Bloomsbury has decided to make a few last minute changes to my debut novel. They will be changing the title from Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs to simply Avery McShane. I'm fine with it. The book is the first of a series, so it makes sense. The other change is that they are having their illustrators come up with a new cover. Their marketing team tested the waters and decided that the original cover art was 'too young'. I totally agree with them. I've already seen the drafts of the new cover and I really like where they're going with it. The sense of danger, mystery and adventure will come across better than before.
This all means that the release date has been pushed back a few months to March 1st. I think the changes will be worth the wait.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
More Good News
By now you know that I have a book coming out on March 1st called Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs. I've also already completed two sequels to it and they are in the hands of my publisher, Bloomsbury.
You may also recall that I have another manuscript called Paleopeople which is actually the first thing I wrote. It was the one that brought me Sterling Lord, my agent, and he is marketing it. It's a pretty epic story and it's long. I'm guessing 500 plus pages when all is said and done. It's a story within a story, and I just finished re-writing one of the threads so that the book fits more into a Harry Potter sort of genre.
I wrote another manuscript called Achilles Wept, a thriller for older audiences than I usually target. I guess I was a little out of my element, because my agent rejected it outright. I plan to revisit that manuscript and have thoughts of tweaking it to fit a more YA/paranormal audience. For now, it's moth-balled. Can't win 'em all, I guess.
Now for the most recent news, of the positive sort. I submitted a manuscript to my agent called The Pirates of Xingu. It took him over 5 months to review it, which was agonizing. With him it's either rejected or accepted. So when I finally received his notes, I realized that I had gotten over the big hurdle. He would be taking it on, assuming I would work on it some more. No problem there. Book number three is moving down the tracks to publication...fingers crossed.
Finally, since it's been five months since I submitted the Xingu script, I've gotten a few hundred pages into my newest creation. It's called The Thief of Shadows, and it is by far my darkest work to date.
I realize now that I haven't really displayed my writing style to anyone outside my very tight reading circle. I'm going to fix that. I am going to attach the first draft of the first chapter of Thief of Shadows, for your general amusement. I don't think that it gives away the story, or any trade secrets, so I should be good. I should mention that I am not happy about the formatting limitations of this blog. I would love to have been able to double space it for instance. Oh well, here goes.
You may also recall that I have another manuscript called Paleopeople which is actually the first thing I wrote. It was the one that brought me Sterling Lord, my agent, and he is marketing it. It's a pretty epic story and it's long. I'm guessing 500 plus pages when all is said and done. It's a story within a story, and I just finished re-writing one of the threads so that the book fits more into a Harry Potter sort of genre.
I wrote another manuscript called Achilles Wept, a thriller for older audiences than I usually target. I guess I was a little out of my element, because my agent rejected it outright. I plan to revisit that manuscript and have thoughts of tweaking it to fit a more YA/paranormal audience. For now, it's moth-balled. Can't win 'em all, I guess.
Now for the most recent news, of the positive sort. I submitted a manuscript to my agent called The Pirates of Xingu. It took him over 5 months to review it, which was agonizing. With him it's either rejected or accepted. So when I finally received his notes, I realized that I had gotten over the big hurdle. He would be taking it on, assuming I would work on it some more. No problem there. Book number three is moving down the tracks to publication...fingers crossed.
Finally, since it's been five months since I submitted the Xingu script, I've gotten a few hundred pages into my newest creation. It's called The Thief of Shadows, and it is by far my darkest work to date.
I realize now that I haven't really displayed my writing style to anyone outside my very tight reading circle. I'm going to fix that. I am going to attach the first draft of the first chapter of Thief of Shadows, for your general amusement. I don't think that it gives away the story, or any trade secrets, so I should be good. I should mention that I am not happy about the formatting limitations of this blog. I would love to have been able to double space it for instance. Oh well, here goes.
Where the Leaning Buildings Meet
You would not have guessed that it was the middle of the afternoon of a particularly warm, bright and cloudless day - not if you walked the cobblestone walkway beneath the place where the leaning buildings meet. The Rue de Noir is the shortest street in New Orleans, but it was never really a street. It can not be found on a map or a GPS or the internet and, unless you know exactly where it is, you would never find it. In fact, it is scarcely wide enough for a single person to pass through, and certainly not wide enough for the rush hour automobiles passing by the entrance to it on the main street. The red brick walls of the leaning buildings are ancient and crumbling, and in places covered with moss and crawling ivy, but there are no windows or emergency fire escapes or anything else upon them. And if you happened to pass by the entrance to the Rue de Noir you would not guess what it leads to. You would not figure that it leads to a very narrow black door at the end of the passage. And even if you knew of it’s existence, you would never, ever believe what would be found on the other side of that door.
Only one person ever passed through that dark place, which is exactly what Madame Lasalle was doing at the very moment that this story begins. To those who had even noticed her moving slowly along the main street before she disappeared into the Rue de Noir (and there were very few who ever did), she was an old and hunched figure, wrapped in a hooded brown robe that dragged on the ground, hiding her feet from view, giving those few the sense that she moved down the sidewalk without taking steps. It was as if she simply floated, pushed along by a breeze that no one else felt. No one ever followed her, but if they had they would have discovered that she never went into a store, or hailed a taxi, or ever stopped moving slowly along the sidewalks and back alleys of New Orleans. If they had followed her every single day, they would have noticed that, although her path there varied, she always went to the old St. Louis Cemetery - every day, at noon. They would have seen the faceless, hooded robe gliding slowly down every path and past every tomb and grave, never stopping before a single one.
And it was from this daily trip that Madame Lasalle had returned to the Rue de Noir. When she reached the far end of the alley, the black door opened on its own and the orange light from the room beyond illuminated the brick walls for a brief moment before the door closed behind her and the alley returned to shadow.
-----
The swamp that Kieran Renaud had lived in his whole life was not very far away from the place where the leaning buildings meet, but it was an entirely different world. As a crow flies, it is only about an hour (if it does not stop to annoy someone with its irritating caw, which they love to do) and, as it happens, an unusually large crow had just taken that journey. It landed on the barren, moss-covered branch of the dying cypress tree across from the house on stilts, but it did not caw. Instead, it simply stood there without moving, staring with its beady black eyes at the wooden shack that hovered ten feet above the swamp on four very rickety poles.
The crow waited for hours. It saw many things while it waited: water moccasins and alligators patrolling the murky brown waters, river rats scurrying in the weeds along the banks, long-legged herons plucking shiny minnows from the depths and, shortly after the sun set, hundreds of glowing fireflies moving about like so many tiny candles. But the crow had not made the trip to the swamps to see these things. It waited for just one thing and, when the boy wearing only a pair of threadbare shorts opened the screen door and walked out onto the porch of the house, the crow saw what it had come to see. Without so much as a caw, the black bird took flight, heading back to whence it came - to the Rue de Noir.
Kieran did not see the crow fly away. The sun had set and it was already dark and a low fog had begun to gather and hover over the surface of the swamp. The fireflies above the fog gleamed brightly, while the ones within it gave off only glowing hints of their existence. They were the only lights in the warm and damp confines of the cypress forest. The boy stretched his arms above his head and then rubbed the sleepy bugs from his eyes. He had taken a nap, which is what he always did in the heat of the late afternoon, and he was now refreshed and ready to greet his parents when they returned from fishing. He would soon return inside to the kitchen to prepare the roux for the catfish gumbo. It was the same routine each day and he was very comfortable with it.
Kieran Renaud was an only child and, at the time, he was almost thirteen years old. Although he did not know it, he was born of the first day of August, in the same shack he had called home his whole life. He had never been outside the swamp, or even very far away from the place where he now stood, but he did not even know that it was unusual. To him, it was not odd that his long wavy hair was blond and that his parents hair was short and black. He did not wonder how it was that his parents were both very dark-skinned and that his skin was porcelain white - that they had brown eyes and his were emerald green. He really did not know any better.
His parents loved him and he loved them, and that was all that mattered. Kieran did not want for food or for friendship. For that he had his parents and he had the companionship of the swamp animals which suited him fine. He was a happy child.
Kieran walked back into the dark shack. He fumbled around on the table for the matches and soon had the Coleman lantern that hung from the rafters glowing in a warm yellow light that illuminated the single room of his home. It was a large room with a round wooden table and three chairs in the middle of it. Three hemp hammocks hung on one side of the open space, where the family slept. On the opposite side of the room was an unusually large iron pot-bellied stove with a sooty black pipe extending from it and up through the ceiling. Kieran crossed the room, opened the grated door to the inside of the stove and lit the twigs and branches he had gathered that morning for the fire he would need to make the roux. He was quite proud to accomplish the procedure with a single match. He shut the iron door and the orange and red color of the flames flickered through the grates. The heavy cast iron pot was already on top of the stove, and the alligator fat was already starting to melt, when he felt the shudder of a strong gust of wind hitting the shack. When it ended a moment later, Kieran shrugged his shoulders and resumed his task.
The youngster was excited. He knew that some time that very night, while it was still dark out, he would turn thirteen. His parents had told him this before they left to check the catfish lines. Kieran never knew exactly when the day would come, just that it had before and would again. There were no calendars in the shack and he did not really grasp the meaning of measuring time (beyond the understanding that a day comes and goes, and another will follow). He did not know about years, months, weeks, days, or even minutes and hours. His parents never used the words. In fact, there was nothing in the room with writing upon it - no books or note pads or pencils or pens or sheets of paper, and he had never even heard of them. No electrical cables reached out from the nearest town to power a television or radio or computer, and Kieran did not know that these things existed, or that a town was nearby with other people living in it. To him, the world was where he was and had been.
If Kieran had had some of those everyday things he would have learned of the hurricane and he would have worried about his parents. He would have fretted about the shack on its jittery stilts and the safety of the wildlife, and he would have questioned his own safety. Still, when the second blast of wind hit the shack - when the whole structure began to sway back-and-forth from the invisible impact - he did begin to take notice. He was not frightened (not yet), but he was curious. He walked to the porch and when he arrived there, another gust greeted him with such force that he was compelled to latch onto the wooden handrail to remain on his feet. He felt the first drop of rain on his bare chest and the second one on his bare foot and, only a few moments later, a wall of racing wind and rain passed over him. The first cooling rain drops had suddenly turned into a stinging assault on Kieran’s body and his skin goose-bumped from the coldness and pain of it. The tin roof of the porch burst into a raucous beating sound. The rain no longer fell straight down from the sky. Instead, it rode the now howling wind and it entered, uninvited, into the shack through the slamming screen door and through the open windows.
Kieran scrambled back inside, cowering behind the wood plank wall. He felt the cold wet fingers of Mother Nature reaching through the cracks in the planks. He watched as the tethered hammocks danced and swirled crazily, and he saw the flames of the stove reach out through the grates of the oven door and through the cracks of the swaying stove pipe. He heard the screeching and tearing sound of the porch roof as it ripped away from its tenuous moorings. And by this time he was truly frightened.
He had never before felt this kind of fear. He knew that a snake could give him a venomous bite and that an alligator could take someone under the water. He did not fear so much as respect these things because he knew of them, but he was fearful of the hurricane - he had never experienced such a thing. There was nothing more frightening to him than the thought that his world might change or, worse, be destroyed - and he knew that this was what was happening. He did not know why, just that it was and that he could do nothing to stop it. For the first time in his short life, he began to cry. And it was through these tears that he witnessed the destructive force of the hurricane that was to take everything he knew and loved away from him forever.
He saw the flames of the stove reach out to the drapes. He watched in fascinated horror as the the wind pushed the flames up the ceiling, as the heat ignited the dry weather-beaten wooden walls opposite him. The angry fire rapidly worked its way from the kitchen to the other side of the room, igniting the hammocks into funeral pyres without bodies. Black smoke churned inside the burning shack and, in an instant, filled the room in a thick, choking cloud. Kieran could not breath, but he did not leave his place behind the wall near the doorway, so fearful was he of the tumult outside his home. And just before the comforting embrace of unconsciousness overcame him, he heard the splintering sound of the old cypress tree crashing through the shack. The fire was soon extinguished by the rain, but he did not see it happen.
Kieran remained unconscious for many hours after the cataclysm that destroyed his world. He never knew that the only part of the shack remaining after the hurricane, was the single wooden stilt that held up the tiny bit of floor upon which he lay. The entire shack, save that single post, was gone. It was as if God himself had intervened to ensure his safety, cupping his protective hands around him. Not a single one of the cypress trees near the shack had survived the wrath of the event. And later, although the crow led them there, his rescuers did not actually need the bird’s guidance, for the post was the only thing in that part of the swamp that had remained standing. They found him and they took Kieran Renaud away from the only world he had known.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
The Pirates of Xingu
My newest project, just completed. Let me know what you think.
Set in the late 1800‘s - a century and a half after Blackbeard’s time - The Pirates of Xingu tells the story of two teenage brothers and their quest to rescue their sister from the clutches of a Brazilian pirate.
Their parents, Raymond and Maria de Souza Levalle, were murdered on the tiny atoll of Cayo Perdido by Osvaldo Dos Santos and the crew of the Corcovado. For eighteen long years the man, who Maria had left at the altar in favor of Raymond, had doggedly pursued the couple, single-minded in his vengeful purpose. The Levalles settled on Cayo Perdido and, secure in their isolation, fashioned a paradise for themselves and their children. It wouldn’t last long: in the summer of 1876, the pirate found them. Charles and William discovered the bodies of their parents as the Corcovado sailed away from the island. Through tears of grief they watched the ship disappear over the horizon. On board that terrible ship went the oldest of the Levalle children - their sister Gabriela.
The boys survived, living alone on Cayo Perdido for six years, and on the very day of the sixth anniversary of the attack they received a letter from Brazil and with it the news that the Corcovado had been spotted at the mouth of the Amazon River. It is on that day this story begins.
The Pirates of Xingu chronicles their dangerous journey aboard the Oro Perdido to the Amazon basin and into the realm of the mysterious Xingu Indians. Along the way they encounter Captain O’Malley, Pierre, Old Four Fingers and Chang, a disgraced Shaolin monk. Former members of the Corcovado’s crew, they too are searching for Dos Santos for reasons of their own. The race is on.
With the help of Ronaldo Gomes, a young Brazilian from Belem, the brothers finally find and rescue Gabriela - but their task is far from over. Not only is Dos Santo after them, but he is now accompanied by O’Malley, whose motivations remain unclear. The crew of the Oro Perdido return to Cayo Perdido with only days to prepare for the pirate’s arrival.
Will Dos Santos and his crew finally finish what they started? Will he finally force Gabriela - the daughter of the woman who spurned him those many years ago - to marry him? Will he complete his revenge by murdering her brothers? And what of O’Malley? Why has he joined forces with the man who marooned him in Trinidad?
54,000 words; 240 pages
An Adventure for Young Readers
Set in the late 1800‘s - a century and a half after Blackbeard’s time - The Pirates of Xingu tells the story of two teenage brothers and their quest to rescue their sister from the clutches of a Brazilian pirate.
Their parents, Raymond and Maria de Souza Levalle, were murdered on the tiny atoll of Cayo Perdido by Osvaldo Dos Santos and the crew of the Corcovado. For eighteen long years the man, who Maria had left at the altar in favor of Raymond, had doggedly pursued the couple, single-minded in his vengeful purpose. The Levalles settled on Cayo Perdido and, secure in their isolation, fashioned a paradise for themselves and their children. It wouldn’t last long: in the summer of 1876, the pirate found them. Charles and William discovered the bodies of their parents as the Corcovado sailed away from the island. Through tears of grief they watched the ship disappear over the horizon. On board that terrible ship went the oldest of the Levalle children - their sister Gabriela.
The boys survived, living alone on Cayo Perdido for six years, and on the very day of the sixth anniversary of the attack they received a letter from Brazil and with it the news that the Corcovado had been spotted at the mouth of the Amazon River. It is on that day this story begins.
The Pirates of Xingu chronicles their dangerous journey aboard the Oro Perdido to the Amazon basin and into the realm of the mysterious Xingu Indians. Along the way they encounter Captain O’Malley, Pierre, Old Four Fingers and Chang, a disgraced Shaolin monk. Former members of the Corcovado’s crew, they too are searching for Dos Santos for reasons of their own. The race is on.
With the help of Ronaldo Gomes, a young Brazilian from Belem, the brothers finally find and rescue Gabriela - but their task is far from over. Not only is Dos Santo after them, but he is now accompanied by O’Malley, whose motivations remain unclear. The crew of the Oro Perdido return to Cayo Perdido with only days to prepare for the pirate’s arrival.
Will Dos Santos and his crew finally finish what they started? Will he finally force Gabriela - the daughter of the woman who spurned him those many years ago - to marry him? Will he complete his revenge by murdering her brothers? And what of O’Malley? Why has he joined forces with the man who marooned him in Trinidad?
54,000 words; 240 pages
An Adventure for Young Readers
Delay of Game
My publisher - the referees in these matters - have called a penalty on me, and the penalty is a two month delay for Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs. I could challenge the call, but the ref's are right. They've determined that the cover for the book is 'too young', and I can't argue with them on that assessment. It is. I knew it when I first saw it, but I figured they knew what they were doing at the time so I rolled with it. They tested the cover with retailers, and the result was the penalty call. It's a harsh one, but it's better to get it right from the get-go. Right?
I think were going to eventually end up with something a little more sinister - probably featuring Loca, the demon dog, who plays a big part in the story. Of course, it'll be set in the jungle where everything happens. I'm guessing that it'll be a darker and scarier scene than the last one. It's an adventure story, but what's an adventure without danger and mystery. I can't wait to see the new version, and I will...after I sit out my two month penalty.
I think were going to eventually end up with something a little more sinister - probably featuring Loca, the demon dog, who plays a big part in the story. Of course, it'll be set in the jungle where everything happens. I'm guessing that it'll be a darker and scarier scene than the last one. It's an adventure story, but what's an adventure without danger and mystery. I can't wait to see the new version, and I will...after I sit out my two month penalty.
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Advantage of a Publishing House
This will be quick.
A lot of folks are self-publishing these days. I'm sure there are some good products out there, but I'm guessing that the majority are being self-published because they should be. As you know by now, 'Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs' was picked up by Bloomsbury and will be published in early January.
Now these folks have been great! I mean it...amazing even. My editor - the one who did the same thing for the Harry Potter books - is fantastic. Her support staff of copy editors and illustrators and the marketing team have been wonderful. Apart from the 18 month wait to get the book published, it's been a cool ride.
Aside from all of the quality they've injected into the project, there is one thing they do that someone self-publishing will have a hard time replicating (at least, at this point). They have my book out there - all over the world - and we're not even done with it. The final proof edit doesn't even get to me until next week. The maps haven't been completed, but they will follow up pretty soon. When it's all done, they'll be sending it off to Waterstones to see if it can earn a shortlisting and, fingers-crossed, maybe win their prestigious prize.
By 'out there', I mean way out there. Google the title of the book. It will show up on each of the first 16 pages of selections. It is being marketed in: USA, UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, France, Japan, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Belgium, Czech Rep., Poland, Norway, Holland and Turkey. Those are the ones I could figure out. Of course, Amazon.com has a lot to do with that...but still....
And here's the irony. Not one of the countries on the list are in Latin America. The story takes place in Venezuela. What the...?
I'm sure the Spanish-speaking countries will start popping up soon. They'd better.
A lot of folks are self-publishing these days. I'm sure there are some good products out there, but I'm guessing that the majority are being self-published because they should be. As you know by now, 'Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs' was picked up by Bloomsbury and will be published in early January.
Now these folks have been great! I mean it...amazing even. My editor - the one who did the same thing for the Harry Potter books - is fantastic. Her support staff of copy editors and illustrators and the marketing team have been wonderful. Apart from the 18 month wait to get the book published, it's been a cool ride.
Aside from all of the quality they've injected into the project, there is one thing they do that someone self-publishing will have a hard time replicating (at least, at this point). They have my book out there - all over the world - and we're not even done with it. The final proof edit doesn't even get to me until next week. The maps haven't been completed, but they will follow up pretty soon. When it's all done, they'll be sending it off to Waterstones to see if it can earn a shortlisting and, fingers-crossed, maybe win their prestigious prize.
By 'out there', I mean way out there. Google the title of the book. It will show up on each of the first 16 pages of selections. It is being marketed in: USA, UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, France, Japan, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Belgium, Czech Rep., Poland, Norway, Holland and Turkey. Those are the ones I could figure out. Of course, Amazon.com has a lot to do with that...but still....
And here's the irony. Not one of the countries on the list are in Latin America. The story takes place in Venezuela. What the...?
I'm sure the Spanish-speaking countries will start popping up soon. They'd better.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
A Legend
I was surfing the web and came across a brief bio about my agent, Sterling Lord. I've copied it below. He is attending the Paris Writer's Retreat as a featured guest and speaker. Check it out. I think you'll see why he is considered a legend in literary circles. I still haven't figured out why he picked me out to be one of clients...but I'm not complaining.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
My First Uncorrected Proof
Snail mail delivered something I was not expecting, but am very happy to have received - an honest-to-goodness paperback novel with my name on it. It is the uncorrected proof. It's a real book. I can pick it up and feel it. It does not have the same cover art it will in the final version. Instead, it has some of the elements of the future cover, like Avery McShane on his bike and jungle foliage. On the back it has some text I had not seen before. It gives me an idea where the publishers want to go with the marketing of the book:
- An action-packed, funny and fast-paced adventure story from an exciting new author
- A remarkable insight into jungle life that will have readers on the edge of their seats
- This brilliant blend of adventure and mystery will appeal to fans of Time Riders, Artemis Fowl and Percy Jackson
Aww, shucks.
- An action-packed, funny and fast-paced adventure story from an exciting new author
- A remarkable insight into jungle life that will have readers on the edge of their seats
- This brilliant blend of adventure and mystery will appeal to fans of Time Riders, Artemis Fowl and Percy Jackson
Aww, shucks.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Change of Theme: Music I listen to while writing
I've been posting so far about my development as a writer. I hope you've enjoyed the ride and - for you new writers - the lessons I've learned. I'll keep on with the overall theme over time, but I thought I'd jump away every now and then to let you inside my head a little more. I listen to jazz music via Pandora while I write. The music is on from the moment I arrive at the office until I leave for home. Here are my favorites, the ones that seeded my personal jazz station.
John Coltrane was, in my opinion, the most talented jazz saxophonist ever. He had a tendency to experiment with his music - a little too much for most people - but I absolutely love his musics's style, range and grace.
Few people will disagree with my assessment of Miles Davis as the best jazz trumpeter ever. Just YouTube him and play his most popular songs and you'll hear why.
Thelonius Monk was unique - a jazz pianist without peer.
My Music Genome is based on the talents of these three men.
John Coltrane was, in my opinion, the most talented jazz saxophonist ever. He had a tendency to experiment with his music - a little too much for most people - but I absolutely love his musics's style, range and grace.
Few people will disagree with my assessment of Miles Davis as the best jazz trumpeter ever. Just YouTube him and play his most popular songs and you'll hear why.
Thelonius Monk was unique - a jazz pianist without peer.
My Music Genome is based on the talents of these three men.
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Proof
I received the proof pages yesterday from Bloomsbury. It is the first time I've seen Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs in the format that will be published. It is cool - 210 pages of cool. The pages numbers have little spurs next to them. The chapter headers are great. The only thing that the proof doesn't have is the cover art, which I've already received separately. I think the art is posted on this blog, but you can also find it posted on my website (www.gleighlyons.com), on Avery's blog (www.averymcshane.blogspot.com) and on the new Avery McShane Fan Page on Facebook. I hope you'll join the Fan Page.
The proof page for the map of Campo Mata is still blank, but my editor says that I'll be seeing it soon. I will be sure to post that when it comes out, too. This whole process has been a blast, and one helluva learning curve. When The Pirates of Xingu and Paleopeople find homes, and the same process starts for them, I'll be ready for it.
Bottom-line is that with each passing day I've been feeling more and more like real author. Now I have proof.
The proof page for the map of Campo Mata is still blank, but my editor says that I'll be seeing it soon. I will be sure to post that when it comes out, too. This whole process has been a blast, and one helluva learning curve. When The Pirates of Xingu and Paleopeople find homes, and the same process starts for them, I'll be ready for it.
Bottom-line is that with each passing day I've been feeling more and more like real author. Now I have proof.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Snapping Out of It
Okay, I admit it. I was pretty down when I wrote my last post. That was about three months ago. I was tired of waiting to hear back from my agent about his progress marketing the 'epic' I completed in November. These things take time. The good news is that the rejection letters I've seen so far have been quite complimentary. The editors like the book, but they are having a hard time placing it into a specific genre. This is a problem with the modern day book business. Genres have been compartmentalized so much more now. I expect that in the future we'll have genres like 'Fantasy for Twenty-One year olds, not Twenty-Two, nor shall the age be Twenty, Twenty-Three is far too many...' You get the picture.
I'm coming out of the funk. Two things have happened to help extricate me. First, I have been working with Bloomsbury's copyeditors on Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs. It's looking good. I have also seen the first drafts of the cover art, and we are starting to work on the map of Campo Mata. My editor also informed me that the book will be put up for Waterstone's Children's Book Prize - so that's nice. Because of the prize rules, they have moved the publishing date to January 6, 2012 - also nice.
Second - bouyed by the Bloomsbury activity - I completed my sixth complete manuscript: The Pirates of Xingu. I am very happy with the story, the characters, the whole enchilada really. We'll see what my agent thinks of it. I sent it to him this week. It's another adventure story, set in the late 1800's. More on that later.
So, I'm snapping out of it - and it's about time.
I'm coming out of the funk. Two things have happened to help extricate me. First, I have been working with Bloomsbury's copyeditors on Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs. It's looking good. I have also seen the first drafts of the cover art, and we are starting to work on the map of Campo Mata. My editor also informed me that the book will be put up for Waterstone's Children's Book Prize - so that's nice. Because of the prize rules, they have moved the publishing date to January 6, 2012 - also nice.
Second - bouyed by the Bloomsbury activity - I completed my sixth complete manuscript: The Pirates of Xingu. I am very happy with the story, the characters, the whole enchilada really. We'll see what my agent thinks of it. I sent it to him this week. It's another adventure story, set in the late 1800's. More on that later.
So, I'm snapping out of it - and it's about time.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Reality Check
I need to get a real job. That was the upshot of meeting with my agent in New York City.
I've done really well as a writer. I am way ahead of the curve. I have a legendary agent, sold my first book to Bloomsbury, and I've completed lots of other manuscripts. I did all of this faster than most, but I still need to get a real job.
The reality is that my first book will not be published until next February and my next books won't be published until well after that. The big money - if it's to be had - won't come for a while.
I don't want to leave my office by the marina, but it looks like I will. I don't want to change the writing routine, but it looks like it's going to happen. I can do it. I just don't want to.
So, I'm working on the resume. I will figure out a way to spin the last couple of years. I will call it "The Sabbatical", which it was. Kind of like the time I took off from college to play pro soccer. I had to get it out of my system - prove to myself that I could do it. Well, I did.
I won't stop writing. I'll just have to do it in my spare time, which is how most do it.
The upside to all of this is that the job will likely take me back overseas - hopefully to Latin America. I will again experience the life and adventures I love, and I will replenish the fodder for new stories and books. The downside is that I will leave the office by the marina and upset the family apple cart...again.
It's been good. It'll be good again.
I've done really well as a writer. I am way ahead of the curve. I have a legendary agent, sold my first book to Bloomsbury, and I've completed lots of other manuscripts. I did all of this faster than most, but I still need to get a real job.
The reality is that my first book will not be published until next February and my next books won't be published until well after that. The big money - if it's to be had - won't come for a while.
I don't want to leave my office by the marina, but it looks like I will. I don't want to change the writing routine, but it looks like it's going to happen. I can do it. I just don't want to.
So, I'm working on the resume. I will figure out a way to spin the last couple of years. I will call it "The Sabbatical", which it was. Kind of like the time I took off from college to play pro soccer. I had to get it out of my system - prove to myself that I could do it. Well, I did.
I won't stop writing. I'll just have to do it in my spare time, which is how most do it.
The upside to all of this is that the job will likely take me back overseas - hopefully to Latin America. I will again experience the life and adventures I love, and I will replenish the fodder for new stories and books. The downside is that I will leave the office by the marina and upset the family apple cart...again.
It's been good. It'll be good again.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Pace and Action
Those are two of the words my editor at Bloomsbury used the other day in her assessment of Avery McShane and the Silver Spurs, which we are in the final stages of editing. The next step is the more detailed editing and proofreading. That's where they look at and fix everything: the grammar, syntax, crossing each t and dotting each i.
Here are some snippets from that same email:
"...think it reads very well. I do think you have such a good, natural voice that boys will lap up!"
"...I do think it is reading so fluently and with such pace and action! Really (literally!) barnstorming."
Barnstorming because the protagonist actually blows up a barn.
I trust her opinion. I have started to come out of my shell a bit more lately - attending book readings and writers groups - and she's right. There are not a whole lot of easy read books for middle readers of the male persuasion. There is a noticeable gap between the more involved novels (such as the Harry Potter series) and the very simple reads (such as comic books). There are some out there, like Holes, but not many.
I can't wait to find out how the book (and the series) resonates with boys and, hopefully, with girls and other age groups too. It's pretty exciting.
She also said that I'll be seeing some cover art in the next month or so. I can't wait.
But I have no choice.
Here are some snippets from that same email:
"...think it reads very well. I do think you have such a good, natural voice that boys will lap up!"
"...I do think it is reading so fluently and with such pace and action! Really (literally!) barnstorming."
Barnstorming because the protagonist actually blows up a barn.
I trust her opinion. I have started to come out of my shell a bit more lately - attending book readings and writers groups - and she's right. There are not a whole lot of easy read books for middle readers of the male persuasion. There is a noticeable gap between the more involved novels (such as the Harry Potter series) and the very simple reads (such as comic books). There are some out there, like Holes, but not many.
I can't wait to find out how the book (and the series) resonates with boys and, hopefully, with girls and other age groups too. It's pretty exciting.
She also said that I'll be seeing some cover art in the next month or so. I can't wait.
But I have no choice.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Vacuum and the Sparing of Expectations
I want to know everything about what is going on with my agent's efforts to find a publisher for my latest manuscript - the big one - the one I took two years to complete. It's only natural to want to know the potential and the realities: how long it will take to get it under contract, how much money I can expect for the advance, who he's talking to, what they think. But I don't get to know these things, and I know why. My agent has been in the business for a long time - more than half a century, in fact. He's got it down. He knows what he's doing, and what he's not going to do. He's not going to set bars of expectation. From a business perspective, it makes perfect sense. From my personal perspective it is sheer agony. The vacuum of information is killing me.
This is how it goes and how it is. I am paralyzed by this lack of information. I can't write with all this doubt - not much anyway. What I do manage to write is pure garbage. It is distracted nonsense, gibberish. Kind of like this post.
Still, it is a lesson-learned for me, and should be as well for the new writers following this blog. Don't expect to know what's going on. I'm sure each agent is different, but I'm guessing that the more experienced ones pretty much follow the same mantra. Don't set bars of expectation because chances are your client will be disappointed with the ultimate results.
So I'm going to have to put up with the vacuum and live with my own expectations and get back to the gibberish. I can always edit it later.
This is how it goes and how it is. I am paralyzed by this lack of information. I can't write with all this doubt - not much anyway. What I do manage to write is pure garbage. It is distracted nonsense, gibberish. Kind of like this post.
Still, it is a lesson-learned for me, and should be as well for the new writers following this blog. Don't expect to know what's going on. I'm sure each agent is different, but I'm guessing that the more experienced ones pretty much follow the same mantra. Don't set bars of expectation because chances are your client will be disappointed with the ultimate results.
So I'm going to have to put up with the vacuum and live with my own expectations and get back to the gibberish. I can always edit it later.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Edits Across the Pond
In my website, I answer a question about how I go about writing. I liken it to oil painting. The idea is the blank canvas. The first blush of words is the primer, also known as gesso. I always try to get that part done as quickly as I can. Basically, like brushing on the gesso, I go for it. I know that it is really important to have that primer on so that there's something to build on - something solid - but it doesn't matter too much how it looks yet. Just get it done and get ready to paint in all the wonderful colors and textures. Once the gesso is on I take the opportunity to type "The End" on the last page of the work. I'm far from finished and in fact, I'm just getting started, but the psychological benefit of typing those words in is huge - especially for my delicate psyche.
Now it's time to do the real work and, in writer's parlance, it's called editing. I spend as much time editing as I do the initial writing, sometimes more. After I've submitted my 'final' script, I wait a while; an eternity it seems. Then guess what? My editor comes back to me with comments and suggestions (also known as ripping the heart and soul out of your work, with special emphasis on passages and characters you hold most dear). And then - you guessed it - I'm back to editing and rewriting. This back and forth will go on until the publisher gets what they want and the finished product looks nothing like the product you had in mind when you first pulled out the canvas.
I just sent my first rewrite (of the Avery McShane script) back across the pond to my publisher in London. We may go back and forth a few more times. After that, the really, really nit-picky grammar editors will get a hold of the script. That ought to be fun.
Now it's time to do the real work and, in writer's parlance, it's called editing. I spend as much time editing as I do the initial writing, sometimes more. After I've submitted my 'final' script, I wait a while; an eternity it seems. Then guess what? My editor comes back to me with comments and suggestions (also known as ripping the heart and soul out of your work, with special emphasis on passages and characters you hold most dear). And then - you guessed it - I'm back to editing and rewriting. This back and forth will go on until the publisher gets what they want and the finished product looks nothing like the product you had in mind when you first pulled out the canvas.
I just sent my first rewrite (of the Avery McShane script) back across the pond to my publisher in London. We may go back and forth a few more times. After that, the really, really nit-picky grammar editors will get a hold of the script. That ought to be fun.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Edits Arrive
Two days ago I learned that the edits to Avery McShane would be "...with you by March 10th." I received them yesterday. That is a new record. I never expected them so soon. I never really expected them by March 10th, to be perfectly honest. Not based on past history.
I scanned the edits and I almost had a heart attack. I've calmed down a bit since. I've got some work to do, and I'm going to get to it. Right now.
I'll let you in on the reasons for my nearly fatal response to the edits after I've gotten into the project a bit deeper.
Nose to the grindstone.
I scanned the edits and I almost had a heart attack. I've calmed down a bit since. I've got some work to do, and I'm going to get to it. Right now.
I'll let you in on the reasons for my nearly fatal response to the edits after I've gotten into the project a bit deeper.
Nose to the grindstone.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Next Stage
I received an email this morning from my editor at Bloomsbury Children's Books. We are now at the next stage in the process of getting my first book published, and it's all new to me, and I'm excited, and I can't wait, and I'm scared, and - I guess - all of the rest of the same things that all of the new writers before me have felt.
I had emailed her yesterday about the timing of everything, so I could plan ahead. She's in London, so I didn't receive her response until this morning. She said that she had just started reading through the Avery McShane manuscript again, and had started her editing, when she received my email. What a coincidence. She will be sending me her edits in the next few weeks which, I am learning the hard way, is not the same 'few weeks' that most people know. In the publishing business, it means that I will receive it probably some time this year. No matter. I'm stoked.
She would like me to respond to her edits by April 11th, so maybe there is hope that the few weeks timeframe will hold up this time.
She is an amazing motivator and she makes me like a real author that's written something special. Some of the snippets from the email include, "...you have done a tremendous job..." and "...very exciting again to be picking up properly with Avery!"
Well, I'm excited too.
I had emailed her yesterday about the timing of everything, so I could plan ahead. She's in London, so I didn't receive her response until this morning. She said that she had just started reading through the Avery McShane manuscript again, and had started her editing, when she received my email. What a coincidence. She will be sending me her edits in the next few weeks which, I am learning the hard way, is not the same 'few weeks' that most people know. In the publishing business, it means that I will receive it probably some time this year. No matter. I'm stoked.
She would like me to respond to her edits by April 11th, so maybe there is hope that the few weeks timeframe will hold up this time.
She is an amazing motivator and she makes me like a real author that's written something special. Some of the snippets from the email include, "...you have done a tremendous job..." and "...very exciting again to be picking up properly with Avery!"
Well, I'm excited too.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Check
It's been on my desk for months. In fact, it is still in the same envelope with the Sterling Lord Literistic, Inc. logo emblazoned on the upper left hand corner. It is the check from my first book deal advance. Weird isn't it? I apparently value having it on my desk more than depositing the money into my account at the bank.
I will make the deposit later today. I will miss the comfort of seeing it there. It served a purpose lying there in plain site. It reminded me that I could do it. I could write, and I could do it well enough for Bloomsbury to pay me for it.
I guess I will now have to draw that comfort from the framed letter from Sterling - the one that reads:
"Dear Leigh,
Here is your copy of our representation agreement for your files.
I look forward to working with you for many years to come.
Best,
Sterling"
Or maybe I'll take a peak every now and then at the last line in my first book contract, where they welcome me to "Bloomsbury's List."
It's time to move on, I guess, but I'll miss seeing that check on my desk.
I will make the deposit later today. I will miss the comfort of seeing it there. It served a purpose lying there in plain site. It reminded me that I could do it. I could write, and I could do it well enough for Bloomsbury to pay me for it.
I guess I will now have to draw that comfort from the framed letter from Sterling - the one that reads:
"Dear Leigh,
Here is your copy of our representation agreement for your files.
I look forward to working with you for many years to come.
Best,
Sterling"
Or maybe I'll take a peak every now and then at the last line in my first book contract, where they welcome me to "Bloomsbury's List."
It's time to move on, I guess, but I'll miss seeing that check on my desk.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Excerpt from The Cowboy of Nicaragua
"Smoke was always in the air. It came from the hills and mountains, from the burning of felled jungle trees and underbrush and it came from the smoldering carcasses of campesino homes and from the charred bodies of the campesinos huddled in the corners. It came from the camp fire Chicho fed with the wood of the avocado tree he cut down in the afternoon and from the cigars of the two men gathered around the yellow light of the campfire.
The brown man with the cowboy hat drank from the bottle of beer in one hand and smoked from the cigar in his other. He sat in his wooden chair hunched over the flames without burning his skin and the smoke hesitated under the brim of his hat before rising into the overhanging branches and vines of the tropical canopy. In his eyes the flames danced and his face showed no emotion.
The tall pale man with the short red hair sat across from the cowboy in a wooden chair leaning away from the smoke of the campfire. The metal insignias upon his shoulder flickered with gold light and his face showed little emotion. The cigar never left his thin lips and the ash grew long without falling away to the dirt at his feet. The tobacco smoke rose into the recesses of his blue eyes and he squinted constantly with the sting of it but he did not remove the cigar from his clamped teeth."
Meeting a Legend
I will finally meet my agent in person, in March, in New York City, in Greenwich Village. He is a legend in literary circles. I should know. I have read everything I can about him. Sterling Lord is one of those agents that does not advertise himself, or the agency named after him. He does not need to and, apparently, does not want to, but talk to anyone in the know, and you'll get the picture. I did, and I do.
I am excited, and I am a bit more than a little nervous. Mine is a clear case of "I am not worthy." Still, I am buoyed by the fact that he decided to represent me, so he must see something in my writing. He doesn't need more money, and his list of past and current clients is a Who's Who whose books have sold hundreds of millions of copies, and many of the stories have made it to the big screen.
This legend has taken the time to actually read my work and, incredibly, he has personally helped me edit that work. He is in his nineties, and he has spent precious time working with me. Little ole me.
I have made presentations to shareholders in the boardrooms of big corporations, negotiated hundred million dollar deals and worked on drilling rigs in the middle of guerilla territory in South America - child's play compared to meeting Sterling.
Should be fun.
I am excited, and I am a bit more than a little nervous. Mine is a clear case of "I am not worthy." Still, I am buoyed by the fact that he decided to represent me, so he must see something in my writing. He doesn't need more money, and his list of past and current clients is a Who's Who whose books have sold hundreds of millions of copies, and many of the stories have made it to the big screen.
This legend has taken the time to actually read my work and, incredibly, he has personally helped me edit that work. He is in his nineties, and he has spent precious time working with me. Little ole me.
I have made presentations to shareholders in the boardrooms of big corporations, negotiated hundred million dollar deals and worked on drilling rigs in the middle of guerilla territory in South America - child's play compared to meeting Sterling.
Should be fun.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Value of Encouragement
I received some encouragement from my agent yesterday. Technically, it was from his assistant, Mary. I have learned over time that he speaks through her half of the time, so I'll take it.
Soon after I completed the final draft of the Paleopeople manuscript, my agent sent it out to his closest and most trusted editors. I assume this. That was back in November. I've been on pins and needles since. That manuscript took two years to complete, and my future as a writer hangs in the balance. Yes, I sold my first book (the Avery McShane adventure) to Bloomsbury, but that won't be published until February 2012, and Paleopeople is an epic that could be big.
It is hard to concentrate on writing when you're dedicating so much thought to something other than what you're currently writing. All I have been able to think about is Paleopeople. It consumes me. It paralyzes me. Despite this malady, I continue writing, kinda. I submitted the first draft of the Achilles Wept manuscript last month. It's a thriller and the target audience is older. It is a new genre for me. Encouraging news part one is that they are reading it now.
After submitting Achilles Wept, I turned to an old project I had started originally called The Journey to Iguazu, which I recently re-named The Pirates of Xingu. Believe me when I say that neither title will survive. Anyway, I just couldn't get into it. I kept on fretting and wondering about Paleopeople. So I started yet another project called Yankee Go Home. It is historical fiction about the roots of anti-American sentiment in Latin America - a collection of short stories following the life of Chicho as he participates in and witnesses the many instances of U.S. intervention in the region. It all starts in 1928, with the Banana Massacre in Colombia. Some of you may recognize event from Cien Anos de Soledad, the classic by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I did my research, figured out where I was going with the project, wrote the first short story, and submitted it to my agent.
Encouragement part two is that they seem to like it - at least that first short story. Mary wrote that "(we) think you might really have something there. Our advice is to just keep writing at this point." I cannot tell you what a shot in the arm this is. I wish I could get a dose of it every day. I'd put out a book a month, which would really throw a wrench in my agent's slow moving gears (the whole business is slower than molasses, not just my agent). You see, whereas I think that I'm moving slowly and not putting out enough work, they see it differently. Mary finished the email with, "You are so prolific it is hard to keep up."
I know what she meant with that last comment. They don't really have the time to read everything I'm submitting and still keep up with their other clients. Sort of a veiled "slow it down, will ya?" But I'm going to take it as encouragement (part three), and keep on writing - prolifically.
Soon after I completed the final draft of the Paleopeople manuscript, my agent sent it out to his closest and most trusted editors. I assume this. That was back in November. I've been on pins and needles since. That manuscript took two years to complete, and my future as a writer hangs in the balance. Yes, I sold my first book (the Avery McShane adventure) to Bloomsbury, but that won't be published until February 2012, and Paleopeople is an epic that could be big.
It is hard to concentrate on writing when you're dedicating so much thought to something other than what you're currently writing. All I have been able to think about is Paleopeople. It consumes me. It paralyzes me. Despite this malady, I continue writing, kinda. I submitted the first draft of the Achilles Wept manuscript last month. It's a thriller and the target audience is older. It is a new genre for me. Encouraging news part one is that they are reading it now.
After submitting Achilles Wept, I turned to an old project I had started originally called The Journey to Iguazu, which I recently re-named The Pirates of Xingu. Believe me when I say that neither title will survive. Anyway, I just couldn't get into it. I kept on fretting and wondering about Paleopeople. So I started yet another project called Yankee Go Home. It is historical fiction about the roots of anti-American sentiment in Latin America - a collection of short stories following the life of Chicho as he participates in and witnesses the many instances of U.S. intervention in the region. It all starts in 1928, with the Banana Massacre in Colombia. Some of you may recognize event from Cien Anos de Soledad, the classic by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I did my research, figured out where I was going with the project, wrote the first short story, and submitted it to my agent.
Encouragement part two is that they seem to like it - at least that first short story. Mary wrote that "(we) think you might really have something there. Our advice is to just keep writing at this point." I cannot tell you what a shot in the arm this is. I wish I could get a dose of it every day. I'd put out a book a month, which would really throw a wrench in my agent's slow moving gears (the whole business is slower than molasses, not just my agent). You see, whereas I think that I'm moving slowly and not putting out enough work, they see it differently. Mary finished the email with, "You are so prolific it is hard to keep up."
I know what she meant with that last comment. They don't really have the time to read everything I'm submitting and still keep up with their other clients. Sort of a veiled "slow it down, will ya?" But I'm going to take it as encouragement (part three), and keep on writing - prolifically.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Landing a Big Fish: My Agent
January 7, 2011
I know almost nothing about this blogging thing, so I've recently started reaching out to people who obviously do. One of them is Lia Keyes, founder of the The Steampunk Writers Guild. She suggested that I start out by telling people how I landed an agent. Sort of a 'set the hook' kind of approach. Makes sense. So I will let the cat out of the bag.
My agent is Sterling Lord, co-chairman of Sterling Lord Literistic, Inc. (www.sll.com). The agency is headquartered in New York City, in an historical building on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. According to those mysterious people in the know, he is a legend in literary circles. He was the agent to the stars of the 'Beat Generation' writers: Ken Kesey, Jack Kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. He was also the agent of a favorite of mine, Dick Francis, who passed away recently. There are a host of other heavy hitters too - almost all of them what I call 'real writers', which I do not yet consider myself.
Sterling has been around for a long time. I think he's in his nineties, and he is still hard at it. I have no idea what he sees in me. After all, I am a first time writer and I know that I am not very good at it. Getting better maybe, but not good. It's all the more mysterious since I write fiction for younger audiences, and even more bizarre because Paleopeople, a fantasy novel, is what brought us together. It's not his usual cup of tea.
So let's go back to that fateful day - the day I sent out my first query letters.
October 21, 2009
I sent my query to everybody and their grandmothers through an internet service (www.publishersandagents.net). There, I said it. An internet service. No researching for me. I didn't have time for that crap. I had been in the middle of big business my whole career. I was an alumnus of Harvard Business School. I was not a patient man. By the way, I am learning patience.
I think it cost me $300. They sent the query letter out to a list of publishers and agents supposedly open to receiving them via email. Their list was supposed to target only those interested in fiction. Supposedly. I received my first rejection the same day. I received my first tire kicks the next day. I didn't know it at the time, but I had already found my agent. Here is the text from the email response that got the ball rolling.
Dear Mr. Lyons,
I find your email intriguing. I have retired. I have mentioned it to and am passing it on to Sterling Lord, one of the great literary agents in New York and he will get in touch with you.
With best wishes,
Sterling Lord called me for the first time that afternoon.
I think it is worth noting, and I will fill in the time in between as this blog progresses, that I signed the formal Sterling Lord representation agreement on May 18, 2010. Did I mention that I am learning patience?
I know almost nothing about this blogging thing, so I've recently started reaching out to people who obviously do. One of them is Lia Keyes, founder of the The Steampunk Writers Guild. She suggested that I start out by telling people how I landed an agent. Sort of a 'set the hook' kind of approach. Makes sense. So I will let the cat out of the bag.
My agent is Sterling Lord, co-chairman of Sterling Lord Literistic, Inc. (www.sll.com). The agency is headquartered in New York City, in an historical building on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. According to those mysterious people in the know, he is a legend in literary circles. He was the agent to the stars of the 'Beat Generation' writers: Ken Kesey, Jack Kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. He was also the agent of a favorite of mine, Dick Francis, who passed away recently. There are a host of other heavy hitters too - almost all of them what I call 'real writers', which I do not yet consider myself.
Sterling has been around for a long time. I think he's in his nineties, and he is still hard at it. I have no idea what he sees in me. After all, I am a first time writer and I know that I am not very good at it. Getting better maybe, but not good. It's all the more mysterious since I write fiction for younger audiences, and even more bizarre because Paleopeople, a fantasy novel, is what brought us together. It's not his usual cup of tea.
So let's go back to that fateful day - the day I sent out my first query letters.
October 21, 2009
I sent my query to everybody and their grandmothers through an internet service (www.publishersandagents.net). There, I said it. An internet service. No researching for me. I didn't have time for that crap. I had been in the middle of big business my whole career. I was an alumnus of Harvard Business School. I was not a patient man. By the way, I am learning patience.
I think it cost me $300. They sent the query letter out to a list of publishers and agents supposedly open to receiving them via email. Their list was supposed to target only those interested in fiction. Supposedly. I received my first rejection the same day. I received my first tire kicks the next day. I didn't know it at the time, but I had already found my agent. Here is the text from the email response that got the ball rolling.
Dear Mr. Lyons,
I find your email intriguing. I have retired. I have mentioned it to and am passing it on to Sterling Lord, one of the great literary agents in New York and he will get in touch with you.
With best wishes,
Sterling Lord called me for the first time that afternoon.
I think it is worth noting, and I will fill in the time in between as this blog progresses, that I signed the formal Sterling Lord representation agreement on May 18, 2010. Did I mention that I am learning patience?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Swallowing the Bitter Pill of Brutal Opposition
October 23, 2009
[I have jump shifted nine months from the day I started to write. I will do this every now and then. First time readers of this blog - especially first time writers hoping to glean some lessons learned - should start with the first post as I've only just gotten started with the blog. The chronology of events is important.]
At this point I have finished the Paleopeople manuscript - at least that's what I thought at the time. Ha! My small cadre of Resonators and Opponents had helped me along and I had reached this point with a false sense of security, as it turns out. I thought it was a great story and I was full of confidence, that is until I boldly sent the manuscript to a reader that was not a part of my inner circle. Here are some snippets from her assessment of my book:
"This is going to sound brutal..." (it was, as you'll see)
"If I was a reader at a publishing house, I would have dumped this in the bin after the first thirty pages..." (as it happened, most of them did)
"The Prologue was too long and unnecessary..." (it was)
"The dialogue was flat..." (what there was of it)
"The characters were not fully fleshed..." (I was enthralled with the adventures, not the characters)
"The manuscript is far too long..." (only 400 pages, what the heck?)
"There is way too much exposition..." (first time I'd heard of the word, which meant she was right)
There was much, much more and most of it was bad. I owe her a great debt of gratitude as her criticism influenced me immensely. It only took me three days to get over it. There were some positives:
"Your writing style got much, much better as the book moved along, especially the during the action of the last half of the book..." (that's because I was learning how to write on the run)
"...and then I read this line "From the mouth of the tunnel came a low, agonizing sound, as if the wind carried with reluctant souls on the way to undesired ends." Fabulous." (so there was hope)
"What I was personally hoping for when I was finished with the Prologue and started into Beni's story was an intertwining of William and Big Bill and Hakim's story with Beni's story." (my agent made me do exactly this, many months later)
The criticism hurt. I was dashed, but I had come too far to turn back. I would go back to the manuscript and work on it with everything she said in mind. But there was one little problem and it compounded my feelings of angst. You see, I had already sent out the query letters for Paleopeople to about three hundred agents and publishers. Unless I did something pretty fast, some of those folks were going to ask for the first couple of chapters or even the whole manuscript, and what they would get would be exactly what my fiercest Opponent had read. They would all throw the manuscript in the waste paper basket after the first thirty pages.
Why, oh why, did I sent out those query letters so soon?
[I have jump shifted nine months from the day I started to write. I will do this every now and then. First time readers of this blog - especially first time writers hoping to glean some lessons learned - should start with the first post as I've only just gotten started with the blog. The chronology of events is important.]
At this point I have finished the Paleopeople manuscript - at least that's what I thought at the time. Ha! My small cadre of Resonators and Opponents had helped me along and I had reached this point with a false sense of security, as it turns out. I thought it was a great story and I was full of confidence, that is until I boldly sent the manuscript to a reader that was not a part of my inner circle. Here are some snippets from her assessment of my book:
"This is going to sound brutal..." (it was, as you'll see)
"If I was a reader at a publishing house, I would have dumped this in the bin after the first thirty pages..." (as it happened, most of them did)
"The Prologue was too long and unnecessary..." (it was)
"The dialogue was flat..." (what there was of it)
"The characters were not fully fleshed..." (I was enthralled with the adventures, not the characters)
"The manuscript is far too long..." (only 400 pages, what the heck?)
"There is way too much exposition..." (first time I'd heard of the word, which meant she was right)
There was much, much more and most of it was bad. I owe her a great debt of gratitude as her criticism influenced me immensely. It only took me three days to get over it. There were some positives:
"Your writing style got much, much better as the book moved along, especially the during the action of the last half of the book..." (that's because I was learning how to write on the run)
"...and then I read this line "From the mouth of the tunnel came a low, agonizing sound, as if the wind carried with reluctant souls on the way to undesired ends." Fabulous." (so there was hope)
"What I was personally hoping for when I was finished with the Prologue and started into Beni's story was an intertwining of William and Big Bill and Hakim's story with Beni's story." (my agent made me do exactly this, many months later)
The criticism hurt. I was dashed, but I had come too far to turn back. I would go back to the manuscript and work on it with everything she said in mind. But there was one little problem and it compounded my feelings of angst. You see, I had already sent out the query letters for Paleopeople to about three hundred agents and publishers. Unless I did something pretty fast, some of those folks were going to ask for the first couple of chapters or even the whole manuscript, and what they would get would be exactly what my fiercest Opponent had read. They would all throw the manuscript in the waste paper basket after the first thirty pages.
Why, oh why, did I sent out those query letters so soon?
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Maps, Drawings, Sketches and more Doodles
February 2009
Fiction writers go about it in different ways. Some work up detailed outlines first, then write. Others just let it flow. I draw things. It helps me better envision the characters and surroundings of my stories. I intended Paleopeople to be a Tolkienesque project. So the first thing I did after I completed the preface was draw a map. I had Tolkien's maps from his Lord of the Rings trilogy in mind when I drew them. The world of my Paleopeople came to life. The story came to life.
Before I knew it, the map had dotted lines showing where the heroes journeyed on their quests and adventures. I had created a universe of tunnels, caves, waterfalls, forests and villages. I showed where the good guys and bad guys lived, and where battles took place. And I did it all in pencil. In pencil so that I could change things as the story went along, and change it did.
It didn't stop there. I drew pictures of their buildings and even of them. I got my artist mother in on it. She is one of the best artists in know. She even worked for Disney Studios back in the day, so she was perfect for my purposes. She helped me by drawing my characters as I saw them. I will find some and post them later.
I was becoming more and more immersed in the project. With the maps and drawings and the written words, I was getting progressively pulled into the imaginary world, to the point that I could actually feel, smell, hear, taste and see it. I was writing from inside that world and not from behind a window looking in.
Fiction writers go about it in different ways. Some work up detailed outlines first, then write. Others just let it flow. I draw things. It helps me better envision the characters and surroundings of my stories. I intended Paleopeople to be a Tolkienesque project. So the first thing I did after I completed the preface was draw a map. I had Tolkien's maps from his Lord of the Rings trilogy in mind when I drew them. The world of my Paleopeople came to life. The story came to life.
Before I knew it, the map had dotted lines showing where the heroes journeyed on their quests and adventures. I had created a universe of tunnels, caves, waterfalls, forests and villages. I showed where the good guys and bad guys lived, and where battles took place. And I did it all in pencil. In pencil so that I could change things as the story went along, and change it did.
It didn't stop there. I drew pictures of their buildings and even of them. I got my artist mother in on it. She is one of the best artists in know. She even worked for Disney Studios back in the day, so she was perfect for my purposes. She helped me by drawing my characters as I saw them. I will find some and post them later.
I was becoming more and more immersed in the project. With the maps and drawings and the written words, I was getting progressively pulled into the imaginary world, to the point that I could actually feel, smell, hear, taste and see it. I was writing from inside that world and not from behind a window looking in.
I even took an oil painting I had done several years before and photoshopped it (with some help from Kieran) to make a cover for my eventual blockbuster. I will try to post it after I complete this post.
I am not sure this post qualifies as a lesson learned, but it should show how an author of fiction can become immersed in a project, and why they should. The more senses you tune into while writing, the more senses you will be able to get your readers to trigger. And the more senses you trigger, the more memorable the reading experience.
My First Opponent slash Resonator
January 14, 2009
I copied that first draft of the preface to Paleopeople to my son in college. He got it the same time Jeanie did, but his response was entirely different than hers. He had the audacity to be critical and, at the same, time encouraging. I had run in to my first Opponent.
Kieran was in his first year at Rice University and he didn't get in to that hallowed institution without having something on the ball. He was a National Merit Scholar and, happily for me, a talented writer in his own right. He started reading at a very young age and was reading Hemingway and Ayn Rand when his peers - if they read at all - were reading Dr. Seuss. Here is his email response to reading my early preface:
"I read what you sent me, and I'll go over it with a more critical eye soon. The writing style reminds me of what I know of Louis L'amour's own style-- a good thing, especially for you.
Right now, the best advice I have is to never tell the reader something when you can show it, and to cut out every unnecessary word-- since you're using a conversational style you can bend this rule a lot, but try to be purposeful about it.
You've done a good job of making the narrator's voice strong, which is especially important in the preface.
It's flattering that you'd value my advice so much. I'll get back to you with more soon.
Love,
Kieran"
I copied that first draft of the preface to Paleopeople to my son in college. He got it the same time Jeanie did, but his response was entirely different than hers. He had the audacity to be critical and, at the same, time encouraging. I had run in to my first Opponent.
Kieran was in his first year at Rice University and he didn't get in to that hallowed institution without having something on the ball. He was a National Merit Scholar and, happily for me, a talented writer in his own right. He started reading at a very young age and was reading Hemingway and Ayn Rand when his peers - if they read at all - were reading Dr. Seuss. Here is his email response to reading my early preface:
"I read what you sent me, and I'll go over it with a more critical eye soon. The writing style reminds me of what I know of Louis L'amour's own style-- a good thing, especially for you.
Right now, the best advice I have is to never tell the reader something when you can show it, and to cut out every unnecessary word-- since you're using a conversational style you can bend this rule a lot, but try to be purposeful about it.
You've done a good job of making the narrator's voice strong, which is especially important in the preface.
It's flattering that you'd value my advice so much. I'll get back to you with more soon.
Love,
Kieran"
Unnecessary words? Don't tell if you can show? Where does he get off? Those were my immediate reactions and, stupidly, I ignored his advice. I took away only the positives, which is all I wanted at the time. If I had listened and understood what he was saying sooner, I would likely have cut out about two full months of editing down the road. Lesson three is - and I will stop numbering them soon - listen carefully to all feed back. It doesn't matter if it comes from your wife or son or anyone else. They are all readers and they are all potential audiences for your work.
My Resonator, My Muse
January 14, 2009
The first real collection of words is complete - almost five hundred words! The book is underway and it is starting with a preface. I am so excited, but no one else has seen it yet. I don't want to hear that it is no good. If it is no good, then I'm done. Such was the fragile state of my psyche at the time. Remember that I had just failed miserably in the 'real' business world and I needed this to work. So of course I sent it to Jeanie, my wife and partner for over thirty years. If anyone could read it and cage a negative response, spin it in a positive way, it was her.
Her response was "I love it and I want to read more". I had found my muse.
It was around this time that I picked up and read another book entitled The Company They Keep: C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien as Writers in Community. This is a must read for first time writers. Three others that really helped me along: On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King, Elements of Style by Strunk, White and Angell, and Story by Robert McKee.
It was The Company They Keep that let me in on the need to surround myself with three different sets of people: Resonators, Opponents and Editors. The Resonators are the ones who support your efforts as you move along. The Opponents - as you may have already guessed - challenge your every move. The Editors fix all the things you did wrong. In the book, you get to see how it worked for some of the greatest fiction writers of all time. It helped me and I am one of the most obscure writers of all time.
Jeanie became my first Resonator and her positive influence cannot be quantified. Lesson number two is find a Resonator. A first time writer cannot do it alone. You simply won't get it done.
The first real collection of words is complete - almost five hundred words! The book is underway and it is starting with a preface. I am so excited, but no one else has seen it yet. I don't want to hear that it is no good. If it is no good, then I'm done. Such was the fragile state of my psyche at the time. Remember that I had just failed miserably in the 'real' business world and I needed this to work. So of course I sent it to Jeanie, my wife and partner for over thirty years. If anyone could read it and cage a negative response, spin it in a positive way, it was her.
Her response was "I love it and I want to read more". I had found my muse.
It was around this time that I picked up and read another book entitled The Company They Keep: C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien as Writers in Community. This is a must read for first time writers. Three others that really helped me along: On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King, Elements of Style by Strunk, White and Angell, and Story by Robert McKee.
It was The Company They Keep that let me in on the need to surround myself with three different sets of people: Resonators, Opponents and Editors. The Resonators are the ones who support your efforts as you move along. The Opponents - as you may have already guessed - challenge your every move. The Editors fix all the things you did wrong. In the book, you get to see how it worked for some of the greatest fiction writers of all time. It helped me and I am one of the most obscure writers of all time.
Jeanie became my first Resonator and her positive influence cannot be quantified. Lesson number two is find a Resonator. A first time writer cannot do it alone. You simply won't get it done.
I got the Title right
January 11, 2009
Of course I didn't get much done that first day. It was classic stuff. I typed "The" and I was stuck. I hadn't even come up with a title yet. I thought it would come out in the wash after I'd written a chapter or two.
So I went back to the doodles on my copy of Dinosaur in a Haystack. I poured over them, but I kept coming back to the first one - the one of a spirally shell with the "Shell People" caption - and then it came to me. At first I didn't like the word. It seemed too ambiguous and it looked weird, but it started to grow on me, so I typed Paleopeople at the top of the one word manuscript and scrolled down the page to type in the second word of my soon to be but didn't really give it a chance in hell to reach the bookshelves novel.
My agent in New York has just recently hit the streets with the finished script and, despite incredible amounts of editing over the last year or so, the title remains Paleopeople. At least I got that one right. That was lesson one. Make that title good. It is the first thing everybody sees: the agents, the editors and the readers.
Of course I didn't get much done that first day. It was classic stuff. I typed "The" and I was stuck. I hadn't even come up with a title yet. I thought it would come out in the wash after I'd written a chapter or two.
So I went back to the doodles on my copy of Dinosaur in a Haystack. I poured over them, but I kept coming back to the first one - the one of a spirally shell with the "Shell People" caption - and then it came to me. At first I didn't like the word. It seemed too ambiguous and it looked weird, but it started to grow on me, so I typed Paleopeople at the top of the one word manuscript and scrolled down the page to type in the second word of my soon to be but didn't really give it a chance in hell to reach the bookshelves novel.
My agent in New York has just recently hit the streets with the finished script and, despite incredible amounts of editing over the last year or so, the title remains Paleopeople. At least I got that one right. That was lesson one. Make that title good. It is the first thing everybody sees: the agents, the editors and the readers.
I Decide to Write a Book
January 11, 2009
Two years ago, almost exactly. My management consulting business was in the tank. The economy had gone south for the winter and my clients flew down there with them. I was depressed and alone and sitting in my office overlooking the marina. The dreams of making the business work turned into the reality of it never happening. I did what I usually do when I have little to do and I'm depressed. I picked up a book and started reading. The book was Dinosaur in a Haystack, by Stephen J. Gould. I had last read the book almost fifteen years before and it was one of my favorite non-fiction works and what the author had to say resonated deeply with me.
I opened the book to the first page, and what should I see? A doodle. A simple sketch of a spirally shell with a caption below it reading "Shell People". The doodle immediately brought back the memory of the plane flight. I sat in First Class on a 747 headed for Amsterdam. My final destination was Archangel, in the Arctic Circle part of Russia. I remember seeing the Aurora Borealis, not for the first time nor the last. I doodled for the duration of the flight and a story was born. I did not write the first word of the story until January 11, 2009, but when I did it the doodler became a writer.
Two years ago, almost exactly. My management consulting business was in the tank. The economy had gone south for the winter and my clients flew down there with them. I was depressed and alone and sitting in my office overlooking the marina. The dreams of making the business work turned into the reality of it never happening. I did what I usually do when I have little to do and I'm depressed. I picked up a book and started reading. The book was Dinosaur in a Haystack, by Stephen J. Gould. I had last read the book almost fifteen years before and it was one of my favorite non-fiction works and what the author had to say resonated deeply with me.
I opened the book to the first page, and what should I see? A doodle. A simple sketch of a spirally shell with a caption below it reading "Shell People". The doodle immediately brought back the memory of the plane flight. I sat in First Class on a 747 headed for Amsterdam. My final destination was Archangel, in the Arctic Circle part of Russia. I remember seeing the Aurora Borealis, not for the first time nor the last. I doodled for the duration of the flight and a story was born. I did not write the first word of the story until January 11, 2009, but when I did it the doodler became a writer.
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