Query me softly.

When something feels right, it's right.

I've begun the serious query process. I started out by reading Miss Snarks' First Victim (excellent writing blog, by the way. Like seriously, if you haven't gone, go. But why you'd be reading mine and not hers...I'm not sure.), and found a list of agents that may just go for the Steampunky goodness I've put forth.

Thankfully, I have my writing mentor Bonnie Hearn Hill and my two fantastically talented relatives to help me out through this shenanigan. (Kara and Stacy Lucas.)

Rejection is only part of the phases, of course. I fully expect to be rejected into an oblivion. This isn't really being negative or pessimistic as much as it is being realistic and preparing oneself for the inevitable. When considering all of the THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS of submissions

publishers and agents get A DAY... it's amazing we're not rejected more.

I know the authoress of THE HELP, Kathryn Stockett, was rejected so many times that she started lying about what she was doing. She'd go to hotel rooms to re-write and query because she got so embarrassed of her "unjustified" persistence with the whole process.

Unjustified indeed.

It is persistence that sets the successes from the failures. We have been over this time and time again.

As I embark on this potentially painful, but hopefully (and reasonably) brief process, I am prepared to take my wounds, display my scars and come out waving my flag around on the other end. Hell yeah. Let's DO THIS!

Being a Homicidal Maniac...I mean...Writer.

The lone typewriter. The writer's sanctuary. A cup of pencils for editing, plenty of paper, a pack of cigarettes, an ash tray, and the most peaceful atmosphere you can imagine. Isolation. Pure, wonderful isolation. Dim lights. A thick wooden desk. Quiet. Silence. No hustle and bustle or sound of traffic. Just a typewriter, a desk, a chair and you with your brilliant ideas.
Suddenly, your silence is shattered. It could be anyone. A loved one, probably. Someone who has been rooting for you. Someone who wants you to be published and succeed at this finicky, difficult art. You want to be receptive to them. Still...they've interrupted you. They've managed to destroy your concentration. You try to be patient. They ask you something ridiculously asinine, like, "Get a lot of writing done?" or maybe they bring up the weather like you're supposed to care. You answer with monosyllabic replies, trying hard to get them to see that you need to be left alone. By the end of the conversation, you bite their head clean off their shoulders. You tried. Non-writers simply don't understand writers.
It's not finished yet, but you leave it behind to get something to eat or take a short walk. Maybe throw a tennis ball against the wall. It's delicate right now. Not what you would consider "good" by any stretch of the imagination. It's tender and raw, like an opened wound. Lo and behold, they look at it in its worst form. Pre-revision...pre-edit...they hit you at your most vulnerable simply because of their ignorant, idle curiosity. How could they? You weren't ready yet! It's like someone peering over your shoulder at a coffee shop. Or maybe even looking up your skirt or going through your underwear drawer.
So of course, like the writer you are, you handle the situation accordingly. With love, patience and understanding. Just because you're vulnerable, preparing to query and at your lowest point before possible success...that doesn't mean you're going to take it out on the people you love the most.

Peace out. Be gone a week in isolation in Utah so I can work on the query letter and try to accomplish something without other distractions. Writing in isolation can be productive...and scary. >:)