Allyson, bebe, I totally sympathise with the crazy-making. Jenn's submitting the Kinkaids to only one editor at a time; she told me the rationale and I forget what it is but it made sense. But Jesus wept, it makes the process excruciatingly slow. I haven't bitten my nails, but I have no temper left. None.
'Hell Bound'
The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Whew!
2-3 weeks. Editor said that the publisher is getting really interested.
Should keep me afloat for like, the next four minutes.
Also, should it all fall apart, um, I shall completely break into the tiniest of pieces. I shall be as dust.
No, no dust yet. You're still pretty early in on this process. I think these guys will buy it. If not, they've certainly taken enough time with it, that you know it's likely to spark someone's interest enough to buy.
Besides Allyson, your book is excellent.
Speaking of patience, I could use a little wafted this way. About to submit "Restless" - the Patrick Ormand backstory piece - as blind submission for consideration for the "Burden on the Badge" anthology, being edited by Michael Connelly and being published by Little, Brown this autumn.
If they take it, I'm going to dance the dance of joy and serendipitous timing. Because it would hit the streets the same time as "Cruel Sister", and would be a humongous selling point for the Kinkaids.
Meh.
Besides Allyson, your book is excellent.
Yes, this.
About to submit "Restless" - the Patrick Ormand backstory piece - as blind submission for consideration for the "Burden on the Badge" anthology
Did you hear back from them about the header thing?
Am sending postcards out to drum up interest for I Love You to Death, and about to post a contest on my writing blog (which I think, sadly, not many people read). Sent some postcards and a couple signed books to a RWA mini-conference set for next weekend, for their giveaway table, and planning to do same for a couple more coming up ni the next two months. And trying to finish this Harlewuin proposal. Exhausted. Want cake.
Did you hear back from them about the header thing?
Yep. What they want in the upper right corner is the page number. Nothing else - just that. Beginning on page 2. Nic is doing it at work, reprinting, and bringing home.
How much more of the proposal do you need to do? It's the one I've been beta-reading, yes?
Just the page number? They should have proofed their submission request before they sent it out, huh?
How much more of the proposal do you need to do?
I'm shooting for p. 105 -- that should be about where I get, and Maureen said she wanted about 100 pages. It's the same one you've been reading, yeah. And then I have to get down to work on the book that's actually due to my editor, which is going to be late by a few weeks at this point. Sigh.
Ugh. I feel your pain. Next up: the long synopsis for London Calling. I hate long synopses. Makes me want to yell at the editor: I took the time to wriet the damned book, howsabout you get off your ass and READ the damned book...?
For the bedroom window view topic:
From the bedroom window she can see a strip of green grass, and part of a tree that dresses up in frothy pink petals every spring. If she cranes her head to the left, she can see a wrought iron table with two matching chairs. Both of the chairs are being taken over by ivy, and one of the chairs is slowly sinking at an angle into the lawn.
She likes the view; she'd like to visit it. She's just not sure where it really is, since her bedroom is on the eighth floor of a narrow downtown apartment building that is surrounded by busy streets and offices. She's starting to wonder if climbing out the window would get her there.
Hi. I was gone. I wasn't really here long anyway. Writing is problematic lately.
Allyson, Jilli, I'm looking forward to reading your books!
Bedroom window view, huh?
Past two trees, I can see the gravel lane curving down the hill, to the little bridge over the brook, disappearing into honeysuckle. I can see the fields of our farm, and the fields across the road, and the hills along the river. This is the view from my bedroom window, as long as I can remember.
No one lives here anymore. The house is falling into disrepair, the barn sagging with disuse, weeds where crops were; where animals and workers and family once were, now there's no one.
But the view outside my bedroom window is still the same.