1. Put yourself and your story out there. I know it’s supposed to be different, you vs. your story. But guys. I’m one of the weak ones. I find it difficult to separate myself from my words, when it comes right down to it. Love me, love my book, right? So if you don’t even want to see it, I cry. (See #2, below.) But the Really Hard Thing to do is to be bold. Do it. Expose your book, or else how is Magic Agent going to know it’s the Book of Dreams? Things that make this possible: Beta readers, critique partners, agentQuery.com, and queryTracker.com. Also Blue Bunny ice cream and a great deal of buttered popcorn.

2. Not cry. Remember “What About Bob?” I do. I love Bob. “I just treat them like a phone call. Bad connection? Hang up and try again.” It is a Really Hard Thing to take rejection gracefully. But we can do it. We can. We can even send a very short “Thanks Anyway” email, if we’re so inclined. We can breathe in and out. All day long. Things that make this possible: Lindt Excellence “touch of sea salt” Dark Chocolate Bars. And I don’t usually even like chocolate. Also a hot bath or a few episodes of White Collar. (Also, one “yes” goes a long way toward making me graceful about several “no”s, but that’s not really within my control.)

3. Write the cursed Query. Yup. Really Hard Thing. What? you say. It’s a PAGE long. Just write it, already. Yeah, okay, I answer you. But it’s the ONE PAGE that an agent will see and then say, “Holy cow. That is the most charming writer / fabulous story in the history of charming writers and fabulous stories. I must, must adore everything that person ever writes.” So there’s that tiny expectation of brilliance at the beginning. Also, there’s the conflicting advice. One agent says “This is a business letter.” Another says, “This is not a business letter.” One says, “Make me laugh.” Another says “Gimmicks are the death of your query.” (The only non-conflicting advice seems to be “Spell my name correctly, if you please.”) But we can write the letter. Things that make this possible: Remember you’ve already written the book. That should help a bit. Also, agentQuery.com has archives of query letters, along with “formulas” and success stories. And Chuck @ Writer’s Digest has this ongoing “Successful Queries” segment, where every couple of months he posts a (you guessed it, didn’t you?) successful query. Agents sometimes post good queries on their blogs. So go steal some good ideas. And then make them yours. And then ask people who read books to look at the letter. Would they want to read the story from your hook? Like that. Go get ‘em.

4. Tailor said query. Because agents are human (oh, yes they are), they’ll want different things. So it’s not a very good idea to create and send a totally bland, generic query. You sort of have to tweak it to each one’s needs, personality, and current wishes. Have you met him? Say so. Does she rep someone you read/love/know? Say so. Has she recently given an interview wherein she announced that what she’s REALLY looking for is a post-apocalyptic zombie mermaid story told in verse? And that’s just what you have, right there on your laptop? Mention it. The research alone for such tweaking can take FOREVER. Okay, not forever, but hours a day. Hours. And then there’s the actual rewriting. That is a Really Hard Thing. Things that make this possible: Hello, computers? Just let yourself imagine doing all this junk longhand. Smile about your privileges. Carry on. Also, if you’ve done #3, you have a solid basis. Just sand it, paint it, and tie a little bow on it. Or something.

5. Add a synopsis, sometimes. And that’s what we’re talking about today, my friends. (Oh, did you think I’d already done plenty of talking? Pardon.) Several of the agents I’ve contacted request a synopsis. According to most sources, this is a 500-1000-word document (3rd person, present tense) that Tells Your Story. Remember all that business about Show vs Tell? You have shown. That’s your book. Now tell. Sounds easy, right?

*chirp*

It was hard. I found myself starting paragraphs, deleting them, saying unladylike words, starting more paragraphs. Repeat. And repeat. So here’s what I finally did that worked for me. And it’s not rocket science, but it’s a beginning. Take it or leave it, as always. The thing that made this possible: In short phrases, I wrote what someone did. NOT what happened. There’s a difference, because you only have 500-1000 words, so you don’t want to go into all the psychology, the history, the backstory. What someone did. Like this: Verb direct object.

I made a list. Maybe you’re one of those character-laden people who outlines. Of so, you win at this part. Just copy stuff from your outline. (Another reason it might be good to learn to outline. I’ll take it under consideration. Maybe.) My list was about 18-20 sentence fragments that told (with an active verb) what someone did. If I saw the words “realized” “understood” or “learned” creeping into my list, I deleted them. That’s not an action.

Let’s do one.

Walks in woods
Sneaks into house
Eats porridge
Sits in chair
Breaks everything
Sleeps in bed
Wakes to Bears
Runs away

When my real list (not this super-classy one) took me from beginning to end of story, I made each sentence fragment a paragraph, or combined a few into one. Then, when all the verb/direct object fragments became paragraphs, I whittled down what was too wordy and plumped up what needed more detail to be understood. As you can tell from my list above, I didn’t list everything that happened in the story. I didn’t list every character’s viewpoint. I can fatten up some of those things in the paragraphs, but just enough to give the gist. Now that you’ve stunned them with your storytelling prowess, they’ll be once again stunned, upon reading your manuscript, that you can also WRITE. Which, as we all know, is not the same thing. Also, a synopsis, most websites will tell you, is not a movie trailer. Tell how the book ends. If this goes against your grain, too bad. Agents who ask for synopses want spoilers.

If the writing the synopsis part seems too much work, maybe you’re not ready to query. Did that sound harsh? It was meant to, kind of. Because, yes, “finishing” your novel is the end of your work.

Want to know which end?

—

[1] assuming you’ve already done the Really Hard Thing of, you know, writing a fabulous book

Again.

It’s not really something that I do once and POOF! A great book! It’s more like “Okay, so if I look at one more sentence I’ve read a million times, will it somehow restructure itself to be that mystical, magical “fresh voice” that editors and agents everywhere will fall in love with?” So, what I’m saying is, I’m getting a little tired of this story. And its words. And its structure. But, here’s the thing… it’s only a LITTLE tired, what I’m getting. I don’t actually hate it. In fact, I think it’s a good book. And with the help of my beta readers’ amazing suggestions, it’s getting better and better (I think).  (I hope.)

What I am really getting tired of is this chair. This one right here that I’ve duct-taped my hindparts into so I can’t go anywhere until I’ve finished. For days I’ve been in this chair, and I’m here to tell you, it isn’t getting any more comfortable.

–

Note to self: Someday, deserve a nice chair. Also a laptop. And a real haircut.

—

So here we go again, back to the revisions. I’m working it, friends. I’m trying to give you a really good book here. And as soon as that happens, I’ll be sure to let you know. Again. And again. I know. You were afraid I wouldn’t tell you, weren’t you? You thought that maybe I’d just sit here on my uncomfortable chair and hold a good book in my arms. But, fret not. I’ll get the word out, as soon as there’s word. Promise.

Back to word (that’s totally a typo, but I’m leaving it, because Word is my Work, after all).

Oh, come on. I’m just kidding.

But know what? It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s fifty degrees and sunny. It feels like fall, and it IS fall, but usually at this time of year we tend more toward smaller numbers, if you know what I mean. So today I’m grateful that it’s lovely outside, and that I made it out there too. That I spent four Very Productive Hours working on my revisions. That I think the book is getting better (oh, let me stop when I get to the top of that trend, and not revise it to death…). That even with the lots of removals, my word count increased by more than a thousand today. And that I made bread so we can have sandwiches for dinner. That we can go for shakes tonight (because Why Not?) and that the Kids are enjoying each other. That I have another day (tomorrow) with nobody expecting much of anything from me, so I can continue to revise and strengthen my little book. And that I have books on the nightstand waiting for me to dive into them. See? There is much to be glad for, even on a Normal Day.

I got back into it this morning, and guess what. I think I can do it. And I will do it. Because I really should do it. And I want to do it.

So, hooray for breaks and helpful feedback and all kinds of writerliness.

Back to work, all of us.

—

[1] Nobody said that. There is a lot of work to do. And lots of people are helping me see how to do it. And everyone was nice. Because I like nice people. And it’s a nice book. Or it will be, when I get busy and make it so…

(Remember that I have theories? There’s one that says it’s my job to get the manuscript as clean as I possibly can before I subject anyone else to it. And that’s where I am. Except I did make a few friends take a look. Because I felt like it. And they were helpful. A lot of helpful. And so I keep going. We’re sitting at about 60,000 words right now, with maybe 3 more passes on my end before I send the baby into the big, cold world.)

But, really? Revision is coming along. I did many pages this morning, and plan to do some more after I take care of a couple of matters of hygiene. (That word, Hygiene, is one that I can never, never spell correctly on the first try. Or first four tries. Also, Privilege. Except I just did. So maybe I am getting better at this.) I am moving through the story and trying not to wreck it. Or something. It hurts.

What does carpal tunnel feel like? Because something is going down in my right wrist, elbow, and the occasional finger. It sort of feels like there’s a phantom bone that needs to be removed. And it seems bruised inside. Or something. It hurts. Pooh.

Sometimes when I’m revising I forget to eat. Or feed my family. (Don’t worry. They remind me about the things they need. In kind, non-whiny voices. And then they clean up after dinner.) [1]

And another note: Possibly there should be a written rule that one should not read Leif Enger at the time that one is revising. His prose makes mine look like something I scraped off the bottom of my shoes. Or something. It hurts.

—

[1] Hahahahahahahahaha.

(Feel my pain here.)

Actually it’s not so painful. I already had my requisite period of “Why am I even trying to write a book? This is the worst book ever written.” It happened during the drafting part. And that is awesome, let me tell you. It’s like duct-taping your hindparts into the chair and forcing out the Totally Horrible Words for hours, only to KNOW, beyond any doubt, that you have just gotten dumber for what you’ve experienced.

Awesome.

But, having gone through the assurance that this is the Dumbest Book Ever, I’m now moving on. Now it’s only the Least Complete Book Ever. And with that, I can deal.

I printed out my manuscript (single spaced, 11-point font). I put it in a clipboard. I added a packet of flags (taped it right down to the clipboard) and a short stack of orange sticky-notes. Brought (but decided not to use) a red pencil. And a blue pen, which, as it turns out, I used A LOT. I drove to the public library and started reading. I missed lunch. I don’t recommend missing lunch. But I do recommend starting the revision process in a place which is not the place you do your drafting.

Why?

Because I’m nuts.

Oh, no, that’s not it. Because Drafting is one thing. And Revising is a totally different thing. A thing for which there might be a better/different spot. If you’re a person who has a laptop, you’re covered, mobilitywise. I had to print. But that’s good too. Because I’m getting a little OLD, and I like to read things on paper. Especially 11-point font things. Also, my little print-and-travel system requires me to note (note only, not rewrite) while I’m in the read-through. You may be surprised to discover that I tend to get a little ahead of myself. And if you are surprised to discover that, well, welcome. You must be new here. I’m Becca and I enjoy a great deal of Ice Cream. Mmmmm. Ice cream. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Getting ahead. I think I want to hurry up and fix what’s wrong. But I need to ponder for a second, so I can make notes (in pen) on my paper copy, and then let those thoughts settle for a minute or a week. THEN I can come back to the kitchen and duct-tape my hindparts into the chair and rewrite and fill in holes. For several weeks.

So, here’s what I wanted to tell you. FIFTH GIFT is not the most awful book in the world. It’s not a complete waste of my time. Dad, cover your eyes. Guys, it doesn’t totally suck. (*sigh of relief*) There are issues. Major ones, maybe. Can I really have a main character wait for the halfway point before he shows his face? Um? Can I? Also, what is the deal with my characters EATING ALL THE TIME? It’s all about the food. Oh, boy. Maybe my next book will be a cookbook. I already have notes for such a thing. Oh, is it possible that I’m getting ahead of myself again? (But, hey – no ice cream. At all. I know. You didn’t think I could write a book without ice cream. Let me clarify – I had ice cream while writing the book. Lots. But nobody in the book eats ice cream. And also, there is much less shrugging than I usually put in a book. I am learning things. About shrugging and ice cream if nothing else.)

Reading, reading. Making notes. Making notes about the notes. Revising comes next. And then, prepare for the wind in your hair, because it’s going to be a ride.

Reading (chaim potok. oh,chaim. i lurrrrve you so.)

Walking (kids to bus stops, around blocks, around lakes, around neighborhoods, around farms.)

Eating (mostly plants up till dinner time. need to find me a butter plant. coconut oil may replace butter. or not.)

Setting Aside (the zero-draft manuscript [fifth gift] for a week before i start the actual revision process)

Opening (files of other set-aside manuscripts. anything ready to try submitting again? maybe.)

Laundering (natch.)

Shopping (for christmas. just a little. first box arrived last week. tee hee.)

Craving (a part in a musical. we saw “joseph” this weekend and it makes me want to audition for “thoroughly modern millie” next week.)

Weeding (oh, wow — i found my rock wall. *that’s* where it’s been hiding all summer.)

**What’s going on with you?**

Do you have a preferred writing time? Are you a morning person? A night owl? A moment-snatcher, during naps (someone else’s)?

Do you need music? Silence? Chaos? Strangers? Midday sunlight? Vivaldi in A Minor performed by the London Philharmonic and directed by a tiny Asian child-genius?

—

I do. I have a SYSTEM. A source for my brilliance. [1] I write on the computer, which lives in the kitchen. I sit on the wooden chair that I steal from the kitchen table. Sometimes I throw a pillow on it. I write in the dark of morning, sometimes into the light of morning, depending on the season and the mojo. During the summer, that season and mojo are a little short. Because, see, I also demand solitude. And silence (or the hum of the dryer, because then I feel like I’m all fantastic, accomplishing TWO THINGS AT ONCE — I know, nearing perfection). And silence and solitude don’t last past seven a.m.

I’ve been trying to convince Husband that I NEED a laptop. He smiles at me in that comforting way which causes me to stick my tongue out at him, since we all know very well that I need food, water, shelter, 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep… but not so much another computer. But I manage to convince myself that if I had a laptop, I could do all kinds of through-the-summer-day writing. I could still do my early-morning thousand words [2]. And then, when Kids 3 and 4 come into the kitchen, pull up stools, and read over my shoulders, I could hug them, smooch their faces, and sneak off to my room, or a closet, or the basement, and write in the comfort of my Very Own Company. Where, of course, I could bust out another thousand words. Brilliant words, don’t forget.

And then, in the warm afternoon, I could take the lappy outside to the chair in the shade and listen to the breeze sigh through the trees as I write another thousand perfect, uninterrupted words.

See? Clearly, the only thing standing in my way — in the way of fabulous, completed manuscripts — is my total lack of laptop.

And, cue The Grand Delusion.

—

I’m all for structure. I’m all for consistency. I’m all for routine. But I’m also realizing that all my NEEDS, writingwise, are not actually food for the Muse. They’re excuses not to get the job done.

I’m not Organizing my Writing Life. I’m putting off doing the work.

*sigh*

Today is the last day of summer vacation around here. And I woke early and got some writing and revising done. And now, with a kitchen full of kids, I’m struggling to remember that I don’t actually have to blog in complete silence and solitude. Tomorrow, the Kids will go away in the morning. And they will not come back for HOURS. And I will have no further excuses to justify my snail’s pace.

Shoot.

Darn it.

All of it.

I don’t want them to go. I don’t want to live on someone else’s schedule. I don’t want to drive from school to school to school dropping off the Left Behind. I don’t want to come last in the Kids’ busy, full lives. I don’t want to watch the mountains turn red and gold and then brown and then white. I’m not ready. I’m not ready for two kids in High School. I’m not ready for drama. I’m not ready for PTA. I’m not ready for undeniable accountability.

But. Here it is, anyway. Accountability, front and center. So, my friends, here is a reckoning. I love that word. I should write a book called The Reckoning. Or you should. Someone should.[3]

*Ahem* At the beginning of June, Fifth Gift was at 30,000 words. At the beginning of July, 39,500. At the beginning of August, 43,500. And today, 47,630.  I don’t know how long it should really be, because I have this feeling that it should end when it’s over, when the story’s told, but I think the story will be told around 55-65,000 words. I think. Maybe not. And hey, if not, then fine. But there is the idea. I am still drafting. But also, revising. I know. That’s against the rules. Well, toss the rules. I’m filling in holes, and how do I know where the holes are unless I read through? I have a beginning, a middle, and an end. So these days I’m thickening it all up. And maybe changing the middle. And the end. And surely the beginning.

And as I go through and string together all the shiny beads, I can add things here and there. And I can take some things out, but I know me well enough to bet that I probably won’t, not on this pass. And I can add a few more things. And I can thicken up floppy characters. And I can let my characters eat if they want to. I can always take out half the eating scenes later. And I can baby step to the first full draft.

And I can live without excuses.

—

[1] Oh, come on.

[2] This is what we call an “ideal” and thank you very much, but I don’t actually need to be reminded that I don’t, in fact, write 1000 words every day. I already know that. I also know exactly how many pounds I need to lose and all my major character flaws. Thank you for playing.

[3] Do you have that song from The Italian Job in your head now? I do.

Guys, I had the best day yesterday. I was invited to be a guest at a teen writers’ camp/workshop. The goal for the kids, by the end of the week, is to be prepared to submit to a magazine that specializes in kid/teen writing. Isn’t that awesome? It was at the University of Utah — one of the three loveliest campus-places in all of this pretty, great state[1]. I had all manner of writerly-ness planned to talk about, but when I asked them what they wanted, hey — they wanted to share story ideas. They wanted to bring out actual work and have me look at it. On a projector screen. In front of each other.

I know.

So brave.

So I talked about writing business for a few minutes, and then we talked about story ideas. In order to get to the meat of their stories without spending hours hearing details, I asked them to tell me two things: What does your character want, and what is stopping him from getting it? They had good answers. Then we read. I put away my inner proofreader, and allowed my editor free reign. If you don’t know the difference, um, it’s a valuable one to learn, if you’re into reading or writing or grocery shopping or flower gardening. [2]

We looked at 3 story beginnings. Total creativity. Awesome ideas these people have, I tell you what. And we busted out the classroom discussion, and hey — the ideas flew. They gave each other great possible solutions for sticky parts, excellent validations, and plenty of reinforcements.

It was a hotbed of writing genesis, I say. A hotbed.

(I don’t actually know what that means. As if you thought I might.)

But it was excellent fun, and I am so glad I got to be there, to visit with Miss Carrie and her kids and her class (some overlap there), and to read many excellent words.

Thanks, guys! Keep writing!

—

[1] Remember that ad campaign? Utah, a Pretty, Great State? Um?

[2] Just kidding. Here it is, nutshell version: Proofreading is clean-up, like grammar, spelling, punctuation, consistency. Editing is global sense-making and interest-holding. See? Not gardening or grocery shopping. Mostly.