Sherri Cornelius

Well. So here I am again. These long absences of mine stem from having nothing good to say, nor any pressing news to share. If I have one or the other it seems worth it to post, but otherwise I won’t bother.

Today I have something good to say, and the news, while not pressing, is at least news. I had a rare phone conversation with Sara, my agent, in which she said she loved my newest book, BVA. That’s the news, that somebody loved my work. Lame, I know. But she’s never said how she feels about my work one way or the other, so although the assumption is that of course she likes it or she wouldn’t have represented me, it’s nice to hear, out loud, that she kept sneaking away to read it, even though she was on vacation.

I wasn’t sure she’d like it because it’s so different from EG, the one that caught her eye in the first place. I was absolutely sure she’d tell me she couldn’t represent it, but of course that was just my writer’s neurosis kicking in. Or as Marta puts it, Melodramatic Mind.

So as soon as I correct all the typos she found, it’ll be going to the editors who’ve requested it. *sighs in relief*

Speaking of EG, I’ve thought about publishing it through a small e-publisher to gain some traction, if only in my mind. It’s basically done, because even if a publisher buys BVA, EG is so different it’s unlikely the same person would pick it up. Sara’s advice was to go for it, but not to sign any rights away. This eliminates any publishing company, small or not, because they will want to have a contract for 2-3 years or forever. If EG caught a big publisher’s interest while the electronic rights were tied up, they probably wouldn’t touch it no matter how much they loved it.

So that leaves self-epublishing, as Dane just did with his short story collection. I just don’t know if I want to work that hard.

Man oh man, a cold front came through yesterday and dropped our high temp by about 30 degrees. This morning it was cool enough that I could actually go in the shed without dodging wasps–they get active at about 80 degrees, and the hotter the better–so I denimed up, grabbed a broom and got to work. I straightened shelves, picked up all the tools I’d flung in there to avoid the wasps, swept, rearranged. Took me a couple of hours. Just as I was finishing up a wasp or two started a lazy circuit near the ceiling–I’m guessing it was about 75 by then–and seeing how it was also lunchtime, I closed up and came on in. What a great morning!

Many of you may not define a morning spent cleaning the garage as “great”, but I love taking care of my home. Let me say that a different way: I love when my home is not chaotic. Since I’m the only one who cares and I don’t have the means to hire the necessary laborers, that means I get to do it. So while I may not love the work, I love having done the work.

I feel that way about writing, too. Most of the time I’d rather be doing something else, but once it’s done, my satisfaction makes it all good. I guess a lot of worthwhile, fulfilling things are that way, like college and childcare and marriage. Sure, you like the work enough to keep doing it, but the real reason you do it is the payoff. A degree, well-adjusted children, partnership. A novel. A place to put the lawnmower. You know, the payoff.

What’s your payoff?

I’ve been busy, but when I look around the house it looks pretty much the same. With the kids gone to school, I’d planned to scrub the summer’s grime from the house, a layer at a time. Instead, I’ve been focusing on projects that keep me busy but don’t really have to be done. Like putting a drop-leaf on my new desk, and starting a braided rag rug out of old towels. Wow, I’m crafty. In all fairness to myself, I have scrubbed a layer or two, and I haven’t played Metroid Prime once.

It was pretty easy to fall into the school year. Easier to be alone that first day since I knew what to expect. However, we were all nervous about their first day, especially my oldest, who went into middle school. The poor thing was so wired she cried about it several times in the days prior. Of course, on the second day she skipped out to the bus and waved good-bye with a grin. She was fine, as were the other two. And me.

So with the kids at school and my obsessive craftiness satisfied, I’m turning my thoughts toward my next project, whatever that will be. This morning I brainstormed story ideas but didn’t get very far. I think I’ll start with this half-done middle grade fantasy, to let me sink into the familiarity while I get back into the daily writing thing. I think the creative floodgates are about to open. Y’all stand back. Don’t want to get brain juice on ya.

Today’s Friday, right? During the summer the days just melt together. I feel guilty for being so happy school’s starting soon, and I can be alone for a portion of the day. I also feel guilty that I won’t be getting a job, but I always feel guilty for not having a job, so that’s nothing new. And before you cry, “Writing is a job!” just remember that I am not getting paid for it, and also it’s a lot of fun and therefore suspect. The real reason I don’t have a conventional job while the kids are in school is the fragrance thing. Periodic exposure I can handle. Daily exposure would surely put me back in migraine territory, and nobody in the house wants that. I do have a few very large home repairs I can’t afford to hire out, so maybe I’ll call myself a carpenter and that’ll be my job.

I will probably start looking for some sort of job to do from home, but I don’t know if I’m enough of a self-starter to follow that through. One interesting development to report is that I’ll be the senior editor of a little startup e-pub called Cove. The details haven’t been hammered out yet, but I’ll let you know what happens. It will at the very least be a huge learning experience, and at the most a financially successful venture. Can’t lose.

My brother is also starting school this month. It’s a huge change for him, as it would be for anyone going back to college after 20 or so years (25?) And I’m super-proud of him for even attempting it. I’ve never had the guts. And like my venture, this is also a can’t-lose. I also win, because he’ll be living right down the street from me.

Hope you all have a great weekend.

I’ve been a busy little beaver the past few days, trying to get my writing space up to snuff. It’s moved around the house periodically as I try to find a suitable spot, and every one of those places has been unfinished. Back when I had children in the house all day, I made a spot in the upper level of the wasp-infested, uninsulated barn so I could write at night while the hubs was home. I built a wall to keep out the wasps and keep in the a/c, but I never sheetrocked. Since the littlest baby went to all-day kindergarten last year, the shed office didn’t get much use. Instead, I put a chair and a tv tray in the corner of the bedroom. Totally in the way and uncomfortable. I wrote at the kitchen table, on the floor, on the couch…each one a no-go.

Finally I moved into the eye sore which is my porch room. My favorite desk is still in the shed, way too big to fit in the 6′x10′ space, so I set a board across the top of my wobbly tv tray, and that’s where I finished BVA. Ridiculous, really, how I dedicate only the barest of resources to my writing space, using only whatever detritus isn’t in use somewhere else in the house.

I refuse to go another year as a writing vagabond, so last week I decided to get a real desk to fit the space. I declared I would find one just the right size at a garage sale, ugly enough to be cheap, but sturdy enough to last, with drawers, a top where I could spread papers next to the laptop, and if I was lucky, a keyboard tray.

First garage sale, I found it, keyboard tray and everything, for ten bucks.

It was meant to be. The lady who sold it to me breaks out when she comes in contact with fragrance, so she uses no air freshener or anything. It smelled like wood, that was all. Hallelujah! (The little drawer thingy off to the side smells like cigarettes, unfortunately. It’s been airing out for three days in the sun.) Then I lucked out and found a beautiful blue-gray color for $3 on the oopsie shelf at Lowe’s. I had some old knobs from another dresser, so I spray-painted them silver, and this is what I ended up with:

It took a little work (and it still needs another coat of paint) but it’s perfect for the space. Did you notice something in the background? That’s right, this room is also unfinished. Sigh. My next goal is to somehow get some sheetrock home from the store and patch those holes. Even better, I’d like to tear it down to the studs and make sure it has great insulation and a smooth finish and no leaks. We’ll see what happens. Meanwhile, I have a great desk on which to compose my next masterpiece. I’m using it right now. I love it.

Printing out a novel for editing uses a lot of paper. Combine that with the kids’ 2-hour-long scribbling sessions, and it makes perfect sense to use my old manuscripts as scrap paper. I mean, it’s still good on one side, and though the kids can read, there’s nothing OMG-terrible in BVA; it doesn’t have sex scenes, per se, but the MC does think about sex in a flippant, jaded way, and there is colorful language. Still, nobody cares about the pieces of story on the other side of the page. The occasional cussword would go unnoticed.

So I thought.

I forgot my 11-year-old is a voracious reader with a vocabulary as big as mine. She wants to read all kinds of inappropriate books, as I did at her age, just because she’s already read everything appropriate in the house. Last night she told me she’d been reading the backs of these scrap papers, because BVA was “awesome.” She said sometimes she even gets several consecutive pages so she can read a bigger chunk at a time.

It’s hard to turn down someone who’s dying to read my work, and who will undoubtedly be complimentary. So after she begged me a while, I told her I would edit out the objectionable parts and let her read it. She’s already bugged me about it twice more this morning.

So now I’m wondering, will this affect how and what I write? I want to write things my kids will love. The hubs doesn’t read fiction anymore, so he doesn’t factor in. Sex scenes embarrass me. It seems like a no-brainer to stick with Middle Grade or Young Adult. BVA is going to YA editors, I think.

Something to think about.

What’s up, my peeps? I don’t have anything to say today, but has that ever stopped me? Well yeah, sometimes. Not today! Aren’t you glad? *snicker*

So there’s this hurricane rain coming up from Texas. All around us, creeks and rivers are overflowing their banks, flooding populated areas. However, I think they closed the invisible dome over my city again, because we’ve fallen into the same pattern as last summer: rain dissipates as it approaches Tecumseh and re-forms on  the other side, or else we watch the rain curl around us on the radar while we enjoy white puffies and peeks of blue. I see the dark clouds on the horizon in all directions, but they stay on the horizon. I don’t want the flooding, but the anticipation of rain with no release is putting me on edge. Open the dome, people!

Still not writing, and I’m okay with that. The ol’ batteries are about half-way charged, so I’m on track to be ready to go when the kids return to school in a month and a half. The pull is getting stronger. When my agent sent me line edits on the rewrite of my synopsis, I was ecstatic to actually have something legitimate to do. I love the process, I love having a job to do. Working for someone else has priority for some reason, as when I was editing for Eternal Press. I’d spend hours on it, take pride in turning it in early. When my own manuscript was nearing completion, I worked toward the day I could turn it in to my agent, and somehow it made it more urgent than when I was writing for myself. I know for a fact when I have an editor waiting for my edits, or for a whole new manuscript, I’ll be working twice as hard as I do for myself. I’ll close the dome over myself and let the distractions glance off.

I’ve stared at this blinking cursor a long time, so I guess I’ll just start. I do have things to say, but I think I addled my brain with all the nothing I’ve been doing.

It’s been a week since I turned in my manuscript. During that time I’ve basked in the glow of satisfaction, and also have identified some missed opportunities with the story. I could beat myself up about them, but I know those opportunities would never have become apparent if I hadn’t let it go. Having been through this process before, I know there’s always something I could have done better. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s that way with most writers, not just me, so I don’t worry about it too much. I did what I did and now the book has to stand up tall, or fall over like a drunk girl on a slippery barstool. (Those days are long behind me.)

Anyway, it’s done for now.

I’ve really enjoyed my break from writing. So much, in fact, that the first few days I started to worry I was enjoying it a little too much. Maybe I wouldn’t want to start a new project, or maybe I’m out of ideas, or…whatever. But by Friday I was feeling that familiar pull to the computer, and then over the weekend little random ideas started pinging my brain, and last night I even thought about brushing off an old middle-grade book I started a few Nanowrimos ago.

I’m not ready to dive into anything just yet, but at least the desire is still there.  The blinking cursor no longer mocks me. That’s nice.

Last night I cleaned out all the notes I’ve accumulated over the couple of years of writing this book, including handwritten, typed and printed pages, note cards and scraps. The pile filled the gerbil’s old 10-gallon tank. That’s a lot of trash. I did keep some notes, the ones showing the link between thought and finished product. Those were about five pages.

I’ve been working on this book so long, some of my newish blog buds might think it’s my first. There was another before BVA, a magical romp with a young lady on the run, forbidden love and fireballs. It was called Stolen Magic at first, and later changed to Ea’s Gift to avoid duplicating another published novel. This is the effort that caught my agent’s eye, even though it went nowhere and was eventually shelved.

Writing EG was fun and exciting. I thought every book would be that way. Hahaha, what a silly goose I am.

Writing BVA felt like slicing open my own gut, pulling out my intestines, measuring the entire slippery length, then hauling them back in and stitching the wound myself. I didn’t realize till I finished that sentence how true it is. Now that it’s finished I can see why it was so hard, but that will be a post for another day.

Another week of musical themes as I try to decide what I want my website to say about me. I think this one is quite zen, only for some reason it’s not giving me the theme options in my dashboard, so it might change before you’ve even read this.

But the real news for the week is that I finished my book. Really.

No, stop laughing. I’m serious.

I spent all day Sunday in a marathon of editing, and at 9:30 pm a box popped up to let me know I had no more comments or tracked changes. The manuscript was clean. My eyes opened wide and then squeezed shut, and I put my face in my hands and squealed. I’m sure it didn’t look weird at all.

At the end I still had some formatting tweaks to do, but the story was done, damn it, so I saved the formatting for Monday morning. Once that was finished I began assembling the package to email Sara, my agent, and soon found that I’d not done an important step: rewriting the short synopsis to fit the new ending. Rackin-frackin mumble mumble… At this point I was so close I could smell it, and it smelled good. Gah!

So Monday was spent rewriting the rackin-frackin synopsis, and then late Monday night I composed possibly the most momentous email of my life up to this point. I attached the novel, the regular synopsis, and a longer, 17-page synopsis specifically requested by an interested publication…and hit send. My agent confirmed receipt just a few minutes ago. It’s out of my hands.

I really had no idea I’d be so relaxed once it was gone. I’ve gotten used to the low hum of anxiety that always, from the very beginning, accompanied this book. All day my thoughts would drift toward that waterfall: “Why am I doing this? I should be writing!” Now usually, the next thought is smashed on the rocks below: “I can’t write, okay? I have to clean the toilets sometime!” But today, I realized the waterfall was behind me, and whatever whitewater tossed my thoughts about, a sparkling pool lay beyond.

So basically, that was a beautiful metaphor for why I cleaned toilets without guilt today.

I have so many thoughts and feelings about finishing, some will have to wait for another day.