This Trip to Europe

  • by jenthree bogus sailors
  • the “terrible danger of touching symbols”
  • likes to touch the rancid crust
  • the spectacle of the guillotine
  • in the crevices of history

This trip to Europe is not going well. Yolanda refuses to heed her parents’ lectures about the “terrible dangers of touching symbols” in foreign countries, and gleefully loses herself in the crevices of history museums and open air markets. Hours later they find her, marveling at the spectacle of the guillotine, or digging through the garbage bin beside the bakery stall. In both cases Yolanda declares that she likes to touch the rancid crust. The very next day they catch her in the company of three bogus sailors, heading into a pub called the Salty Dog. Yolanda’s parents vow never to take her on vacation again.

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It Was The Middle One

We’re out of practice with the whole marketing side of things and have been voraciously consuming webinars and agent blogs and all kinds of other resources to bring our knowledge up to date.

The happy news is that there’s so much more information out there now. (Too much, maybe.) We used to be stuck with hard-copy guidebooks, and just had to hope the address was still current for the agent we wanted to query. Now we can cyberstalk potential representatives, and they can do the same to us. The relentless march of progress!

The less-happy news is that we’re relying on advice again, which means we have to be wary. One authority tells us to write the synopsis in objective, straightforward language, while another says infuse it with the voice of our writing. Likewise with just about any aspect of marketing and publishing. Some common threads are apparent, but often we have to read between the lines.

And that’s what it comes down to — reading between the lines. None of these teachers are trying to sabotage anyone. They’re each telling it as they see it, based on their experience. Naturally, they’ve hit upon various approaches that have worked in various circumstances. Then they have to shape that information for our consumption. To second guess them just a little, they’re probably second guessing the students. “If I tell them to make it sound like the book, they won’t be able to construct a cogent and functional synopsis.” “If I tell them to stick to the facts, the result will be flat.”

So, at least as far as the synopsis is concerned, our takeaway was somewhere in between. Of course the style of the synopsis will influence requests. But it has to be an orderly and complete telling of the main arc, or it’s not a valid synopsis.

Not all advice is right for every occasion, or for every author. That doesn’t make it bad per se, but it might be bad for you. Don’t jump at the first tip that sorta makes sense. Seek a couple of takes, and if they contradict each other, think about the subtext. Rather than just looking for a tiebreaker, look for a way to synthesize meaning out of the conflicting ideas.

The Ballroom Was Poorly Lit

  • k-avatarprobably view it as an escape
  • — and full of sharks
  • a beacon of common sense
  • Stop laughing like that, you monster!
  • get his diploma by hook or by crook
  • the four dissenting board members
  • kill the joy of anticipation

The ballroom was poorly lit — and full of sharks — so the ceremony was taking place in the courtyard. Neville swore he’d get his diploma by hook or by crook, and tonight it looked like he would be proved right, over the protests of the four dissenting board members who said his senior project — flying sharks — was unethical and hazardous.

The school superintendent, usually a beacon of common sense, spoke on Neville’s behalf and swayed the remaining officials to share a lenient judgement regarding indiscretions of youth and marine biology.

Most seniors were excited about graduation, would probably view it as an escape, but Neville’s feelings were mixed. Sure, the awarding of the diploma vindicated his years of proclaiming that it would one day be his, but in truth he really loved being a student at this school. His shark-themed project had been meant to sabotage his chances for another year, and then Superintendent Troubaillo had to interfere, had to kill the joy of anticipation of buying a new backpack and pencil case at the end of summer. Could Neville entice him into the ballroom? No, the man was far too clever for that.

“Congratulations on your big night, Neville,” came the superintendent’s oily voice.

Neville turned. “The night is young. It might yet prove bigger than either one of us knows.”

“Don’t spoil it for the children. It’s weird enough they’re sharing the stage with a 35-year-old man.”

Neville sneered. “Spoil it? I aim to make it unforgettable! You see, Superintendent, you forgot about my senior project from last year, which has been growing on the pergola above you ever since.”

Thorny vines ensnared Troubaillo and dragged him aloft. As he vanished among the leaves he said, “Stop laughing like that, you monster!”

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I Hated Working At The Strip Club

  • by jeneye contact during a fingerbang
  • those nicknames were always for in-family use only
  • The adventure of the Devil’s Thumb
  • the most hackneyed of subjects
  • hoping for a glimpse of the glamorous chorus girls
  • seemed to be by no means diminished
  • zoo for endangered species

I hated working at the strip club. I know that’s just about the most hackneyed of subjects imaginable. Sorry. I never would have started dancing there if I hadn’t needed the money so bad. The front row was always full of guys drooling like poachers at a zoo for endangered species. How much nicer if they’d act like society gentlemen merely hoping for a glimpse of the glamorous chorus girls they’d heard so much about. There were never any gentlemen at the Devil’s Thumb, though, just drunks and frat bros who expected you to maintain eye contact during a fingerbang in the private room for a lousy tip.

The adventure of the Devil’s Thumb was in never knowing when the place would get raided, but the clientele’s libidos seemed to be by no means diminished by threat of arrest.

One night I was on the pole and I heard someone shout, “Hey Boo Boo, check out the tits on Skeeter!” and I knew I was in for it. Those nicknames were always for in-family use only, which meant that a couple of my cousins had just figured out where I was working, and in no time my whole family would know. Damn you, Boo Boo!

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RuneSkelley.com

We spent a little time this week giving runeskelley.com an overdue facelift. There’s not a whole lot of content, but now it’s visually aligned with the blog here at the Skelleyverse, and it’s ready for updates as soon as we conquer the world of publishing. And that will happen any day now.

The rest of our time has been taken up by holiday baking, and shopping, and cooking, and visiting, and eating. We’re bloated and happy, and ready to market the Science Novel.

Fear us.

Not Even A Mouse – Holiday Prompt

  • k-avatarhe was dressed all in fur
  • got stuck only once
  • like the down of a thistle
  • leaving crumbs much too small
  • not even a mouse

Not even a mouse could slip through the tiny gaps between stones, but frigid drafts infiltrated the hut from all sides. Even though he was dressed all in fur, Nick shivered. Climbing to the summit alone was foolish, just like everyone tried to tell him. But all the way up he felt cocky, especially after successfully making the eastern traverse. He got stuck only once, which forced him to backtrack and take a higher route, costing him precious time he didn’t realize he should be hoarding. As daylight faltered on way his back down, Nick spotted this rock-walled dwelling and decided not to press on. A night descent would be suicide. Now he stared sullenly at the small heap of twigs on the hearth, and shivered. His flint had disintegrated when struck, leaving crumbs much too small to be of any use. He might get a meager spark, with luck, which might light a sufficiently fine kindling like the down of the thistle, but all Nick had were twigs.

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That New Restaurant – Holiday Prompt

  • by jenthat old silk hat they found
  • the moon on the breast
  • I’d take the seasick crocodile
  • strike the harp
  • since reindeer are scarce

That new restaurant turned out to be a real disappointment! First the waiter informed us that, due to a late delivery, they had to strike the harp seal from the menu. Then my husband asked for a description of the chef’s speciality, but it turned out that the “moon” on the breast of emu was just a lump of mashed potatoes. I had a hard time deciding what I wanted, but since reindeer are scarce it was agreed that I’d take the seasick crocodile. As we waited for the food, our twins squabbled over that old silk hat they found in the cloakroom. They enjoyed that more than their free-range antelope chops!

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Update From The Trenches

r-avatarIt’s time to start marketing. We’re going to do a push for the Science Novel, and we’re actually really excited about it.

Except, ugh. Marketing.

The pitch is crafted, or at least 95% of the way there. Some really helpful material at Writer’s Digest University, and some excellent feedback from our critique-group cronies, and now it needs to simmer for a bit whilst we work on the synopsis.

Double ugh.

At least we do have an existing draft of a synopsis to work from. Two, actually, because after crafting something we liked at about 1200 words, we slashed it down to 500 and still liked it reasonably well.

Fear of rejection is the classic stereotypical reason writers procrastinate about marketing their fiction (e.g., blogging about it when they should be doing it). Maybe for some that’s apt, but not for Jen and Kent. The bigger rub is that the query package entails writing of such a different type than the actual product we’re trying to sell. It’s easy to find contradictory advice about how to construct a synopsis. It’s hard as hell to condense a novel down to one page, which is what most agents seem to want.

At least here in the writing cave there are two of us, so we each get a shoulder to lean on while we trudge onward. Discussing potential edits in real time is especially helpful with the ultra-compact prose needed for a query.

How do you shift into Marketing Gear? What do you consider most annoying about it?

Our Plans Worked to Perfection

  • k-avatarscreen door of his sleeping porch
  • impatiently explains to strangers
  • very sore and humiliated
  • save for spasmodic jumping
  • Our plans worked to perfection

Our plans worked to perfection, save for spasmodic jumping. We didn’t anticipate that side effect. The rats showed no such symptoms during our preliminary experiments, and we still haven’t pinned down the cause. Anyway, Fleming is very sore and humiliated, and I find it delightful to observe as he impatiently explains to strangers, through the screen door of his sleeping porch, that he’s a government agent working deep cover to expose illicit and unethical psychological research at the university. He evidently doesn’t know we carted him across the border, and these strangers don’t speak English.

Bonus points for using them in reverse order?

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Poet, Sir?

  • by jenPoet, sir?
  • lie festering in the crowded alleys
  • inherently disturbing but not gory
  • a jar of warm sputum
  • concentrating on my landlady’s cat

Poet, sir? You dare call me a poet? Do I have the look of one who would lie festering in the crowded alleys of Paris, drunk and penniless? The insinuation behind your “casual” inquiry is inherently disturbing but not gory, much like a jar of warm sputum. It tells me much about you, this assumption of yours in regards to my occupation. You presume I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat in preparation of writing an ode or a sonnet or — shudder – a limerick, when that is not the case at all. I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat so that I might learn to read his thoughts and gain valuable intelligence about my landlady’s comings and goings. Good day to you, sir. I say, good day!

bonus points for using them in order!

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