Sherri Cornelius

It rained last night, but I don’t think we got as much as other places. This year an odd trend has emerged, where the radar shows a line of storms heading right for our little dot, but as they reach the dot they either weaken and die, or they weaken and re-form just on the other side of our dot, or they split and go to either side…you get the idea. So last night’s rain was welcome, but I’m sorry I missed it.

Yesterday’s post spurred some interesting comments, so I thought I’d address them in a new post. I referenced a post by Rachelle Gardner, in which she says it’s better for an unpublished writer to have more than one book under her belt, in a couple of ways. The part of the post that struck me was where she points out that it takes more than one book to learn how to be a writer, and that’s the part I blogged about yesterday. I was grateful for her honesty. It helped me appreciate my journey over the past year. I took it as a helpful and honest glimpse into the mystery that is the agent.

But others saw it as arrogant or judgemental. So what if you have only one book. Is that book a good one? Why wouldn’t they give that single good book a chance? (A quick Google search brought up this post and this one about one-book authors.) Would today’s market have room for great books like Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird or Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind? Marta mentioned Sylvia Plath, but I’m not sure I’d put her in this list, because she was already a published poet when The Bell Jar was published.

So here are my thoughts on the feeling that the system is unfair. With Mitchell, yeah, she wouldn’t have been published today, because she never even submitted her manuscript! The editor came to her, something that would NEVER happen in today’s market, and neither should it, because they have plenty of books to choose from. Mitchell is a great–if extreme–example of why it’s a gamble to work with an author who has only written one book. The pressure of her success crippled her. Yes, she made everyone involved with her single book oodles of money and notoriety, but like I said, that’s an extreme situation. Most authors will never reach that level of fame, and yet still find the pressure to be too much. That’s where the “learning to be an author” part comes in, I think.

As Rachelle said in her post, “Any editor will tell you that no matter how fabulous an author’s first book is, it’s rather scary signing a contract with someone who’s never written more than the one.” And I think that’s the point, and here’s an example. Patrick Rothfuss is a guy who published a really popular first book, and he had trouble producing the second book. The post I linked to explains why, but basically he had a lot of personal stuff happen to him, plus the pressure of his new-found “popular writer” duties. (I really appreciate his being so open about his reasons, because it gave me hope during a very dark time.) Now, I don’t know if The Name of the Wind was his first novel ever, or just the first to be published, but his struggle illustrates why publishers are nervous about debut authors and why they want to be as sure as they can about an author’s ability to produce work.

With Lee, I think To Kill a Mockingbird WOULD be published today. Agents and editors do take chances on very good first novels. White Oleander is the first contemporary example that comes to mind (yeah, it’s a little old, but it was still acquired under the system we use today).

I’ve had this discussion several times over the years, but I still don’t really understand the frustration with the “gatekeepers”, i.e. agents and editors. I understand being frustrated with wherever I am on the path, like receiving a form rejection letter, but I don’t have a problem with the form rejection itself, understand? Overall, the system makes perfect sense to me. Do a few publishable books fall through the cracks? I’m sure. But overall I think the system keeps the quality of the books we’re offered to a higher standard. If I have to jump through their hoops to prove my worth, it’s okay. It sucks, but I accept it. Does that make me weird?

Dang, writing a real post is a lot of work. Let me have it, people. Rebut.

When I don’t blog/spew regularly I get nervous. Nothing I say on here is earth-shattering, but it appears I need to say it. I want to start posting every morning, even if it’s just what I ate for dinner the night before. You can ignore those posts, but at least I still get my daily spew. I think posts are more effective when they are short and to the point, but when I don’t post about my life for a while, things get backed up and then you get long, rambling posts which make your eyes cross and glaze over as you drool on the arm of your chair, or a numbered list. Like this one.

1. Still working on my domain problem. They make it confusing on purpose, so that only the strongest come out on the other side. It’s like hazing in a sorority. In fact, on my last pass through GoDaddy Support, I’m pretty sure somebody poked me with a stick and called me Thunder Thighs.
2. We brought home a gerbil. One child is allergic to cats, and one mom is allergic to cleaning up after a dog, so we’re trying a gerbil now. Her name is Marmalade, she’s black with a white goatee, and she chews everything. She’s getting used to me holding her, mostly because I always have sunflower seeds, but she still doesn’t like it much. I like her because her mess is contained to a 10-gallon area. We need to get a companion for her. I think she’s lonely.
3. Next on my to-be-read list is All the Windwracked Stars, by Elizabeth Bear. I have high hopes. After my previous reading experience turned out to be a major disappointment–so boring I skimmed large chunks, something I never do–I really need a decent one to cleanse my palate.
4. Went to the Science Museum of Oklahoma Friday. It used to be called the Omniplex, and that’s what I will call it till my dying day, because it’s a cool name. We had a good time, besides the IMAX movie being the lamest freakin’ movie in the whole world. It would have been lame on the small screen, but in an IMAX theater you want to be wowed, you want to feel like you’re zooming, you don’t want a sappy, idiotic story about flies on Apollo 11, where all they do is float weightless. There was about 12 seconds of zooming, total.

I don’t usually go into religion on this blog, mostly because I’m a big ol’ wuss and don’t want to cause problems, but Writtenwyrdd’s post about books banned from school libraries made me think. I hope this comes out semi-coherently.

Wyrdd says about the banned books,

And the main factor appears to be, once again, religious intolerance.  As in, you must believe exactly as I do, and I’ll ensure that by giving you nothing to change your mind.  Which, as anyone who has studied any history at all knows, will not work.  In fact, suppression of ideas tends to have the opposite effect than the one desired!

And I agree. Suppression of ideas makes those ideas even more desirable to rebellious teenagers. If they want to really suppress them, the more  effective method would be to simply feign indifference.

However, you can see why these book banners would worry about education leading people away from church. In a fit of serendipity, this article about why one man walked away from Christianity came across my desktop immediately after I commented on Wyrdd’s post. The main reason he gives for leaving is that Christianity just doesn’t make sense. Actually that the existence of God himself doesn’t make sense. That the only reason people believe in any god is because they were indoctrinated in their particular religion as children. (And looking at it objectively, that’s mostly true, isn’t it?) Religion is humanity’s way of explaining the as-yet unexplained, and as science provides plausible explanations for the things we used to take on faith (as in the battle between creationism and evolution, and don’t get me started on that) a modern person absolutely has to reconcile scientific knowledge with faith if they are to continue to embrace the Bible.

So to come back around to my point, yeah, education can transform the idea of God, and for many it disproves God’s existence. Honestly? I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I believe in God, not as separate entity looking down upon us, but as part of us. Our life essence. Our selves. God does not need us to believe in God. I don’t believe in Hell or being “saved” in the Christian sense, and I’m obviously not the only one. There’s a shift in social consciousness coming about, and banning books which express different ideas is just a way to maintain a way of life that is losing its hold on dominance, just as we do at every major social shift. We’ll settle down into a new way, and when that one goes we’ll likely hold on just as tightly. It’s what we do.

I saw some news about a Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time on the Fantasy Book Critic‘s blog this morning. Not only do they have a graphic novel of The Eye of the World coming out in April, 2009, but there is also a movie planned. I CAN’T FRICKIN’ WAIT!!!!

It’s too bad RJ isn’t here to see this. Click the above link to see some preview images from the graphic novel.

My son is in 1st grade and reading pretty independently, but yesterday’s book, The Spider and the Fly, was a bit out of his range. I don’t mind reading the books he brings home. He loves anything scary or strange, and I often enjoy the books as much as he does. This one seems especially relevant for me at this point.

The illustrations by Tony DiTerlizzi are exquisite, done in the style of a silent movie, and add so much to the original poem that I must recommend you give it a look the next time you’re in the library.

I copied the original poem (no copyright issues; it’s in the public domain) from Storynory, which also features a good dramatic reading if you prefer to listen. As you read along, ask yourself, “Am I the fly?”

Text of The Spider and the fly by Mary Howitt (1799 to 1888):

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly, ”
‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there.”

“Oh no, no,” said the Fly, “to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend, what can I do
To prove that warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome – will you please take a slice?”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind sir, that cannot be,
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!”

“Sweet creature,” said the Spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf;
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say;
And bidding good morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple, there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, Then near and nearer drew,

Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head – poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlour – but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Another insightful post from Moonrat today. Rather than rehash the whole topic, I’ll just post the main message I wanted to pass along, and hope that you’ll go read the whole post at EdAss. I strongly feel that if you’re working toward a career in writing of any sort, Editorial Ass is your place.

So here’s a way to help us get over the October publishing financial crisis:

For anyone who cares about the book publishing industry and wants to do their part, there’s one simple action step:

Buy a book this weekend.

Just buy one.

Now go read the whole post to find out details.

Well, people, guess what I did. I threw myself back into the world of socializing adults, that’s what, by going to my first ever book club meeting down at the local library. A few weeks ago I saw a flyer in the library’s window advertising the book club, and luckily one of the members had already checked in Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, so I was able to read it before the meeting last night.

I was excited about going until yesterday afternoon, when the usual social dread settled in. I couldn’t remember a single reason I’d ever had for going, and in fact rationalized how it would be nice just to stay in and relax with the family. LIKE I DO EVERY DAY. And even though the hubs was pouting about it (I assume, since he’ll never tell me exactly what’s wrong and I usually have to draw my own conclusions and this would be something that would make him pout) I made myself pretty, finished up my housewiferly duties, dragged my ass to the van (one of the reasons for my social dread) and left.

And so I went to the library, talked about this awesome book with some very smart and personable ladies, and didn’t die. Quite the opposite, actually. I don’t think I inadvertantly offended anyone, so that right there puts me ahead of the game. I managed to sound halfway intelligent, and nobody threw me out. In fact, they gave me next month’s book (Jodi Picoult’s My Sister’s Keeper) and invited me back.