You can't judge a book by its cover

There's this really amazing guy on a social networking site for writers who does virtual book covers for the virtual books posted there by virtual authors like me. He offered to do a cover for me, and this is what he came up with.

Pretty cool, huh?

He does these for free for all of us "prepublished" authors. I don't know how much good karma you can accumulate in a lifetime, but this man's karma cup must be overflowing.

The list of agent rejections keeps growing. I haven't had any rejections from publishing houses yet, but I'm not counting that as good news. I'm still in love with my first story, but I've had enough rejection for now and am putting it away to focus on my strange southern murder mystery while I still have time.

Speaking of the next project, I'm slogging away on Book 2 and spent some time on the phone today with a singles minister (and good friend) at a large Southern Baptist church. I needed to get my facts straight on how Baptist congregations deal with disagreements within the church and some other church protocol and organizational issues. When I left a message for her to call me, she was afraid I'd be asking deep theological questions, and was relieved when instead I asked about who sits in on different kinds of meetings.

Finally, a shout-out to Ireland, Israel, South Africa and Malaysia, all of which joined the BYE League of Nations this week. Welcome!

Who Dat!

Well, that was fun.

In case you haven't heard, my beloved New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl last night in dramatic fashion.

There's a lot to say about the game and its meaning to the entire Gulf South, but I think I'll leave that for others to dissect.

I'll just say this: it was one of the best nights of my life.

Everything about last night's game was perfect. Even the commercials were funnier than ever. Well there was one imperfection--the lame halftime performance by what remains of one of the greatest rock bands of all time. Can you say, "pass the Metamucil?"

I think I may have just watched my last televised sporting event. I mean it. What's the point of watching another game? Last night was as good as it gets, and I can't imagine a game in any sport at any level with more subtext, underlying meaning or a more satisfying result. I'll never feel this good or derive this much joy from a game again. It's not possible.

Everyone who has ever lived in New Orleans knows what I mean. No game could ever mean as much to them as the one they saw last night.

Today I'm in Who Dat heaven. In four days Teri will be on the streets of New Orleans celebrating Mardi Gras. I'll be there in April for Jazz Fest, and they'll still be dancing in the streets.

Just when I think the Best Year Ever couldn't get any better, it does. Discerning Reader, if you haven't had your own "Best Year Ever", I highly recommend the experience. When I began this experiment in June, I made the conscious decision that the next twelve months would be the best of my life. There have been plenty of surprises for me along the way, but so far the year is living up to the name I gave it.

The key was the decision.

If you decide to live as if you're conducting a grand experiment and you decide that a chunk of time is going to be rich and filled with joy and satisfaction, it really can turn out that way. It has for me, so far.

I'm finding out that, even in the best of times, not everything happens exactly the way I want or in the ways I envisioned. But it's all turning out for the best. As I write this, I have 112 days remaining in the Best Year Ever.

I can't wait to see what happens next.

Boat Drinks

I gotta fly to Saint Somewhere ...
... I gotta go where it's warm.
--Jimmy Buffett, "Boat Drinks"

I never intended this to be a personal diary, and I already know today's post will read like a journal entry. This morning I have lots of little thoughts and no big ones at all. My apologies, Discerning Reader.

Spring is coming, but I can't stand winter another minute, so yesterday I broke down and booked a Caribbean cruise. We'll be sailing in May. This won't be a typical kind of trip for us--our vacations tend towards more exotic fare like biking through Burgundy or slogging through rice paddies in the backwaters of Vietnam.

But our budget is tight, and yesterday I wasn't in the mood for all the research and planning I always put into one of our "real" vacations. I wanted something easy. Right now a week of idle mindlessnessness aboard a floating tropical resort sounds pretty darn good.

Sounds good to Teri too. She's been working her tail off getting ready for the Big Read, a year-long campaign to promote literacy and library patronage in our state. The idea is to get everyone in the State of Alabama to read "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" this year. Teri and her students have been heavily involved in the PR campaign and the formal kickoff is this morning on the steps of the state capitol. Teri is there as I write this, surrounded by librarians and politicians. You can read more about the effort by clicking here.

Between Alabama Reads, the coming ad team competition, the faculty fellows seminar series she directs, a major grant to combat student binge drinking she's overseeing and her full class load, Teri is one busy, busy woman. When May gets here and her calendar clears, she'll be ready for a little pampering.

I'm really proud of her, and I don't know how Teri gets everything done. Somehow, she does.

Our vacation is coming to us compliments of Uncle Sam. Our tax refund is more than covering the cost of the trip. I know, I know--it was our money and we shouldn't have loaned all that cash to the government interest-free for an entire year. But windfalls rock.

A recent series of visits to various medical professionals should eat up the balance of the refund. Between new glasses (I won't look like John Lennon, but at least I'll have his spectacles), a cavity that needs replacing and tomorrow's physical, the cost of good health in middle age adds up quickly.

I like the team of caregivers I have in place. Yesterday I added a new dentist to the roster. My last dentist was more concerned with getting additional revenue than the people in her chair, so I've decided to part ways with her tooth factory.

One of the blessings of living in Suburbingham is that we seem to be blessed with an abundance of competent medical practitioners. I never have to wait to get an appointment with any of my doctors, and they are all terrific.

My new dentist is Doctor Jayme. That's what the staff calls her and how she refers to herself. She's young, pleasant and I can tell she knows what she's doing. I feel a little oogy about combining her first name with her formal title. I'd prefer either using the surname with the title (Dr. Smith) or being on a first name basis. I've gone both ways with my docs in the past, depending. This is neither formal nor familiar--it's some kind of strange middle ground. I like her so I guess I'll have to adjust to this whole Doctor Jayme business.

I spent one day last week going through my manuscript to make a particular kind of edit. A reviewer correctly pointed out that I was using the word "had" too heavily (565 times, to be exact). It's a kind of verbal tic, and I looked at each instance of "had" in the book to see if I could make those sentences more active. After completing the task (it took the better part of a day), I somehow saved the master document so that I not only undid all my work, I simultaneously eliminated every "had" in the book, even the ones that needed to be there. Not good. Yesterday I spent another full day with a slightly older backup version beside the master to fix the mess I made. That was painful, but at least 400 or so unnecessary "hads" are history.

The form rejections from literary agents keep coming even as my popularity on the Authonomy writer website continues to rise and favorable comments continue to come in. Yesterday's form rejection letter had the following tacked on: "Don't give up!" That's something, anyway.

Omens

Teri asked me last night if I was feeling okay.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Well I read your blog post today and you seem discouraged."

Oops. If that's the message you received yesterday, it wasn't the one I intended to convey. I meant to leave you with a message of hope and determination in the face of adversity.

If you were also concerned for my mental well being, don't be. I'm feeling great.

Thanks to both of you who recently added your names to the roll of the dishy by clicking the followers button. Hey David, I didn't know you were out there. It's great seeing you.

I'm seeing omens again. Whenever I have several sightings of unusual wildlife or natural phenomenon in a short period of time, some superstitious part of me considers that as a sign. The only problem is, I have no ability whatsoever to interpret the signs being left for me, so it's not a very good form of guidance.

Yesterday morning I saw a pair of bluebirds in our back yard. I can't think of anything more beautiful than a bluebird--especially one in flight. I haven't seen bluebirds in my yard in a long time, so it was a special moment. Teri was getting ready for work when they appeared, and I dragged her away from her blow dryer so she could see them too. As we watched them, a beautiful red-headed woodpecker landed on the lawn.

Also yesterday morning, I stepped outside and felt spring in the air for the first time this year. I'm sure of it--it was unmistakeably the coming spring. The Bayberry Woods are still lifeless and barren and another cold snap is on the way this weekend, so this long winter isn't ready to let go. But the season of new life and rebirth is upon us. I'm positive.

Last night I noticed a ring around the moon as I toted our garbage to the curb. Early this morning I saw a great heron as I drove past a farm pond.

This all must add up to something. Right?

For at least the next few weeks I'm going to be blogging less and will try to restrict my random ramblings to two or three per week instead of the four or five posts I usually do. It's not that I'm tired of you--far from it. I'm at a point where I need a little more time for both my "real" writing and my "real" life. Both aspects of my world have taken a turn for the busy lately. On top of that, I want to see if limiting my posts improves the overall quality of this blog. What are the odds of that?

Have a wonderful weekend, y'all.

Whiff of doubt?

This one is more self-obsessed blah, blah, blah about me and my book, but it's also about you. I urge you to read on and find out how.

Yesterday I told you about the rave reviews pouring in for my book on a social networking website for wannabe authors. My book climbed another 77 spots since yesterday, breaking the 1,000 barrier on the charts for the first time. Go me!

Here's an excerpt of a review that came in yesterday from a writer in Ireland: I read on and on as if I was just enjoying a book for my own pleasure. I haven't been taking notes, or thinking about what I should say in my comments. Instead, I've been relaxing and laughing and having fun. This is a brilliant book, quite a lot different from the usual, written in an excellent, publishable style and original in its characters and settings.

Whoo hoo!

Now, let's get real for a moment, shall we?

For the last few weeks I've been sending out query letters and writing samples to literary agents and publishers. I'm sending out a handful a week to tweak my presentation based on the feedback I receive.

So far, of the dozen or so queries I've sent, I've had a whopping two responses. Here was the more encouraging of the two: Thanks so much for considering us. Although this sounds quite interesting, it is not what we are looking for at this very time. Thanks so much for giving us the opportunity and good luck in your quest for publication.

As for the others--all I've heard back so far is the sound of crickets. The silence is worse than the outright rejection. The silence is also a statement of rejection--only louder.

Is that the first whisper of self-doubt I hear? Could be, friend--could be.

Is the BYE a fool's errand and the product of self-delusion? Could be, my dear Discerning Reader--could be.

Was it unrealistic to believe that I could write a publishable manuscript the first time out of the blocks against very long odds. Maybe so--maybe so.

I think the posters sold on despair.com are hilarious. They turn the bright, cheery images and vapid messages of the motivational posters you often see in business upside down. I've put a few of them below this post so you can see for yourself.

As the posters remind us, there are dreams and aspirations, and then there's reality.

I'm not going gently into the world of reality just yet. No, no, no. I'm going to rage, rage against the dying of the light. Not while there's still time.

A week or so ago I printed up a quote from the author Samuel Beckett and posted it on the wall in front of my computer. You can see it in the picture of the nerve center of the dream factory. It's my new mantra.

Here's how the Beckett quote reads:

Ever tried. Ever failed.
No matter.
Try again. Fail again.
Fail better.

I'm off to fail better. See you later.

Crack for writers, part 3

I suspect that most people who read blogs are also members of one or more social media sites, so you'll all relate to this.

I have a Facebook account I check daily. I have a Twitter account that I use to leave short teasers on whatever I'm posting here. I also belong to LinkedIn, but since it's geared to business networking and I left the real world last year, I rarely check that one these days. Teri reminded me yesterday that my LinkedIn profile was in desperate need of attention and updating since it still showed me working for my former employer.

Some of my friends, especially my younger relatives, are Facebook addicts. Teri saw some research the other day that showed students at one major university (not hers) spend 1.7 hours on average on Facebook per day. Hard to believe.

A couple of weeks ago I joined a fourth social networking site and I'm hopelessly addicted. I won't even name it here for fear that other unpublished authors will stumble on to this post and become addicted themselves. Okay, it's Authonomy--just don't tell anyone.

Here's how it works:

A major publisher owns this literary crackhouse and encourages unpublished authors to upload all or part of their books onto their site. Right now there are something like 5,000 full or partial manuscripts available for your reading pleasure.

The authors on the site then read and give critiques of the posted works of the other authors. I think most writers are motivated much more by the desperate desire for an audience than by financial reward, so the idea of having other people seeking out and commenting on the thing they treasure most in life is incredibly attractive.

But there's more!

It's also a game. Each book on the site is given a ranking based on the number of people who "back" it by putting it on their virtual bookshelves. If you reach the top five in any given month your manuscript gets a formal reading by the editorial board of the publisher sponsoring the site. Each reviewer holds a "talent spotter" ranking based on how the books on their shelves perform. If a person with a high TS rank backs your book, it moves up more notches than it would if a person with a low ranking does.

Cool.

For someone anxious to see their work disseminated and read, this is incredibly enticing.

But there's even more!

It's hypnotizing watching your book fly up the virtual charts and your influence as a reviewer grow. Heaven help me, I'm actually keeping a chart of my performance. You start at the very bottom of both lists, somewhere in the five thousands. But Carnival Time has been on a rocket ride since I posted it a couple of weeks ago. This morning I checked and the book is at 1,057 on the charts, up nearly 400 slots since Sunday evening. My reviewer ranking is only 2,748, but I got a slow start and that rating is currently rising even faster than the book is.

I suspect most authors weren't the most popular kids in school--we bookish folk seldom are--and to see an actual number attached to your popularity and to see your acclaim grow is the ultimate in positive reinforcement for our kind.

But wait, there's still more! There are the reviews.

As of this morning, I've had thirty reviews for my book. Want to hear bits of some of them?

"Highly entertaining."

"...enjoyable with much humor and a delicacy of touch that is very engaging."

"Great story ... much better than I expected."

"BRILLIANT ...it is evident we are in the hands of an accomplished professional."

"As I read it I had to stop a few times to think about what a hugely interesting and different plot this is. They say there are no new ideas, and you seem to be kicking the crap out of that saying."

"Brilliant. You have seen to the heart of the lunacy North Americans inhabit and served it up to us as dark satire."

I could go on (and I am tempted to do so), but the reviews are all pretty much like that, and you get the idea. It's a screen chock-full of warm fuzzies and pats on the back.

Okay, but here's where Authonomy meets reality. Everyone says nice things about all of the books on the site. If you've put in the work on something as personal and creative as a book, you know how others who have done the same feel, and it's impossible to be brutally honest. My reviewers have debated a few structural issues and pointed out a handful of typos, but none of them would dream of saying "this is a huge load of stinking garbage. For the sake of humanity, step away from the keyboard and don't ever come back."

It's a popularity contest. Remember? If you get a reputation for saying nice things, people will want to review and back you and increase your own book's rating. So literary merit and unvarnished truth seldom find their way into the mutually congratulatory reviews.

Most of the books posted on Authonomy will never see the light of day. Frankly, most of them aren't very good. There are a few polished and unpolished gems in that pile of rubble, but you can't spot them from the ratings alone. So I will never know how good or bad my book really is from this jury of my peers. And my peers, like me, all carry a faint whiff of desperation.

To date, the publisher running the site has signed three books of the thousands posted, and a handful of others have allegedly attracted the attention of literary agents rumored to be roaming Authonomy, so the odds of meeting your goal (if your goal is publication) are long indeed. I knew it was going to be a crapshoot when I started the BYE, but I try not to think about that.

More on facing long odds tomorrow.