Newbie greetings from the Midwest.
My taste in books is probably limited and "juvenile." I like science fiction and fantasy, mostly. If there's not an element of fantasy involved, it usually doesn't hold my attention. There are exceptions, however. Such as, Arthur Ransome's "Swallows and Amazons" series. Great stuff.
So through the years I've always started novels, and never finished them. Most of what I wrote was thankfully shredded, and the public has been spared the agony ... oh wait, that's too presumptuous. No, my close family members and friends have been spared. Those novels would never have made it to the public.
Then I met a ghost. Not literally, but ... well, it's difficult to explain. Let's just say that we met in a library, and she inspired me to write a story. I've finished it, rewrote it several times over, had friends read it, and then rewrote it until it virtually gleamed in the sun. I actually think this one's good. It's a YA fantasy that I think ages 9 through 16 would enjoy.
So I'm sending out letters of introduction to agents. One nibble so far, one request for the whole MS. I suppose that means they were at least mildly interested in seeing more. I have been met mostly by silence. I wish they would just send a one-sentence suggestion about the writing, at least, just to give me direction.
Meanwhile, I'm plotting the next one. It ties into the first, but isn't really a sequel. Just a few repeating characters, whole new adventure.
There are days when I go to work, and think about my home, and wonder just what I would be getting myself into if anybody actually wanted to publish this. Could be scary. Could be fun. I can't afford to pass up another opportunity, with others advising me to quietly give up and slink away, whimpering into the night. I think the regret would kill me if I didn't try.
So here I am, writing my graffitti on the wall for all the world to see (typos and all), wondering if I'm like one of the thousands of people who can't sing, but show up on American Idol because their auntie said they sound nice. Somebody, please, everybody, if you ever suspect I'm one of those, please shoot me now.
My taste in books is probably limited and "juvenile." I like science fiction and fantasy, mostly. If there's not an element of fantasy involved, it usually doesn't hold my attention. There are exceptions, however. Such as, Arthur Ransome's "Swallows and Amazons" series. Great stuff.
So through the years I've always started novels, and never finished them. Most of what I wrote was thankfully shredded, and the public has been spared the agony ... oh wait, that's too presumptuous. No, my close family members and friends have been spared. Those novels would never have made it to the public.
Then I met a ghost. Not literally, but ... well, it's difficult to explain. Let's just say that we met in a library, and she inspired me to write a story. I've finished it, rewrote it several times over, had friends read it, and then rewrote it until it virtually gleamed in the sun. I actually think this one's good. It's a YA fantasy that I think ages 9 through 16 would enjoy.
So I'm sending out letters of introduction to agents. One nibble so far, one request for the whole MS. I suppose that means they were at least mildly interested in seeing more. I have been met mostly by silence. I wish they would just send a one-sentence suggestion about the writing, at least, just to give me direction.
Meanwhile, I'm plotting the next one. It ties into the first, but isn't really a sequel. Just a few repeating characters, whole new adventure.
There are days when I go to work, and think about my home, and wonder just what I would be getting myself into if anybody actually wanted to publish this. Could be scary. Could be fun. I can't afford to pass up another opportunity, with others advising me to quietly give up and slink away, whimpering into the night. I think the regret would kill me if I didn't try.
So here I am, writing my graffitti on the wall for all the world to see (typos and all), wondering if I'm like one of the thousands of people who can't sing, but show up on American Idol because their auntie said they sound nice. Somebody, please, everybody, if you ever suspect I'm one of those, please shoot me now.
