Nostalgia

I’d forgotten Jell-O. 

How could I, one might wonder, with all those catchy commercials and Bill Cosby’s enthusiastic endorsements?  Well, I’m not sure…I don’t know when I started turning my nose up at the wiggly-jiggly wonder.  I never abandoned the pudding, Heaven forbid!  But the gelatin, I could take it or leave it, and I left it.

We’re still going through Granny’s possessions.  This week, while unpacking another box rescued from storage, I found Granny’s Jello-O dish.  It’s not some kind of “official” Jell-O dish, but the one I remember her always pouring her Jell-0 into.  Usually cherry, with mixed fruit.  It’s rectangular, thick glass, ribbed all the way around with a similar lid sporting raised leaves.  Something I hadn’t thought about in years, but when I saw it the rush of memory came back to me. Along with the warm, fuzzy feelings you might expect.

So, I cleaned it up, and made some Jell-O, lemon-flavored, that I brought home from her pantry at her house across town.  With marshmallows instead of fruit. There I was in my kitchen, that used to be Granny’s kitchen, scooping Jell-O out of the dish Granny used to scoop Jell-O from.  It was some of the best Jell-O I’ve ever had.

I’m having a lot of moments like these, as is the rest of my family.   Something that brings sweet memories to our mind, and how lucky are we we have them to relive. Today, Mom and I brunched at I-HOP, and a group of elderly people, assisted by canes and a bit unsteady in spite of it, passed by on the way to their table.

“I know,” Mom said, “I miss her too.”

I hadn’t realized I had a sad look on my face.  But Mom has always been able to read me like a book.

Living in the house Granny and Papa did for so long, the house where Uncle B and Mom grew up, the house where they entertained people from Church and unofficially fostered so many children, I am blessed.  We want to give that to Toddler, and any children we might have.

I must get to work to get ready for the Home Study. I can’t bear the thought of my Granny’s house, now ours (we bought it after she remarried several years ago), not measuring up in any way. I don’t like putting myself up for possible rejection, I realized today. 

Not an earth-shattering realization, I mean who loves rejection anyway?  Putting your whole life up for judgement, everything that is you is out there, waiting for someone else’s stamp of approval.

Do you think that’s why I’ve been such a major avoider of writing lately?  I’ve lost sight of the love of story-telling by letting all those rejection letters clutter my head?  It’s not even that that they are mere rejection letters, I can’t even get past the standard form rejection letter. How sad that a more detailed rejection letter might make me happy. And so totally unrealistic that agents and editors have that kind of time.  But I can’t let this hang-up get in the way of my writing much longer.  

I’ve always been such a person in need of approval from others.  One of the weaknesses I can’t abide in myself.  And I’ve always been comfortable with my successes in life.  The feeling I might not succeed with something that has been one of my dreams forever eats at me until I am paralyzed into inaction.

Cue the violins.

This foster/adopt thing, though…I can’t let myself chicken out for fear of rejection.  I haven’t even thought about it.  This dream is bigger than me, it’s Mr. Man’s dream, too.  We want a family, always have.  And that takes persistance and dedication, as does anything in life that is worthwhile.

 

Interview with Bleak House Books Editor

Crap!

Well, after gaining the courage to send an entry of my query letter in to Miss Snark’s latest Crapometer evaluation, the number generator even rejected me, so I won’t get an evaluation from the smart, gin-soaked cookie.

CRAP!

Rejection? I think Not!

Thanks, Miss Snark, for sharing what JM shared with you!

Another

Another rejection this weekend.

Another stepping stone

Received another rejection today. One down, ? more to go until a yes!

Not much

Going on here. Haven’t been feeling quite up to par the past couple of days, I hope it’s not the dreaded flu.

Still no moisture, we’ve gone 5 months now with nary a drop. We REALLY need a rain dance around here.

Watching a re-rerun of Craig Ferguson. Tom Selleck is on–he’s got a charming giggle, among other things. I’ve never seen him as relaxed in an interview as he is in this one.

Went to see Fun With Dick and Jane last night. It was okay. Funny in a lot of places, but I can live w/o seeing it again. Also watched Batman Begins this week. Eh. Not much as I anticipated.

I forgot to mention I received another rejection a couple of weeks ago. From one of my #1 targets. At least this form letter was gracious.

Good News: I feel my manuscript calling me again.

At least it provides a little variety…

Got another rejection today. THIS one was interesting. It was my own query letter…and a tiny square of pre-printed words that amounted to thanks but no thanks. *sigh*

Okay, today, I have no patience for professional courtesy. How about this:

Dear Agent/Editor of Choice:

Hi! I’m a writer from Texas who is pretty darn good at what she does. But I can’t write a good, hooking query for crap.

But I do want a career in writing, and I can do it, I know I can. I just need someone to take a look at my work and believe in it as much as I do. Everyone thinks they’re brilliant as a writer, I guess. I don’t claim to be brilliant, or to be the greatest novelist of all time. But I can tell good stories that will be widely appealing.

I want this career to support my family and help them lead a comfortable life. I know it’s not a quick fix-all or quick way to make money, but I am willing to put in the work to do it. I am working toward it. I’m a writer, and I want to be a published, best-selling, auto-buy author.

Since I was a child, I’ve wanted to have a career in a specialized field, and also to be a novelist. I’ve achieved one of my goals, having a 22 year career in the field of my choice. And I’ve been writing for quite a while, and have finished several novels, so I can finish what I start. I’m not just some dork who’s walked in off the street. I’m a dork who can get it done.

C’mon, give me a chance. Just one chance. Let me prove myself.

Sincerely–
Desperate Writer

Is that any better? It’s the truth. No cutesy pitch. Just the truth. It doesn’t tell you anything about my book. So far, that hasn’t gotten my foot in the door anyway. I can tell you what ideas I have to offer, after I know I will at least get a more creative rejection letter. I know, time constraints, yadda yadda yadda. I’ve heard it, and I understand. But still. Give me a crumb of hope, please? I have persistence. I have talent. What I haven’t had yet is LUCK.

*sigh*

Racking up more

Just got the mail. Another rejection.

Fair time

Got another rejection in the mail this morning. And it was soooo form letter. It only takes one yes. It only takes one yes. It only takes one yes.

Saturday kicked off the fall season… as far as I’m concerned anyway (too bad today’s so darn hot.) A parade downtown heralded the arrival of our annual fair. The cool breeze swept a few early bird leaves across the streets, which were lined with people of all shapes, sizes, ages and moods.

We haven’t been to the fair itself yet, but I always look forward to it. As a child, the event stirred such excitment in me, I’m sure I drove my parents batty. Getting there just before the sun set, my brother and I wiggled and whined to get to The Midway, enduring the torture of looking through the endless exhibits our folks insisted on visiting first. Mom bought Dad his annual pound of fudge from a popular candy kitchen, and he made sure she got the saltwater taffy she loved.

The distinct aroma of the livestock competitors drifted in the air, mixing with the sassy twang of the Oakridge Boys or the Gatlin Brothers singing their hearts out. Babies, sticky with the residue of goodies rocked along as their parents navigated their strollers around bulky electric cables the fueled the rides. Teenagers clumped together in groups, their letterman jackets branding them according to school loyalties. Couples of every age meander through the crowd, holding hands and creating a world of their own within the bustle.

Finally, FINALLY – - The Midway. By this time, the lights gleamed up and down each side of the long thoroughfare, like the rainbow colors of junk jewelry when held up to the sun. Putting coins on each color of a game of chance, Mom always made sure we ‘won’ our share of candy. The crispy scent of footlong corn dogs with mustard, hot cheese — and just about everything else– on a stick, mixed with warm, fresh, sweet cotton candy sent my tastebuds into a fury of indecision. In the end, after a little bit of everything and stuffed like one of the cheap teddy bears on the wall above the dart and balloon game, the draft of Tilt-A-Whirl sucked us in like cat hair into a high-dollar vacuum. Surprisingly, after all the baccanalian reverie at the food stands, the spins and undulating circles didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I was giddy. I can’t say I’ve ever seen the same shade of green my little brother turned after one memorable annual trip on this ride. Of course, this was after he became old enough to buy beer.

Some people don’t take to rides well; I remember once, Daddy stepped in to help a woman who’d had a seizure, and stopped her from swallowing her tongue. As the ambulance crew took over and Dad walked back to us with a bitten finger and he seemed even bigger than life than he already was. To our family, he was always our hero, and still is.

Daddy died, oh, it’s been nearly five years ago now. I can’t believe it, time goes by so fast. Yet when we buried him, time stood still. Mom works in the evenings now, and we are all grown up (though sometimes we dispute that.) My brother has a wife and child of his own, and I am married and hopeful.

My husband and I still go to the fair, oddly eager to see the exhibits first, waiting more patiently now for night to fall and the splendor of The Midway to rise, with its carnival barkers and myriad of sights, tastes and sounds. The Fair doesn’t seem as big as it was when I looked at it through the wide eyes of a child, and truthfully, it isn’t. Not as many exhibitors, and The Midway has been condensed to a smaller, square area of land. The musical acts are now free, but not many superstars come our way.

There’s still fun to be had, still artwork, crafts and photography to be admired, people selling stuff we really don’t need, and great, tempting food that would send a cardiologist through the roof. And at the end of the night when I buy a pound of fudge for us and a bag of saltwater taffy for my Mom, I am still happy and content, and ready to go again next year.

WhipLASH

Okay. Sent e-mail query yesterday. Received rejection this morning. Someone get me a neckbrace, please?

Worked on revisions yesterday. Did not play What Word at all. I’m proud of myself.

I just don’t know what to do next regarding my hopes and dreams of being published. Jennifer Crusie tells us to write good books. Well, I believe in my stories. But evidently, I can’t manage to hook an editor or agent. I’ve tried and tried, researched different methods of writing query letters, different formats, but evidently, when it comes to promoting myself, I don’t have what it takes.

Should I enter more contests? Is the Golden Heart worth the money and effort?

I’ve thoroughly researched Jeff Herman’s book about publishers and agents. I’m thinking the next step is to go through one by one, and start whith my target agents again (the ones who haven’t rejected me so far) and try to come up with a better query.

The best bet I have, I suppose, is not to give up, no matter how tempting it is to do so.

___________

I think I want an iPod mini. I’ve been looking them over, and they seem pretty neat. I’ve been resisting it, thinking the last thing I need is another gadget, or another thing that requires recharging (cell phone, digital camera, Palm Pilot, laptop….) But it seems I have a gene in me that can’t resist a new gadget. I was perusing the iTunes shop, and there’s so much music available, and I don’t even have to buy an entire album to get one song. Kinda cool. And I can put the music I already own onto it.

Great. Another procrastination tool. I must tell Santa Claus…

Be careful what you ask for…

Well, I spouted off pretty good last night about not hearing from that agent. VOILA!! In the mail today, the mailman brought me my rejection. With an apology that it took so long, and an explanation. The agent said my work has good merit, but isn’t quite strong enough for her to take on in today’s competitive market….

*sigh*