WeremonkeynovelwriterGUS!

Rock on!

(And how do I love that you forgot you wrote it? THIIIIIIS MUCH!)

Connie actually has a perfectly good novel in good-sized chunks; I know, because I've read some of it. She avoids quite a few common traps, right out the gate, and some of the few traps she did fall into are extremely shallow and easy for anyone with an instinct to climb right out of. So yes, she should do that thing.

Hee. Do you remember which traps I did fall into?

Some more Gus-ward congratulimifications. 'scuse me while I slide on the end of the "vastly amused that you forgot about the novel you just sold" bench.

Do you remember which traps I did fall into?

Basically a question of balancing tell and show. There were spots where you needed to show - early on, I remember her getting word of a phone message from her secretary, one of those big moments, and holding back all the way too far on her reaction. Problem there was that the reader had trouble catching up with her physical reaction, which was to get the hell out of the building before he showed up. The occasional tell instead of show moment - history of the Fenris myth, you as narrator telling the reader, rather than giving it to us through the character's memory, making it part of her experience instead of a classroom fact.

But those are very shallow traps. They get easier to avoid, the more you write. The story and characters were sound.

Thanks, deb, I remember that's what you told me at the time. I was afraid there was something I missed.

Now, if I could just find my lost motivation . . .

Did you check under the couch cushions?

Hmmm . . .

No, that's a cat.

I want to start Cleveland Rocks.

And until my husband - who has constituted himself, with my blessing, the Keeper of All Biographical Information for the legendary fictional Chicago and Delta blues session guy my narrator, JP Kinkaid, will be inducting into the R&R Hall - gets me that info, I'm DIW.

Damn it.

I have apparently sold a novel-length thing.

Yay, Gus!

Tell more. Title? Publisher? Release date? Background? Was it plucked from the slush pile, or was there some other process?

Moving On

(a slightly different take on picture 2)

"Mama?"

They ignore me, eating like pigs, wolfing down the heavy food, sausage and noodles. They eat and they eat, and I have nothing.

"Mama?"

I don't understand. I came down from my bed. I was sick, so many days, but I'm better now, the illness is past. I want my dinner. I'm hungry. Why are they ignoring me? Can't they see me?

Uncle Jan stands, and takes a picture. "When Wolfgang is better," he says, "we will take one with him."

Above my head, the ceiling grows bright, opens. I wave goodbye. Perhaps, in heaven, there will be dinner.