

Digging for Grandpa required a treasure map. Luckily, Grandma left one.

“Twisted,” said Desiree.

“That’s Grammy.” I peered at the page. “Always with a sense of humor.”

We wound through thickets, splashed through streams, shovels in hand.

“Fitting payback for a lifetime of philandering,” she said. “But how did she know it would--?”

“He had a pacemaker put in. Next week, he went missing. Here we are.”

The mise-en-scene described in Grammy’s will: a rotten garter, a set of scarlet pumps, a wisp of gauze shrouding the shallow mound.

Desiree wouldn’t stop laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sex marks the plot.”

Katelyn Y

They’re silent when I finish. Finally, Tolkien speaks. “It’s not bad. Just… take more space. The more words, the better.”

Odd. Heaven shouldn’t have criticism. “It’s… a short story.”

“Exactly. Short on plot and allegory.” Lewis, nodding solemnly. “Though I liked that twist with the lion on page nine.”

“There’s not…” This can’t be Hell. I didn’t do enough for that, did I? “I think you misread – ”

“Atrocious ending too,” says Christie. “I’ve no idea who murdered whom.”

“What?”

“Exactly.” Tolkien pats my shoulder. “Just rewrite, add fifty pages, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Oh. Purgatory. Fair enough.

Michael Seese

"I'm leaving."

Her "farewell," delivered after-the-fact—via text—confirmed what I'd long known. That in Darcy's Theater Of The Absurd, my role was little more than the mise-en-scene. Verily, Darcy had turned the page on our relationship somewhere between her byline and the (overly) dramatis personæ, with countless props from her private performances meeting shattered demises against a wall or the sidewalk below, while she recited her life from its hackneyed script.

"I need more."

"I have no space."

Of course, plotlines should wrap with a twist, though in this case, twenty.

Specifically, the lug nuts on her brand-new Porsche.

Cipher

“Pace?”
My eyes rolled in time with the thud of music. Oblivious human groupies swaying behind me. Cause strobe-lights and Michael Bolton? Not exactly…going the distance.
Leaning over the bar, I cupped my mouth. “No, Paige. Like page.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Smiling the bartender, not a merit scholarship lot, whose muscles were more suited to spandex and iron than vermouth, gave my martini over.
“Twist?”
“No, thanks.” Gripping glass, I took my—very—needed drink. Slugging it down, I pulled my silver pistol and took aim.
Because as for the undead lead singer of this cover band?
Forever would be enough.

John Davis Frain

Frain, creature of habit, hit the jukebox for Friday night inspiration. The Jackson 4 record dropped. Jammed. He shook and twisted the machine. No music. No inspiration.

He’d try again Saturday.

When he woke, none of his four senses seemed to function. He flushed his flash.

Sunday arrived with the same result. He stared into space.

“Hey, V.” He showed his wife his entry, nary a splotch on the page. “I plead the fourth. Nothing’s working.”

“She gave you fewer constraints, yet it’s harder?”

“Nobody understands writers.”

V gave him a high-four, pinky lost years earlier in a motorcycle accident.

The particularly nice twist here is that V is five in Roman numerals.

Mallory Love

“Let travel through space and time.
Plot our way through the universe.”
The young guy sang my lyrics to me.
“You’re a legend. Can I get an autograph?” He ripped a page from his notebook.
It’s rare nowadays to be recognized as a geriatric rock star.
Rarer still to get an album sale. Tours? Forget about it.
“How about a picture instead?” I suggested.
To most kids his age, I’d just be another old man on the street.
I’m flattered he noticed me.
The twisted thing was he’d never suspect me when he later realized his wallet was missing.

Here's the short list of entries that stood out.
(this was REALLY a task to choose which ones!)

Kregger

My evil twin rang the stage at dress rehearsal. “Bomb on mise-en-scène.”

Pacing, the director turned the page.

“Who plotted a twist without telling me!?”

A stage “dude” strode forth, a paper-brown box-en-hand.

Actors aghast, eyebrows high, and fingertips to lips.

The actor dropped the box.

BOOM!

Actors shuffled back once…twice…throwing up their hands (you should try it sometime, bleech).

End act one.

#

Standing from afar, I watched a fireball light the low-hanging clouds.

I turned to my doppelganger as she giggled with delight.

“I told you. With your lisp, they’d never understand mezzanine.”

She turned in shock. “What lissp?”

This is so much subtle fun!
I read this three times and saw something new each time.
That's real artistry.


S.D. King

“Me, too.”

Nods around the circle.

“Me, too. I was 12.”

Six inmates - Rikers Island. Tough women. Little girls robbed of trust. Of hope. Of future.

Janice stood guard as the weekly GED Study Group got off topic again. She liked these women.

“I’d plot a Lorena Bobbitt if I got my hands on the bastard.”

Nods.

“Actually any raping bastard. Even Cosby or Spacey.”

“Preach it, girl.”

Janice understands- she still can’t even pee without drippage – broken beer bottle.

“You hear a famous twisted bastard’s in the men’s cellblock?”

Janice knew the cell number.

“Me, too,” she whispered.

While this isn't really a story, there's no way I'm not giving this some love.
Probably helps that I watch Unbelievable on Netflix over the weekend.
(I'd watch Merritt Wever in just about anything, up to and including just standing in a phone booth on Seventh Avenue)


Lora Senf

Always known there’s a space.

And a door.

Between There and Here, I mean.

Momma said, “Careful, baby – what’s There’s where it belongs. Got no business Here. Not anymore.”

Did my best to mind, but turns out it’s me that’s bridging.

Plotted to open it a crack - barely enough to slip a page – to see the light poke through. Figured, There must be a whole lot brighter’n Here.

Turns out it don’t abide partway. That door flew wide and wasn’t no light There. I ‘tribute it to folks being all twisted up and mostly dark inside.

Shoulda minded Momma.

This really isn't a story either, and I normally don't go for much that is allegorical and abstract, but this just really spoke to me.


french sojourn

Her words hit him like a poleaxe to the gut.

She has the nerve to stand there in all her pageantry and look so smug. How could she mention my sickness in front of everyone? Why? I’m seeing a therapist… you money-grubbing cheese eater. Damn, now you’re bringing up my health.

But he, Walter Mitty, stood there and took it. Turn the page, be the better person.

Even more twisted, now she’s going on about my death…plotting it in front of all these people.

The minister turned, smiled, and said, “I now pronounce you, man and wife.”

I'm always a sucker for this kind of twist in a story, and this one is damn good.

C. Dan Castro

The promoter smiled. Feral. “And then?”

“Our hero flees with the Speck. But...plot twist! Monkeys steal the Speck. Give it to an eagle which loses the Speck in a clover field. Hero finds it, but other animals pounce. Tie him up. Threaten to destroy the Speck.”

“Then he gets them to hear a what?”

“A who.”

Feral laughs. “Feels like Abbott and Costello.”

“It’s a page turner. For a children’s book.”

“Yeah, fast paced. Ted, it’s ‘54. Commies everywhere. Make the eagle a vulture, giv’im a Ruskie name like Vlad, and I’ll see citizens hear about Horton hearing his Who.”

This made me laugh out loud, particularly given I've spent the week offering up notes on manuscripts. I hope I'm not quite as blind as Mr. Feral (such a great name)

Casual-T

Fog oozed across the pier like an ocean of milk suffering from severe personality disorder.

"It'd help lots if you'd dispose of the body," said Vanderbilt, peering at the semi-seen scene with a twisted, uncertain grin.

"What I'm s'posed to do 'bout it?"

"Listen, it's a pretty hip age we're living in, but not hip enough for blatant murder."

"He should'na had that crap ace up his sleeve."

"And you shouldn't have had that knife up yours."

"Alright, I'll handle it—Vanderbilt?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's the body?"

"Rien ne va plus," said the fog. "Guess it isn't your lucky night after all."

Semi-seen-scene in and of itself is hilarious but for use of the prompt word mis-en-scene, it's sheer genius.

And that last line takes this from deft to utterly delightful.



So, who did I overlook?
And who's your fave?


I read these again today, and my initial choice is still the final choice.

The prize goes to Kregger!

Kregger, email me your mailing address and what you like to read and we'll get a prize in the mail.

Thanks to all of you who took the time to write and post entries.
It really livened up my weekend.

 

Bear with me!

From blog reader Writer of Wrongs:

Okay, he's not a pet, but I got to pet him!

My state's wildlife office does spring checks of radio-tracked (collared) bears and their young. We're too far south for a true hibernation; instead, the bears are in a state of torpor. A veterinarian and field biologist sedate the sow and monitor her, while another field biologist and the state's "bear guy" examine the cub(s). They allow small groups to accompany them on these trips, and I GOT TO GO!

After we had turns petting this little dude, he was returned to his mother's den just a few yards away, and she was given a shot to reverse the sedative. (More importantly, the bear guys weighed and measured him for records of the state's native bear population.)

It was a delightful experience, and I thought you and the Reef might enjoy these pictures. He was warm and cuddly, and he yawned and sneezed and was just generally adorable.