An Actual Rant! The Rainy Library Day

Today I'm ranting about people who make other people feel like moronic idiots, especially when the moronic idiot people already acknowledged their own brainless stupidity. What good comes of this?? Making people feel bad when they already feel stupid is a thumbs down in Diana's Book of Treating People Kindly. Read the book, people!

Imagine a frazzled mom. Let's say, for illustrative purposes, the mom is me. Here are a few of the things that may have led to her frazzled state on this particular day, a Tuesday. A Nathan Contest Tuesday:

• birthday party planning for three kids. Three birthdays in one month is frazzling
• fundraiser money due for Scouts, along with reminder emails sent out to parents about this because they are also frazzled
• the deadline for pictures to be returned to son's school was that morning, and frazzled mom forgot it so she must make a trip to return them because the cost of keeping those pictures would require a lien on the house
  
• also forgotten in the morning, the weekly envelope that needs to be signed and returned to daughter's school or daughter will be given detention (which is so unfair. It's not her fault her mom is frazzled), so an extra trip to this school is also required
• ceremony agenda for Scouts needs to be typed up, because they must show off their skits next week
• regular social civilities need to be maintained, or frazzled mom will alienate friends and family
• bills need to be paid, house cleaned, dinner made, or frazzled husband may make frazzled comments and this would lead to non-arguing which is extremely frazzling and highly annoying 
• trip to the post office needs to be made, because frazzled mom doesn't trust mailboxes to deliver bills
• library books are due. On this frazzled day. And that is what led to the brainless move.

I was happily finishing all of these tasks, proud of my industrious day. Sure, I hadn't managed to blog yet, or post to the Nathan Contest, but after lunch I wrote some, blogged some, and all was well. I only had two errands left: the post office and the library, which I had purposefully left for last because of the perfect commute loop created with picking up my daughter. So I loaded the boys in the car, swung by the post office, wrote out the checks in the car (because I'm frazzled, remember, so nothing is done ahead), and tossed the bills into the drive-by mailbox (despite my better instincts. I've had negative experiences with drop-boxes in the past, BUT, it's raining and I have three kids in the car. This is extremely difficult for me, I just want everyone to appreciate that). Then I tossed the checkbook on the passenger seat, picked up my daughter from a rainy-day schedule (think long lines of frazzled parents with umbrellas. And Southern Californians aren't used to the rain so the parking lot is a mess). Finally, only one errand left. The library. 

I always go into the library to return books. Firstly, because I love the library, and secondly, because as you know the drop-off seems risky to me. The first and only time I used it, the library workers reshelved my books without checking them in and I had to argue with them that I had returned them. Ever since, I go into the library and ask that they please scan the books, right there in front of me (in a nice, "Are these overdue?" way, of course). But it was raining. And I have a two year old with a yucky cough. Plus the four-year old fell asleep. And the eight-year-old is hungry and tired from afternoon learning. And I did it for the bills. So again, against my better instincts, I pulled up to the drop-off, ran around the front of my car in the ever-increasing rain, opened the passenger side door, and began unloading the books that were piled high on the seat. Some of you sharp-eyed readers may already know the mistake I'm about to make... the boneheaded, braindead move I made as I hurried to get those books out of my car, but in my defense it was very rainy and Southern Californians aren't used to the rain. So here it is. Somehow, in that pile of library books, the checkbook had gotten mixed in. I watched it slide down into the giant metal receptacle with mine-own-eyes. 

Really? I really have to take my coughing baby and sleeping preschooler and hungry second grader into the library to figure this out? Yes. I acknowledge the brainless stupidity of what I'd done. And here's what happened next:

1.   There is no parking. None. 

2.   The eight-year-old declares she has to go bathroom. Bad. The rainy-day lunch schedule threw her off and she forgot to go at lunch. I told you Southern Californians are no good in the rain.

3.   The two-year-old starts screeching. He does this when he's aggravated, especially when strapped into something like a carseat. It's loud and it hurts and makes frazzled parents want to turn around and go ape-crazy on the kid. But I don't. It's not his fault he's been stuck in a carseat for almost the entire day.

4.   When parking opens up it's at the across-the-street lot. That's okay, I'm grateful. Eight-year-old is now frantic and I'm imagining a trip to the doctor and urinary tract infections and feel like an official Bad Mom. 

5.   At last we're in the library. I shake out the Dora the Explorer umbrella (the daughter hates this thing, but it still works so why waste it?) and rush the kids into the bathroom. The two-year-old now has a runny nose to match his yucky cough. Bad Mom to the second-degree.

6.   The four-year-old refuses to try to go bathroom. Waking him from a car ride nap is always a recipe for disaster, and his scowl is fierce. He's not prone to accidents so I decide not to push it.

7.   The librarian takes in our dripping, coughing, scowling appearance. She tells us to please wait in line. She doesn't smile.

8.   We wait in line. It's not long, but the eight-year-old has to periodically state that she is S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G. When we're next, the four-year-old announces that he has to go to the bathroom. I tell him to hold it.

9.   I explain to unsmiley librarian that I have actually thrown my checkbook into the book drop receptacle outside. I tell her how stupid I feel, and by the way she starts shaking her head at me I can tell she agrees. She crosses her arms and everything! I feel like she's the principal or a severe, condescending justice of the peace. Above the noise of my four-year-old insisting to be taken to the bathroom, my daughter's declarations of hunger, and my two-year-old's congested screeching, the librarian asks me, "Why did you do that? (Dummy!) I'm very busy!" She didn't say "dummy", but it felt like she did, and the deflated balloon that was my spirit shrivels to the size of a piece of chewed up gum. I now feel like a moronic idiot. Rather than answer her inspired question, I ask her if she can help me. She cannot. There is no one else to work the counter. I look behind me. There is no one in line, but I suppose she has a job to do. 

10.   The crusty old library lady begins organizing books and I ask her when another library worker will begin a shift, and she says there are already other library workers in the library, helping patrons find their books. In fact, one appears a second later and I ask, "Can she help me?" The librarian doesn't answer, but she rolls her eyes (for reals) and disappears into the back. The four-year-old, who has been yelling at me for some time that it's not good for his private to hold his pee-pee marches off to the bathroom without me. I chase after him and the librarian comes out with a set of keys. I apologize and tell her I need one teensy second. She shakes her head again and turns her back to me, and a small part of me almost let's him have an accident all over her floor.

11.   Out of the bathroom at last, the nice library worker girl takes me and my grumpy kids outside and we recover my checkbook. She's kind, and says that things like that happen all the time. 

12.   I walk my wet kids across the street to the car and decide they deserve hot chocolate. From the drive-through Starbucks. Mommy's had a long day.

The Nathan Writing Contest!

I stumbled onto this funny look at querying called The Slush Pile Experience. But slush-piles was yesterday's bloggerific post. Today we're talking writing!

In case you didn't know, it's that time of year... time for Nathan Bransford's 3rd Sort-of-Annual Stupendously Ultimate First Paragraph Challenge, in which you and now 1,171 others pit your first paragraph against each other for a battle of words royale! The prize? Glory, glorious glory! And a partial critique by Nathan Bransford (among other things). He's tweeting about it, in case you're a twit, and yes, I entered. Here's the first paragraph to my wip, as edited as I could make it with only my own brain to rely on:

Julia had two options: a dress with sleeves like something out of an eighties bridesmaid catalog, or the sexy, strapless dress she fell in love with before being marked by magic. The mark, very tatooish on her upper-arm, could lead to some less-than-special junior prom memories. Getting chewed out in front of her almost-boyfriend and the inevitable Disappointed in You speech were definite possibilities. Maybe she could keep it covered with her hand, just until Mom took the requisite pre-prom pictures? She wrapped her fingers around her arm, smothering the symbol that was currently slick and gritty with sunblock and sand. She checked out crystal figurines and beaded jewelry, casually one-armed on the Venice Beach boardwalk, just a girl who liked her own half-hug. Meanwhile a third option whispered through her mind: telling Mom the truth. The symbol appeared by itself. Because she was one of three girls alive who could join together like Justice Friends for some secret, as yet undisclosed reason. Yeah. That was the ticket to having her room ransacked and weeks of “talks” about saying no to drugs. She’d be rocking the bridesmaid dress before she did that.

Has anyone else tried to read through each and every entry? I admire agents now more than ever. My eyes were swimming before I got through the first two hundred. Nathan (may I call him Nathan? Sigh) has put up an update in case you haven't checked his site recently. Find it HERE. 

And now, because I'm in need of a little food, I leave you with a game: Comment with your prediction of how many entries Nathan will receive by the Thursday deadline, without going over. The winner gets to wear my ermine cloak and carry my jewel-encrusted scepter for the whole of one day. Good luck!!!!!

Querying: I Heart Agents Who Read Slush

Has everyone read agent and writing guru Nathan Bransford's Ten Commandments for the Happy Writer? I can't pick a favorite because they all seem that important, and re-reading them from time to time is a great way to re-focus. Okay, that's just something I've been meaning to blog about and never found the chance. On with today's topic!

Querying, glorious querying. Many of you know about my infamous Book Number One. Rather than have you gather 'round the fire for a recap, just know that it was a typical first book, and I queried it with my whole heart. The rejections were painful and I couldn't help but take it all personal. Now I'm a lot better at seeing the writing-part as where my heart belongs, and the querying-part as nothing more than what it is: a business letter offering my services. Almost like a job application (yes, I know we would technically be "hiring" the agent, but stay with me), it is what we are offering in a prospective business partnership. No matter how bad I wanted to work at a particular company, I can't see myself trashing the interviewer all over forums if they didn't give me the job. (Even after a form rejection, Diana? Yes, even after a form. Agents have jobs to do, and replying to queries is only one tiny part of that huge job. Once you have an agent, you may not want him or her spending most of her time replying personally to every single query when the same general, kindly-worded R would give the right idea.). 

But we are the writers! We are the ones with product for the machine, we have the ever-essential raw material and I get that. However. Agents spend their free time reading slush, if they read it at all. It's probably good to keep a level head and remember that agents who hit reply when they could hit delete do not have to. (But Diana, they need us and they act all high and mighty! My response: I don't know what high-and-mighty agents those are, because every agent I've met or read an interview about seems like a hard-working person trying to do a Herculean job. Agent Jennifer Jackson states she has read over 7,000 queries so far this year. 7,000! But if I did notice a high-and-mighty agent in my agent-research, that problem would be easily solved-- don't query those agents! A form R does not mean the agent is high-and-mighty in my book. It means, No, thank you. Which is fine.).

As an aside, I think if I were averaging a hundred and seventy five queries a week, maybe the people who checked my guidelines instead of following what they heard about what agents "really" want would be a welcome relief. In other words, if a particular agent wants X-Y-Z, why do some writers insist on sending them J-Q-Asterisk-P? Janet Reid has a rhetorical quiz on her blog about this. 

How do you feel about the querying process? Am I way off base? Are agents who send form R's just the worst ever? Are queries oh-so-much-more than business letters? Whadya think?

Book Talk: Ink Exchange and Fragile Eternity

Another book talk, and today I'm doing a double: Ink Exchange, the stand-alone spin-off of Melissa Marr's Wicked Lovely, and Fragile Eternity, which is Wicked Lovely's sequel. For my take on Wicked Lovely, click HERE.

What I loved best about these two stories, and Wicked Lovely, was the way faeries are their own culture, both apart from the mortal world and at the same time, influenced by it. 

Something else I loved was how I found both good and bad in all the major characters. Good guys made mistakes, villains had beating hearts and redeemable qualities. Ink Exchange especially was all about understanding the harsh, cruel world that must exist, and bad guys good making good decisions, but Fragile Eternity also showed good guys acting selfishly and nothing was ever easy or straight-forward.

Ink Exchange is a trip into the sultry, frightening side of the faery world, and I was intrigued by the Dark Court and it's strange and necessary connection to the mortal one. Leslie was the perfect character to fit into this world, both alluring and damaged. At first I thought this story was a romance like the first book, and I wasn't sure who-- Niall or Irial, would be the right match for Leslie. As things progressed I understood it more as a story about choices and addiction, and it turns out, love, but the kind of love that means doing what's best for the people we care about. Ms. Marr is a master at making me think over what I understand about good and evil.

In Fragile Eternity we return to the light of summer. The prologue drew me in and I was right at home with my old faves, to the point that it was impossible to stick to my read-only-before-bed rule. I was reading in the kitchen while trying to make dinner for goodness sake! But I'm a sucker for angst and drama, so mix that in with magical powers, beautiful writing, faery feasts and a love rectangle that left me guessing (and hoping!), this was pretty much a story-come-true for me. I loved every second of Keenan's pursuit, and I felt bad for poor Seth's desperate knowledge that no matter how much Ash loved him, he was going to get old and die. It's obviously a middle book, and the ending is pretty much one of those, "Aren't there more pages??? There must be another chapter here somewhere..." but I am happy knowing that my time spent in the faery world isn't over. 

Both books are a departure from the first story, a girl with a crush who can see faeries, and I enjoy seeing how the story events have changed and affected each character differently. I don't like to say, "This book is better than that," because we all connect to books for our own, inexplicable reasons. That being said, I enjoyed the storyline of the Wicked Lovely/Fragile Eternity books more, but the Ink Exchange storyline is more thought-provoking and unique.

Some Honest Thoughts.

In response to yesterday's Ten Things Challenge, a few of my fabulous web-pals commented on the story potential in what I shall know refer to as the Formula #9 Project. No, I had never thought about writing a story involving a losery, friendless, violin-playing booknerd who moves across the country and turns her life around. Here's why. Real life seems ordinary and unstoryable to me, (Sesquipedalian, is there a footnote for that one?). I like reading and writing about magic and powers. So initially my reaction to everyone's comments was a big whopping, "El. Oh. El. Not likely peeps." But. I suppose I should keep a level head about everything. I mean, what happens if my current love-in-progress doesn't work out? A girl has to keep her options open. I'm not getting any younger, after all, and as great as things are going with loverstory right now, what about the future? Will we be able to go the distance? Will I still be in love through revisions, queries, the good times and bad? Who's to say? I'm not saying I'll cheat, I won't! I'm just saying your comments have made me think for a second. And my thoughts are, maybe it doesn't always have to be about magic. Maybe.