Frankie thinks the writer might be broken. It’s probably because of that stupid cat in the story she keeps reading to Frankie. If the writer would simply kill the cat, everything would be back on track and Frankie could be lazy again. As it now stands, the writer has spent a week crying about something called a query.
Ok, Frankie understands. Point me to the query and the pug will beat it up so that the writer can relax again. This simply must stop. The writer thinks the query is as a bad as a cat and has employed a “workshop” to fix it.
The Liverpool game is over and the writer’s team won. The workshop is over, but the writer still cries and bleats. There are a lot more of these games with the ball and the humans kicking the ball around to watch.
Humans do not know how to play with a ball, not at all. And yet, the writer has abandoned the couch and is back at her desk. The workshop is over, the writer said. Frankie does not understand any of this.
The writer says there is not any more time left to be lazy. What is wrong with her? It is raining. It is cold. The writer is here with Frankie. She should get on the couch and get with the program. Not all this gnashing of teeth and rending of garments.
Frankie is pretty sure that the writer’s query was not so bad that the writer will be hated by everyone. The writer says her hopes and dreams are riding on this query. That’s plain silly. She has a pug. And if the query is that bad, Frankie will make it better. Everyone loves a pug. And they will love the writer because she is Frankie’s human. And now Frankie is exhausted and requires a nap. Until next time.
The words “The End” sit at the end of a page after 114,254 words according to Word’s last count. I am reading my book out loud to the pug. It helps to see if the rhythm of the words work, checks for pace and cadence, things the naked eye misses. Then my current book is off to two friends, both avid readers with editing experience for one last look through.
The current schedule (some dates are flexible)
Jan 22 – 31 (around here) Query first 10 agents on my list
Frankie has a hard time figuring out about time. She is always surprised when it is raining during her walk time. She is even more surprised when the writer does not get chased away for the “day job”. Then there is the writer staring for hours at a computer screen doing nothing. Then the writer cries.
Writers are too complicated. Pugs are not. She might have to get that cat she keeps threatening Frankie with. Cats are not simple. Cats are scary. There is a cat in the writer’s story that she reads to Frankie. It is giving the pug nightmares. Frankie hopes the rain will stop and the writer will just go ahead and kill the cat.
The blog is in super peril now. I am almost cried out. My precious writer’s tears are almost at an end. And I need them so I can dive deep into the query trenches, get an agent, and book deal and a much better retirement plan.
The time has come. I have been cultivating this book for three years now. The blog will suffer as my schedule until the end of the year has become a sprint to make ready for querying in the New Year. I must wait for several agents to re-open to queries so I am taking one last lap around pacing and exposition issues. Then here is the rest of the schedule:
Dec 8 – Dec 15 – Read entire book out loud to the pug – for final pacing and all that rot
So my trip to New York did not go quite as planned. I thought I would have time to make blog posts. Silly me. Instead, New York ate my blog. Just devoured it and left it to rot. It’s not a city I can control.
The world is a perilous place. It is not meant for wimps Life is a precarious thing. None of us get out alive, and we waste precious time hating and vilifying one another.
Dogs stomp that voice out. There is something in the eyes of a dog that wishes so much to please, to be able to go help the people over there. Dogs have a courage unmatched by the boldest of imaginary super heroes.