Since I can’t seem to get the audio thing working for this song, here’s the video for the song I’m listening to (over and over).
Anyway, this morning(ish) on Twitter I saw a RT for a query feedback contest – in which the entries weren’t subject to blog publication. Literary fiction – particularly with commentary and contemporary philosophy – may be hard to place so, while I am very pleased with my query, I’d love to know what this particular agent has to say about whether I’m giving my story the best possible (ie most engaging) presentation. Anyway, the twitter (twat, twit, whatever) led to a blog called Neverending Page Turner, where you’ll find that the contest is closed, but you can still see what it was about and keep up with any upcoming opportunities.
Also, I keep hearing about how agents are hearing about the query system being problematic. Personally, I don’t quite see how that’s so and think it’s more a case of people wanting to get responses other than the one’s they’re getting. Easier to identify a broken machine than a broken submission? Aaanyway.
But nobody raise your voices… just kidding, I’m listening to Beirut now.
So, when last we met I mentioned that I knew what was to happen to the girl on the pier. Yes, well, that may well be but I’ve gotten a shot of adrenaline in a project with a very different format. If that’s ever happened to you, you know what that means. I have to work in the medium that’s demanding the attention, mon frere. So girlfriend, unless you’re going to remind me how to write prose, I have to get it while the gettin’s good over in screenplay land. This is rare anyway, so stop your whining. I’m not one of those people who talks about how her characters are demanding, intrusive, etc – come on, it’s not quite that melodramatic. Except now the girl on the pier – as she’s stuck in that place and I know where her emotional terrain is leading and am only unprepared to transpose it into the proper expression for that particular project – is standing very still, crying in the face of the inquisitive stranger. Definitely one of the strangest images to keep creeping up behind me. But it’s not like she’s crying *at* me, writers who feel the need to dramatize their relationship with fictitious people. She’s just there crying because beyond that moment hasn’t been transposed onto paper yet and because I’m already aware of what continues as far as her internal progression. If I were unaware of how the story would progress, there would be no insistent visual like that. I have no idea why I’m trying to clarify this in the first place. What are we doing?!
Oh, now I’m listening to Gavin Rossdale. “Love Remains The Same.” That’s right, Gavin. My love has. Kind of. I do remember being slightly obsessed with you in 1996. So I guess my love hasn’t really remained the same. Also, when you were dating her and I was a scarily intense teenage girl (like all teenage girls), I hated Gwen Stefani. Adult me – who’s married now, too – saw a picture of you guys on vacation and you were facing the ocean and your hand was running through her hair. And it was the most beautiful thing ever. So, yeah, I guess nothing about 1996 Love Remains The Same. Whoops.
And I just wrote a segment to Gavin Rossdale. At least my blog is going back to normal. Less writing talk, more nonsense. Yay!