Blogfest...Interrupted!

I'm not the only one running contests and competitions! Over on Sash's Secrets, she's running her first BlogFest today. Following is what she asked for, and my entry. I took my entry from On Common Ground. This scene happens shortly after the excerpt that is posted on my site. Enjoy!

On Sunday, June 26th, post a 500-1000 word scene of your characters being interrupted - doesn't matter what they're doing, doesn't matter what's interrupting them (end of the world, knock on the door, little voice in their head...), they just need to be interrupted.

She halted her footsteps as four men wearing blue and black stepped out of that corridor, their eyes locked directly on her. She stole a quick glance back and confirmed her sudden suspicion. There were more men now standing behind her. She had walked right into a trap. She could already see a shotgun as well as a couple of handguns and assorted chains and baseball bats. Grace knew she was in trouble. She lunged for the closest back door, praying it would be unlocked, that she could get through and have a chance at making it to the open street where there would be other people. The gang wouldn't attack like this out there. With one foot extended to her right, hand outstretched for the doorway, other hand clutching her revolver for dear life, she froze. The short, dark skinned man swinging the chain also froze, including the chain. The baseball bat stopped in midair, an inch before slapping into a palm. The leader's finger was already pulling the trigger, but it didn't move.

One thing in the alley did move. A head of wavy, shoulder-length blond hair lifted up and looked around, confused. The stormy blue eyes took in the scene and then looked past it at the auburn-haired man walking toward him. The blond stepped away from the door he had just unlocked and spoke.

“Micheal, what are you doing?”

Micheal shook his wings and smiled gently at the tall golden-skinned blond.

“It's her Time, Gabe. Relock the door." Gabe didn't move. "You've done a good job with her. But it's her Time. Time for you to take another charge. For her to go on to her reward.” Gabe stared at Micheal, still not moving toward the door.

Gabe knew this was not some cruel joke. It was Grace's time to die. The work she had been destined to do had been done. It was over. But it couldn't be over for him. He couldn't accept it this time. He had never argued a Time before.He had never hesitated to let other charges accept their fate and move on to their destiny. But he couldn't let Grace go. He wouldn't.

“Gabe, look at me.” Gabe turned his stormy eyes to the ground. They were even stormier than usual. “We know that she is special to you. We have overlooked your indiscretions. We haven't reassigned you because you were doing a good job. You didn't let temptation get to you. You didn't shirk your duties. You kept a watchful eye and- Gabe look at me!” Gabe looked up solemnly. Micheal stepped closer to him. “You kept a watchful eye and this is good. You did a good job and we haven't faulted you for what happened. But now it is time for it to end. It is her time to die and you must let it happen. “ Micheal reached past Gabe and locked the door. “It is no sin to love, Gabe, but we have a responsibility to the order of life. We have a job to do. That's the way it is, the way it has been, the way it must be. You know this! You're an excellent angel, Gabe. One of our best, if truth be known. Let the woman go.” Micheal reached back and pushed the revolver from Grace's unmoving hand.

As the deadly weapon clattered on the pavement, Gabe looked up, his pale blue eyes taking on a steel tint. His jaw was hard and his fists clenched. “I won't let her go, Micheal. She will do much good. And I do love her.”

Micheal sighed and shook his head. He held his hand out and set it against Gabe's chest. Gabe stiffened and his wide eyes stared in horror and anger at Micheal. Gabe's muscles tensed, but could not move. “You don't have any choice, Gabe. She will die. And yes, you do love her.” Micheal looked at Gabe sadly as he stretched his other hand slowly toward the group of mortals behind him. “I'm very sorry, old friend. But you have been removed from the guardianship of Grace Rayne. You are no longer allowed to give her aid." Micheal turned his eyes away and mumbled under his breath, "And she can never be allowed to have your heart.” Micheal stretched out his fingers and waved his hand to the right, freeing the action of the mortals.

The shotgun exploded as momentum returned to the alley. Grace lunged for the door and screamed as her leg burned and gave way underneath her. Her jeans were soaked in blood almost instantly. The shotgun issued a lazy trail of smoke in the hands of the grinning Highway. “Get her, boys. Teach her not to mess with us.” Grace screamed again as a chain whipped across her back, tearing the fabric of her shirt as well as her skin. Highway knelt beside her and smiled, brushing her hair away from her face so she could look at him. “Remember that kid you sent to jail when he was robbing the convenience store? All he wanted was a lousy fifty bucks and you try to send him up the creek for murder. That was my little brother.” Highway stepped back and crossed his arms as someone else stepped up. Grace looked up and saw brown eyes and a mass of curly hair. His cheeks were smudged with dirt and there was a scrape against one jaw. It was the boy that had dodged through traffic to get to her. The boy that had led her into this trap. The boy whose life she had saved less than an hour before. “This is my other brother. Normally, I'd say he's too young to go for full membership, but, I figure rules are made to be broken, just like bones.” He grinned at the youth holding the baseball bat and the bat came whistling down on top of Grace's shoulder and the side of her head. The audience laughed.

I NEED that!

So, one afternoon last week I get a call from one of my friends. She says that she has a friend that likes to read and pointed her to my website, where I have excerpts from much of my work. Now the friend wanted to ask me something. She hands the phone to the friend and the friend says:

"I NEED to read the rest of that book!"

Now, I'm still unpublished. In fact, she's lucky that the one she was interested in is even finished; not all of them are! So I arranged to get her email and email it to her, because it isn't currently under consideration by anyone.

So I have two thoughts on this situation, both of them very positive, and maybe they are just related.

1. How awesome a friend I have that apparently does regular word-of-mouth marketing for me? She claims it has nothing to do with being my friend, but hey, it feels pretty cool, either way.

2. What an amazing feeling to hear someone say "I NEED to read more!" I've had people read my stuff over the years, I'm not one that's shy about that, but very rarely have I had someone, especially someone I have never met, be that excited about my work.

So, this post isn't a deep insight into the mind of a writer, nor an exciting update as to what is happening with my work, but merely a very heartfelt thank you to my friend. Thank you, for bringing me that huge feel-good moment. Every fledgling writer could use more of those.

Returned

Well, we've already received a response from the Nelson Agency regarding the first 30 pages of On Common Ground and they decided it wasn't right for them. Certainly, I'm disappointed, but not at all despairing, nor derisive! The rejection hasn't changed my opinion of the agency; I still think they are good people. I just have to keep looking.

I wonder, sometimes, if perhaps "rejection" is a poor choice of words for this process. Yes, the process is nominally called submission, because you are throwing yourself to the mercy of the agents and publishers, much like a slave casts his eyes to the floor and silently hopes that he receives a pat on the head instead of a sword to the throat. However, back to the term rejection, in many cases, the agent or editor isn't saying the work is no good, nor even saying they don't want it. They may just already have signed with half a dozen novels about Shapeshifting Teacher-Monkeys Taking Over the School and so, even though my Shapeshifting Teacher-Monkeys are the best ones, they need something different. (Self-note: write a great novel about Shapeshifting Teacher-Monkeys.)

I think a better term might be "Returned." A manuscript can be "Returned with Respect" or "Returned with Love" or "Returned with a Bag of Garbage that Smells Better than this Prose!" Thus we know why it was Returned, or at least the general impression of it, and there isn't the automatically negative connotation of it being rejected.

So, in summation, I say thank you, Kristin and Sara, for being interested enough to request the partial, and thank you for taking the time to read 30 pages that I wrote.

(Let's hope it was Returned with something other than garbage, though they didn't actually specify!)

Partial!!

So, last week, I sent On Common Ground to The Nelson Agency which publishes a blog called Pub Rants that I follow. This week, I received and email reply from them, requesting the first 30 pages!!

(Yes, I am struggling to contain my hopeful excitement, but don't tell anyone. I'm trying to stay dignified for the kids' sake!)

So, with a little luck, they will decide to help Gabe, Luke, Grace, and crew to find a good home. Cross your fingers!

"Great News!" said my wife.

She said "It's good news; we are now free to submit On Common Ground to new agents/publishers, because Mundania Press turned it down! OK, granted, it wasn't quite the great news we were hoping to hear from them." And she has a point. Two of them.

Each rejection of a work can/should be viewed as a new opportunity to find it a home with someone who really appreciates it. If an editor or publisher offers a contract, but doesn't really believe in the work, they aren't going to be giving it their best shot while simultaneously tying up its possibilities elsewhere. So, it should soon be venturing out again on missives with the mission of finding its rightful place in the publishing world.

Yes, naturally, I'm a little a disappointed, but I am trying to look at the bright sides: Mundania doesn't pay advances, and many other publishers do. Perhaps, in addition to landing a publishing contract, On Common Ground will also bring home a nice pretty advance check. (Always welcome.) Also, though I don't have any actual issue with the printing format, I'm not quite as fond of the larger-sized paperbacks so now perhaps it'll be in the more common trade paperback style.

However, when you boil it all down, it got rejected and that never feels quite as nice as a chocolate-covered banana split with sprinkles. In the words of one of my 8th grade students, "Well, they're just stupid-heads and they should have bought it!" [Specific terminology changed to protect the less-than-innocent.]