First blog.
Eeeks, I talk all day for a living, so you might think this would be easy. So…ten minutes later and I finally decided on a topic—don’t want to ramble. I sent out 45 queries, most to agents, and a few to editors. One editor asked for a full ms, but passed; and one agent asked for ms, but haven’t heard back yet. The problem—hindsight being 20/20—is that I could never decide on a genre. Agents demand a genre…a category. Amusing, now that I think out it. I teach my International Baccalaureate brainiac students to think outside the box, to stretch the limits, push the boundaries, to not allow arbitrary rules control and define their creativity. Our world demands it. Innovation and invention require that people think outside the box. Except for agents. What section of the bookstore would my book go? Where indeed? I was dreaming it might belong in the front section, with all the others fiction best sellers. Sigh.
My novel doesn’t fit into a neat little genre box. Mystery. Thriller. Romance. Adventure. Fiction. Chick-lit. Comic. The ancient religious history of Dan Brown. The fun of Sophie Kinsella. The science of James Rollins. Mythology meets real-life. A quirky myth-busters. A mash-up! Pick a genre. Can’t use all those descriptors in my query—it would get tossed in an instant.
I know of many success stories of writers who went indie—self-published. After the Romance Writers of America conference in Anaheim, I’ll be ready to self-pub. The local chapter has been a wonderful source of information and place to network. Wish there was a Mash-up Writers of America club.
Will print out yet another copy—here, take my money Kinkos—of my manuscript, double spaced, and go through it yet again. Slowly. Backwards.
