I just read a story about Hunter S. Thompson and Ernest Hemingway that made me stop and think. Before I get into that, however, yes. I'm still alive. Still here. And still fighting to publish this god. damn. book.
As you can see, it's not been going well. Not to say I'm unhappy with the manuscript. I know I'm supposed to be--according to every writerish stereotype out there I ought to be all "WOE, my work is rubbish, I must abandon it to fire and start again!"
Somehow, I'm not. Instead, I'm really, really happy with Traditor, particularly now that I've trimmed a bit of the fat. I seem to be the only one who is happy with it, however, and my obsession with getting it published (plus health/job/family issues) have prevented me from paying the attention I should to Damnatio Memoriae. So it goes.
Anyway, back to the H v. H story. Evidently Hunter S. Thompson went to Ernest Hemingway's house to write a story on him. Hemingway shot himself a few years before, and Thompson was supposed to investigate. While there, however, he stole some antlers from one of Hemingway's hunts, which have only recently been returned.
That's pretty much exactly the kind of story I'd expect from any headline that combined Thompson and Hemingway's names. It got me thinking, however, about the "good old days" of writing. It's always seemed to me, in reading about authors, that they were surrounded by other creatives, living charmed lives in which their work was not only read, but appreciated. Something about the H v. H story stuck in my mind, however, and I suddenly realized something I've always known, logically, but never fully appreciated before.
These writers struggled, too. They faced rejection, they submitted over and over, they sent their work into the world only to have it degraded and denied. They went through the same long, painful process I've been slogging through for four interminable years, and they did it again and again and again.
And this is why they drank.
Suddenly, the life of a writer is completely clear to me.
Now, to go finish my latest submission...
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
#SonOfAPitch: Traditor
I am taking part in #SonOfAPitch, a manuscript pitching competition. I have pasted my entry below for deliberation and dismemberment:
Title: Traditor
Age and Genre: New Adult/Science Fiction
Word Count: 145,000
Query:
I am submitting my new adult novel, Traditor, for your consideration. Traditor is a tale of adventure and romance in a society where government surveillance has grown out of control. The novel follows protagonist Mer York’s escape as she joins a charming Dissenter on the run from government agents known as Company Men. Traditor deals with themes such as censorship, transgression, the intersection of humanity and technology, and individual accountability. Traditor is timely and engaging, particularly in light of scandals such as those surrounding Edward Snowden and Bradley Manning.
Traditor details Mer’s evolution into a heroine, and is as much about her development as it is her attempts to evade the Company Men and her burgeoning relationship with her newfound companion, Bryn. Although initially intending to sabotage Bryn’s plans, Mer begins to reevaluate her beliefs when she discovers that the chip he carries was designed by Company Men to control people’s minds. Mer decides to turn traitor and fight to keep the chip safe until its existence can be made known. Bryn and Mer seem to be in the clear until a comrade’s death leads to betrayal by one of their own. The book ends with Mer being implanted with the chip and interned in a facility for amnesiacs, which is in actuality a government detention center. This sets the stage for the second book in the trilogy.
I would be happy to send the full manuscript at your request. Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Amy E. Allen
WightCrow@gmail.com
First 250 Words:
She was never sure what woke her. Maybe there was a noise; something she couldn’t remember when she was fully awake. Maybe it was some sort of sixth sense, the feeling that lets you know you’re being watched from behind. Whatever it was, Mer opened her eyes just as the heavy moon hid its face behind a cloudbank.
She lay immobile for a moment. She often woke before her alarm, a product of years of conditioning, years of dreading the moment the buzzer would go off. Normally it was two or three minutes before, however. Judging from darkness and the dead calm of her neighborhood Mer thought it must be much earlier: two at the very latest.
She should just go back to sleep. Maybe she ought to get up and take a pill? No, no need. Mer could feel fatigue pulling her under.
Her eyes had drifted shut, the wisps of dreams just beginning when Mer heard the creak.
Her first instinct was to sit up, but Mer forced herself to lie still. It was a neighbor, she told herself. Someone moving around their house upstairs.
There was another, softer this time. It’s the floorboards. This isn’t exactly a new place. Houses get old, houses groan. It’s nothing. Go back to bed.
Then she heard the creak again.
Mer lay still, tormented by indecision. Her mother had always gone out in search of such noises, armed with nothing more than determination. Her mother…it was painful to think about.
Title: Traditor
Age and Genre: New Adult/Science Fiction
Word Count: 145,000
Query:
I am submitting my new adult novel, Traditor, for your consideration. Traditor is a tale of adventure and romance in a society where government surveillance has grown out of control. The novel follows protagonist Mer York’s escape as she joins a charming Dissenter on the run from government agents known as Company Men. Traditor deals with themes such as censorship, transgression, the intersection of humanity and technology, and individual accountability. Traditor is timely and engaging, particularly in light of scandals such as those surrounding Edward Snowden and Bradley Manning.
Traditor details Mer’s evolution into a heroine, and is as much about her development as it is her attempts to evade the Company Men and her burgeoning relationship with her newfound companion, Bryn. Although initially intending to sabotage Bryn’s plans, Mer begins to reevaluate her beliefs when she discovers that the chip he carries was designed by Company Men to control people’s minds. Mer decides to turn traitor and fight to keep the chip safe until its existence can be made known. Bryn and Mer seem to be in the clear until a comrade’s death leads to betrayal by one of their own. The book ends with Mer being implanted with the chip and interned in a facility for amnesiacs, which is in actuality a government detention center. This sets the stage for the second book in the trilogy.
I would be happy to send the full manuscript at your request. Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Amy E. Allen
WightCrow@gmail.com
First 250 Words:
She was never sure what woke her. Maybe there was a noise; something she couldn’t remember when she was fully awake. Maybe it was some sort of sixth sense, the feeling that lets you know you’re being watched from behind. Whatever it was, Mer opened her eyes just as the heavy moon hid its face behind a cloudbank.
She lay immobile for a moment. She often woke before her alarm, a product of years of conditioning, years of dreading the moment the buzzer would go off. Normally it was two or three minutes before, however. Judging from darkness and the dead calm of her neighborhood Mer thought it must be much earlier: two at the very latest.
She should just go back to sleep. Maybe she ought to get up and take a pill? No, no need. Mer could feel fatigue pulling her under.
Her eyes had drifted shut, the wisps of dreams just beginning when Mer heard the creak.
Her first instinct was to sit up, but Mer forced herself to lie still. It was a neighbor, she told herself. Someone moving around their house upstairs.
There was another, softer this time. It’s the floorboards. This isn’t exactly a new place. Houses get old, houses groan. It’s nothing. Go back to bed.
Then she heard the creak again.
Mer lay still, tormented by indecision. Her mother had always gone out in search of such noises, armed with nothing more than determination. Her mother…it was painful to think about.
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