Seeking a Good Agent

 

I am a writer. I need an agent. 

But the last thing I can say to an agent is, “I need you.”

 Most do not want to be needed. They want to sift through the desperate pleas of hundreds of authors looking for those who only need a teenage niece or nephew to set up a savvy Amazon campaign to start earning royalties.

 With the options open to writers today, a great online marketer/publicist DOES NOT NEED an agent or a publisher! A mediocre writer who happens to know the ins and outs of online publicity can sell zillions of copies of pure, self-published drivel. They can launch podcasts or send out Facebook posts that incite insurrections and prolong epidemics.

 I am a writer. I am not an agent. I need an agent, or a teenage niece or nephew.

 

The Tragedy of Pudd'Nhead Wilson, Author's note, Mark Twain

The following Author's note, from Twain's Pudd'Nhead Wilson, explains much about my own method of novel writing. 

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A man who is not born with the novel-writing gift has a troublesome time of it when he tries to build a novel. I know this from experience. He has no clear idea of his story; in fact he has no story. He merely has some people in his mind, and an incident or two, also a locality, and he trusts he can plunge those people into those incidents with interesting results. So he goes to work. To write a novel? No--that is a thought which comes later; in the beginning he is only proposing to tell a little tale, a very little tale, a six-page tale. But as it is a tale which he is not acquainted with, and can only find out what it is by listening as it goes along telling itself, it is more than apt to go on and on and on till it spreads itself into a book. I know about this, because it has happened to me so many times.

And I have noticed another thing: that as the short tale grows into the long tale, the original intention (or motif) is apt to get abolished and find itself superseded by a quite different one. It was so in the case of a magazine sketch which I once started to write--a funny and fantastic sketch about a prince an a pauper; it presently assumed a grave cast of its own accord, and in that new shape spread itself out into a book. Much the same thing happened with PUDD'NHEAD WILSON. I had a sufficiently hard time with that tale, because it changed itself from a farce to a tragedy while I was going along with it--a most embarrassing circumstance. But what was a great deal worse was, that it was not one story, but two stories tangled together; and they obstructed and interrupted each other at every turn and created no end of confusion and annoyance. I could not offer the book for publication, for I was afraid it would unseat the reader's reason, I did not know what was the matter with it, for I had not noticed, as yet, that it was two stories in one. It took me months to make that discovery. I carried the manuscript back and forth across the Atlantic two or three times, and read it and studied over it on shipboard; and at last I saw where the difficulty lay. I had no further trouble. I pulled one of the stories out by the roots, and left the other--a kind of literary Caesarean operation.

Would the reader care to know something about the story which I pulled out? He has been told many a time how the born- and-trained novelist works; won't he let me round and complete his knowledge by telling him how the jackleg does it?

Originally the story was called Those Extraordinary Twins. I meant to make it very short. I had seen a picture of a youthful Italian "freak"--or "freaks"--which was--or which were-- on exhibition in our cities--a combination consisting of two heads and four arms joined to a single body and a single pair of legs-- and I thought I would write an extravagantly fantastic little story with this freak of nature for hero--or heroes-- a silly young miss for heroine, and two old ladies and two boys for the minor parts. I lavishly elaborated these people and their doings, of course. But the take kept spreading along and spreading along, and other people got to intruding themselves and taking up more and more room with their talk and their affairs. Among them came a stranger named Pudd'nhead Wilson, and woman named Roxana; and presently the doings of these two pushed up into prominence a young fellow named Tom Driscoll, whose proper place was away in the obscure background. Before the book was half finished those three were taking things almost entirely into their own hands and working the whole tale as a private venture of their own--a tale which they had nothing at all to do with, by rights.

When the book was finished and I came to look around to see what had become of the team I had originally started out with-- Aunt Patsy Cooper, Aunt Betsy Hale, and two boys, and Rowena the lightweight heroine--they were nowhere to be seen; they had disappeared from the story some time or other. I hunted about and found them--found them stranded, idle, forgotten, and permanently useless. It was very awkward. It was awkward all around, but more particularly in the case of Rowena, because there was a love match on, between her and one of the twins that constituted the freak, and I had worked it up to a blistering heat and thrown in a quite dramatic love quarrel, wherein Rowena scathingly denounced her betrothed for getting drunk, and scoffed at his explanation of how it had happened, and wouldn't listen to it, and had driven him from her in the usual "forever" way; and now here she sat crying and brokenhearted; for she had found that he had spoken only the truth; that is was not he, but the other of the freak that had drunk the liquor that made him drunk; that her half was a prohibitionist and had never drunk a drop in his life, and altogether tight as a brick three days in the week, was wholly innocent of blame; and indeed, when sober, was constantly doing all he could to reform his brother, the other half, who never got any satisfaction out of drinking, anyway, because liquor never affected him. Yes, here she was, stranded with that deep injustice of hers torturing her poor torn heart.

I didn't know what to do with her. I was as sorry for her as anybody could be, but the campaign was over, the book was finished, she was sidetracked, and there was no possible way of crowding her in, anywhere. I could not leave her there, of course; it would not do. After spreading her out so, and making such a to-do over her affairs, it would be absolutely necessary to account to the reader for her. I thought and thought and studied and studied; but I arrived at nothing. I finally saw plainly that there was really no way but one--I must simply give her the grand bounce. It grieved me to do it, for after associating with her so much I had come to kind of like her after a fashion, notwithstanding things and was so nauseatingly sentimental. Still it had to be done. So at the top of Chapter XVII I put a "Calendar" remark concerning July the Fourth, and began the chapter with this statistic:

"Rowena went out in the backyard after supper to see the fireworks and fell down the well and got drowned."

It seemed abrupt, but I thought maybe the reader wouldn't notice it, because I changed the subject right away to something else. Anyway it loosened up Rowena from where she was stuck and got her out of the way, and that was the main thing. It seemed a prompt good way of weeding out people that had got stalled, and a plenty good enough way for those others; so I hunted up the two boys and said, "They went out back one night to stone the cat and fell down the well and got drowned." Next I searched around and found old Aunt Patsy and Aunt Betsy Hale where they were around, and said, "They went out back one night to visit the sick and fell down the well and got drowned." I was going to drown some others, but I gave up the idea, partly because I believed that if I kept that up it would arose attention, and perhaps sympathy with those people, and partly because it was not a large well and would not hold any more anyway.

Still the story was unsatisfactory. Here was a set of new characters who were become inordinately prominent and who persisted in remaining so to the end; and back yonder was an older set who made a large noise and a great to-do for a little while and then suddenly played out utterly and fell down the well. There was a radical defect somewhere, and I must search it out and cure it.

The defect turned out to be the one already spoken of-- two stories in one, a farce and a tragedy. So I pulled out the farce and left the tragedy. This left the original team in, but only as mere names, not as characters. Their prominence was wholly gone; they were not even worth drowning; so I removed that detail. Also I took the twins apart and made two separate men of them. They had no occasion to have foreign names now, but it was too much trouble to remove them all through, so I left them christened as they were and made no explanation.

Raising a Gender, Religion, Race, Ethnicity, Truth, Language, and Species Neutral Animal

Disclaimer: This is fictional satire!!!

My others and I have chosen to raise our young animal to be ready for whatever may come in its future. When the time comes, it will be free to choose not only its gender but also its religion, race, ethnicity, truth, language, and species. Here are a few of the choices we have made to ensure this outcome:

When it was born, my others and I asked the doctor to not label it male, female, lesbian, gay, bi, trans or any of the other 30 or so genders available.  We chose rather to have it delivered into the hands of our nanperson, who has strict instructions to refer to it as it and to keep any-and-all genitalia covered in our presence, lest we be tempted to prejudice our child toward a particular gender choice. 

We have elected to leave our young animal nameless. This should prevent several lurid possibilities. For instance: historically, whatever name a young animal receives, can, in future decades, become associated with one gender or another, thus preventing it from making that life changing decision when it finds itself attracted to other animals of undetermined gender. Then, in all-wise adolescence, the bunch of them can sort it out together.

Names from literature or alleged “scriptures” burden a young animal with fantastic aspirations. Names, derived from mythical gods, "saints," or creatures, cause it to question naturalistic and scientific reason.

A young animal should not be given a name associated with an ethnicity, language, or race. Ancestry, like religion, should be a matter of individual choice and not related to “family” tradition or physical traits at birth. We have elected to allow no speech in the young animal’s presence.  Speaking any language implies national and regional affiliations and historical “truths”, thus preventing the young animal from making unfettered choices on its own, not to mention inflicting upon it the notion that human beings are somehow superior to other animal species.

We are allowing our “tabula rasa” to remain rasa. With nothing written in stone, it can, like the Universe around us, generate itself from nothing.

Supernatural Objects

An anonymous well-wisher, knowing Bruce’s knee is very painful, left a "prayer-anointed" blanket at our door. 

[Disclaimer: I am a life-long Christian but highly skeptical in regard to unverifiable, supposedly-supernatural objects. I don’t travel to see statues cry or pictures bleed.]

I believe said blanket was blessed by the prayers of other Christians, but what that means I am not sure. So I have a few impertinent questions:

1.  Will the prayers wash out? After how many washings?
2.  Will the prayers spread to other items in the wash?

3.  Should I wash the blanket  separately?
4.  What if I wash it in a baptistery? Would the prayers stay longer?
5.  Will it stay anointed if I give it to someone else, or is it a one-user blanket?
6.  What if both Bruce and I sleep under it? Will the prayers affect us both?
7.  How does the blanket know who to bless, or heal, or save, or anoint?

Meanwhile, another well-meaning couple gave us a vial of "miraculous" oil, extracted from a "miraculous" oil- producing Bible. I believe in anointing with oil as commanded in the Bible, but am again skeptical in regard to unverifiable “miraculous” objects. I have made some assumptions:

1.  Anointing with this oil can't do any harm, even if the giver is deluded.
2.  Any resultant healing should be attributed to God and not to any "miraculous" oil or Bible.

Another Christian couple gave us some no-sugar-added apple butter. I facetiously asked if I should spread some of it on Bruce's knee. The husband, who has a similar sense of humor, said, “Yes, and then lick it off.”

Seriously, I don't believe that "believing all things" (I Corinthians) extends to superstition and flim-flam, but that landscape is gray-ish. Spiritual discernment is a gift from God that ALL Christians need to practice. I pray I do.

Six Days or One Instant?

I have a children’s book in mind about the origin of the universe, the origin of life, and the age of the earth. I have studied scientific explanations of these concepts, and believe that God did not give us measurable phenomena in order to, as Daddy quoted from II Thessalonians, make us “believe a lie.”

I believe:

 

“The heavens declare the glory of God;
            the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
        Day after day they pour forth speech;
            night after night they reveal knowledge.
        They have no speech, they use no words;
            no sound is heard from them.
        Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
            their words to the ends of the world.”

 

The intent of my book is to gently move children (and adults) away from the misconception that the description of creation in Genesis is in any way intended to be scientific. I equate the creation story with the poetry of Job or Psalms. It speaks truth in ways that move our hearts and resonate in our souls, but it is not scientifically accurate. Every word is supernaturally true, but written to a people who had no physics, biology, geology, or astronomy.

My concern is that many children are told by the world, by their parents, and by religious leaders that they must either believe the Bible or science, that they cannot believe both. I have seen home school curriculums in which the so-called science is more Bible lesson. Homeschool curriculum writers cater to parents who believe teaching their children that the earth was created in 6 literal days will somehow save them from hell.

Arguing about how long it took God to create the world is irrelevant—the pure fact of the matter is that God created every atom of matter, every law of science, every moment of time, every joule of energy, and every bit of information now in existence in an instant so short that it cannot be measured. (Some people leave out the God part, but some people are fools.)

I have contacted a Christian a friend of mine who is a poet, a physicist, and a Christian. He and my husband/theologian have promised to help. Now, where to begin??

 

 

To Tell theTruth?

Prevaricate: to avoid telling the truth by not directly answering a question.

   

     I filled out an online application for America’s Thrift Store in September or October, and they called me in November for an interview. Meanwhile, I had begun working as a cashier at Wal-Mart.

     At the Thrift Store interview, I told the assistant manager that I would consider taking the job, even though the pay was lower, if I could get a set schedule—be off the days Bruce is off and only work a few hours/day. They promised me 4 hours/per day, 5 days/week, and I took the offer. “One more thing,” they said, and handed me a pre-employment questionnaire asking about my health. There were yes and no questions about every possible ailment with space to explain any yeses. I had numerous explanations. (At my age you have a variety of petty ailments, or you are dead.)

     They called and told me I would have to undergo a pre-employment physical. I went back to the store and was handed three sheets of paper stating that the physical should address the stated concerns, that it must be completed in 5 days, be on official letterhead, and signed by an MD, not a physician’s assistant or nurse practitioner. Since my doctor’s office was just down the street, I went directly there and made an appointment for the next Monday, which was exactly 5 working days from that date. I gave Wal-Mart my two week notice.

     On that Monday, my doctor went over the form with me, asked about each of the concerns, and then signed a note on letterhead stating that I was able to do the job. I went directly to the store and turned it in. I did not hear from them for several days, so I called and was told by the assistant manager that the manager had rejected the letter because “it was not on official looking letterhead” and “the signature did not indicate that the signer was a physician.” When I asked her why I had not been notified, I was told that she had just learned of the problem. In the course of the conversation, I asked to speak with the manager and told him why I wanted the job. He informed me that whoever had promised me a set schedule did not have the authority to do so, and that my schedule would be determined by the vicissitudes of the retail business.

     At this point, I was speechless, but determined that any breach of contract would not be on my part, so I contacted my doctor who signed a boilerplate letter stating that I could “return to work.” Of course, this too was rejected. At that point I took the three pages I had been given by America’s Thrift back to the doctor’s office. The nursing assistant took them into the office and came back with a rubber stamped signature on the page outlining my ailments. I took this back to American Thrift and told the assistant manager, “My doctor is done, and if you do not accept this, I am done, too.”

     I went to management at Wal-Mart. They were happy to have me stay, and was given a semi-regular schedule--off on the days Bruce is off. I learned yesterday that Wal-Mart will be raising minimum wage to $9/hour in April, and by then I will have a 10% discount. So, it’s all for the best, EXCEPT, my insurance will not pay for the $149 office visit.

     So, ladies and gentlemen, here is the take away: If you are asked to fill out a pre-employment health statement, prevaricate like a dog! On second thought, my honesty saved me from having to work for a rather dishonest bunch, so I will stick to the truth.

Hell?

I’m reading Leviticus with its complicated rules regarding worship, sacrifices, and the tabernacle, and I’m thinking, “Just give me the Gentile version.” But somewhere in the middle of the “priestly linen undergarments,” it hits me: No unholy thing can abide in the presence of God; without all of that ritual, any human being approaching God would die. Yet I, a once unholy being, am invited into God’s Holy presence and filled with His Holy Spirit. How? The blood of Christ—the eternal sacrifice—cleans me and makes me fit to be with God!

I am His. I am holy. I will live with God for eternity, and worship with my Christian brothers and sisters for all time. I will see the new heavens and the new earth and live forever where there is no sin or pain or fear or sorrow or death. Praise God!

If I do not allow Christ to wash me in His blood continually, I remain unholy, and the unholy cannot be with God. Which leads me to the question, is there a place of eternal punishment, and if so, what is its nature and who ends up there?

I witnessed a debate in the ‘70s between a Christian minister and the British Scholar and then-atheist, Antony Flew. Dr. Flew cited the Holocaust in his argument against the popular concept of Hell, saying something like this: According to some Christians, anyone who does not accept Christ as savior is damned. Jews, by definition, do not accept Christ and will, according to those Christians, spend eternity being burned alive. So God used the ovens of Hitler to usher millions of Jews into the ovens of Hell. Is this a loving God?

I am in no position to judge a good and perfect God, but God made me in His image and able to know good from evil. I do not believe that simple existence and sin, though abhorrent, justifies eternal, excruciating torture for anyone. (Punishment, yes. Death, yes. Eternal torture, no.)

If not eternal torture, what? What ultimately happens to persons who do not follow Jesus?  The Bible tells us that all sinners are doomed to “destruction."

 

Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.

Galatians 6:8

Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. (Meaning God)

Matthew 10:28

 

These two scriptures imply that the bodies and souls of sinners are not eternal, that they can and will be destroyed "eternally."

So, what about “The fire that never goes out?”  or the “unquenchable fire”? I don’t know. I know Hell was prepared for the Devil and his angels, eternal beings who currently war against God, persecute His saints, and attempt to rob us of our holiness. Perhaps for eternal beings, Hell is eternal torture?