Yes. We've made it. It's Day 4 at New England College, and I am still living, if a little worn down from many mishaps. In the past few days, I have misread my class schedule (leading me to accidentally skip a class), driven back home for an appointment with my therapist (right in between two classes, and you know I was panicking about being late the entire time), been locked out of my room (when really I just don't know how to work the lock yet), met at least 20 new people who all expect me to remember their names (do you know how many girls are named Kate in this world?!), and have left my car window open for 16 hours of rain (and it takes 15 minutes to walk to the parking lot from my dorm. In the mud. Uphill).

So. Yes. I've made it. But I'm hoping for some sense of equilibrium soon.

On the writing front...there is not much to say. I have this idea for a story. And I'm not sure where I want to begin it. So my brain's solution to this is to just...not write. It occurs to me on a minute-ly basis. "I could start writing that book." But nope. I tell myself the idea is too similar to my other book. It's been done. I'm not good enough to pull something like that off.

When, really...who cares? Just write the damn thing.

You know, what am I talking to you guys for? I mean, you're nice. Very nice. Look at all of you! Shining examples of humanity.

Okay, I'm procrastinating. But I'm complimenting you in the process, so it's okay, right?

I'm gonna try to write now. I'll report my progress later.

...Here I go. Gonna write my next book.

We'll see.

So I'm going to cease the writing discussion that has ruled this blog for many centuries (or, you know, months) and talk about my real life. If you do not care about my real life, you can stop reading now. But I promise I'll insert as many witty comments as possible.

Today I moved in to my new dorm at my new college. And it was while unpacking (and not before) that I realized I knew no one on campus. Uhh. Wow.

I say "wow" for two reasons. First: I didn't realize I would be completely alone until unpacking. Which is sad in itself. I guess I was just trying to block out thoughts of the scary future. Second: HOLY CRAP I HAVE NO FRIENDS.

I, Jamie, will have to make it on my own, and coerce these random people into finding me agreeable enough to hang out with all on my own. Yeah. I know. Daunting and sad. Mostly because I'd rather curl up in my room and write than venture out into the real world and talk to people. And because my humor shrivels to nothing in the actual company of other people because they frighten me so much. People are FRIGHTENING. Have you noticed this? I have. They all have their own judgments and opinions floating around in their heads, just waiting to pounce on your every tiny flaw and misstep. And most of them don't even like historical fiction. Or at least not the college aged ones that I'm going to have to approach.

Scary, freaky stuff.

I will persevere, though. It will be okay. I can make friends in classes. But all these people, though they have been kind so far, are very intimidating with their inside jokes and their...talking. I wish I could just imprint my personality on peoples' minds so I could know up front whether or not they'd like to be my friend and we could skip the whole me-being-nervous-because-you-might-not-like-me thing.

Shh. Jamie. Stop panicking. You can do this. Just charm them with all your...charm. And...charm.

Crap.

My post today, since I have been so tirelessly working on my manuscript and querying lately in preparation for my imminent return to college, concerns publishing. Well, that's a large topic, Jamie - how do you believe you're going to tackle it? Well, I'll tell you.

Publishing is a monster. It's huge. It devours entire people and spits them out as either major successes, minor successes, or failures without the blink of an eye. Daily. But the problem with the big Publishing Monster is that the people who don't willingly involve themselves in its literary ranks know nothing about it. Well, they know it exists. But they believe that it is soft and cuddly and willing to gather just any wide-eyed hopeful into its big, over-reaching arms. And this, my friends, as most or some of you will know, is simply not true.

I have written two novels. Well, two novels and one novel which I believed to be a novella when I wrote it in my poor little sophomore year of high school that actually turned out to round up to about 50,000 words. But, crushed adolescent egos aside, I have written two full-length books. I tell this to people sometimes, when it comes up in conversation, and the reactions I receive differ very little.

"I've written two books."
"Wow. And you're only nineteen?"
"Yup."
"Huh. Have they been published?"
"...No."

And this conversation chips away at my poor little heart each time it happens. These people believe that you can just walk into a publishing house, say "I want to be published," and it will happen. No. There is a strict hierarchy in place, one that takes tireless effort and heartbreak to plunder. You can knock on a publishing house's door all you like. They are likely to politely tell you that this is not the way publishing works before just-as-politely escorting you out the door and laughing as soon as you leave.

I have accomplished something in writing these books and receiving my meager partial queries. In learning all that I have, too. Sometimes this is hard to remember when I'm looking over a particularly shoddy passage in my book and thinking I should give up, or when I tell my parents I've received another partial request and I only get a "What? Oh, that's nice, honey," or when I'm talking to a publishing ignoramus who underestimates my seriousness in becoming published. But I am a sophomore in college, and I have accomplished something. And I will keep accomplishing things until I have had a partial/full request, got THE CALL of representation, edited my work extensively, waited through the grueling submission process, and got THE CALL of my book having been sold. Maybe even a cal about a multiple book deal (but optimism like that is hard to have).

For everyone out there trying to get published, I salute you. If your dream is true and passionate, and you work hard to make yourself the best writer you can be (and you follow submission guidelines), you will be published. You can do it. I can't promise you how well your book will be received, or if the market for your book will pay off, but once you've done all the work you can, it's out of your hands. I have faith in you.

Let's go battle the monster together.

I mean, wow wow wow! Welcome, new followers, one and all. And may I say, I don't know you, but I love you. Already. I can just feel how wonderful and kind you all are. And you all like to read what I have to say for some skewed reason or another, and that also makes me love you. Congratulations!

I think I should write about queries more often. Just saying.

So, today, I started writing my new novel. And here's a little bit of advice for starting a new novel: don't go weeks without writing before doing it. I know, I know, it's naughty not to write for so many days at once. But I did it. I was editing, I was Christmasing, I was...playing Sims. Okay, I was putting it off. I didn't want Ingenue to be done. But it is now done, and in spite of the last few polishing touches, I have to move on with my life. Ingenue, my baby, my whole life for seven months, is dead. I've got to start dating new babies. I mean. Er, novels. Creepy. I probably shouldn't write that...but you will probably laugh at it. Please laugh at it. I don't date babies.

MY POINT: It is extremely hard to start writing again after having taken such a long writing vacation. Inertia and all that, you know. Every sentence, since my brain is still in editing mode, was something for my brain to nit-pick. Was that the right word? No. I should stop and think about the right word. What could express that idea better? And, in writing, true writing, you just can't do that. Well, you can, but your book would seem pretty stilted. Words don't flow if every one of them has been second guessed. Sometimes, the creative monster in your head is right. Just let it out. Let it express itself on paper without curtailing anything it has to say. It could be the best stuff since Gaiman, or it could be utter poo. But either way, you'll have let your Muse play itself out, and that, my friends, is better than a slow, bumpy ride. Mixed metaphors and mediocre attention span aside, I hold that the lesson stands firm.

Write always. Write stuff you hate. You can always transform it into stuff you love later.

That is all the wisdom this 19 year old has to offer tonight, followers new and old. I hope everyone's day has been a wonderful one!

Okay, so I figured that if anyone was reading this blog and wanted insight into how I'm getting along with my current query letter (be quiet, you know you're at the edge of your seat), I'd help them on out with that. 


My problem is with my synopsis, not any of the other parts, so I'll only be posting that here. I'm having difficulty conveying the themes of my book while still inciting any anticipation or excitement about the plot. Blah. Well, here are my drafts. Enjoy.

Draft the First:

For a girl who has used her behavior to escape all her life, her immediate goal is to get out of the marriage by any means. That is, until she meets her new stepson, Gregory, ten years her senior and devoted to keeping her safe from the duke’s violent tendencies. His sad life and meek nature draw her to remain in the debilitating marriage, despite Leonard’s concern for both her safety and her loyalty to him.

And there's where I gave up. I don't know. Some of the wordings are weird, and it's just...again, there's no real excitement. It sounds like an encyclopedia entry. "This happened, then this happened. Aren't you excited. Please buy my book, plzkthx."

Draft the Third:

Everyone in London society is in love with Victoria Calwell. Some love her just because they need someone to ridicule, and some love her because they enjoy watching her brazen and often intoxicated antics at parties. But men love her, in their different ways, for different reasons. Her best friend Leonard admires her tenacity and empathy. The Duke of Winchester finds her impudence a challenge, as if she were a horse to tame. And his son, Gregory, finds that she is the only person he can talk to without fidgeting or stuttering.

Each man wants to possess her in his own way. The Duke, of course, wins her hand in marriage through social connivance with her father. But marriage contracts are not everything, especially to a woman whose conscience in regards to public opinion is nonexistent. 

And this is my current draft. I'm unsure about this one, only because everything is happening to Victoria, and she doesn't seem like the awesome go-getter she is. I don't know. Maybe I'll tweak it and make it work somehow.

If anyone has any thoughts on how I could make any of these more awesome, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you.

EDIT: No matter how many times I try, I can't get the whacka-doo spacing and coloring from Word to look pretty and neat like I want it to, so please dismiss any formatting errors. 

I was on Twitter today. I know, right? Shocking. And I was reading through all the little tweets about everyone's lives and I stumbled across a link. A literary agent (I'm not sure what liabilities or accusations would arise if I named this agent, so I'll refrain) posted this.

If you're too lazy to read it (trust me, I wouldn't blame you) it's a Very Important Person telling all the young adults of the world to not enter into graduate school for the humanities (art, literature, history...anything basically useless) because it'll be a waste of time. The link, to me, was a challenge. "What?" said I. "I am planning on doing just that, Mr. Man, and I challenge you to dissuade me from my definite impasse of a goal in life."

The problem was (and is) that he met the challenge. He met it very well. He put the fear of Ph.D's and MFA's into my sad little head. But there was one thing that, in this Very Important Person's wisdom, he did not do. He did not tell me what the hell to do instead.

"Oh, by the way, that dream you had of becoming a professor and maybe still having time to write? Not gonna happen."
"Yes, but...what else can I do?"
"Oh, I don't know. Begging and prostitution are always good options. You just can't do what you want to."

Thank you, Mr. Man. For crushing my dreams. In case my lofty, implausible goal of becoming a best-selling novelist (ahem) doesn't work out, I'll consider your words.

*mutters and contemplates the dim, lonely future*

Since this blog is supposed to be about writing and not me whining about how I can't write (ahem, self), I figured I'd give you a few short tips of things I've learned in my short but eventful career as a not-yet-published author.

What authority do I have to give anyone advice? That's another story entirely. But I have a whole lifetime to prove to you my success. So I might as well start acting like I'm famous now, right?....Right?

Shut up, you.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED:

1. Let the words of dialogue speak for themselves. Adverbs and descriptions of dialogue only hamper the rhythm of speech in most cases and distract from the scene. If you really feel that something isn't coming across, add to it, but only in special cases. Otherwise, you'll look like an amateur, and amateurs are generally frowned upon. In general. Not specifically, maybe, but in general. Yes.

2. Write for yourself; that is the only way your passion will shine through in your writing. As Kurt Vonnegut said, "Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia." And you want your story nice and healthy, using no tissues and keeping away from the Literary Hospital. Yes, it exists. Trust me, my poor stories have had to visit a number of times.

3. Character, in my opinion, is the most important thing. Not how pretty the things the character is looking at are, not the Big Event that changes the character's life. If the reader doesn't like the character, she'll have no one to route for, and if she really doesn't like them, she won't want to stick around unless there's a chance the character will be dead soon. So make your characters likable. How do you do that? Well, what do you like in a person? Make them be that. Smush characteristics and flaws together to make a quirky, fun character who forgets to water her plants, or a lovable meiser who salsa dances on the weekends. Characters = love. You visit a place again and again for the people in it, not the view or the stuff you do. Or, at least, I do. I might just be a freak, though.

Those are three quick tips to consider in writing. A quick disclaimer, though: those are my opinions, garnered from my experience. Some writers may disagree and scream at me and make effigies in my name because of how wrong they think I am (that was a joke, by the way - I've found writers, on the whole, to be a quite affable bunch). Take the advice given with a grain of salt, because I might not be right.