Poetry Summer Week 10: Shakespeare's Sonnet CXXX

Well, last week was easy, and, since I'm running out of ideas for poems to memorize, I've decided to follow Dan's theme for this week and memorize a Shakespearean sonnet.

This is one of the fun sonnets, very tongue-in-cheek. It talks about a mistress, but I like to compare it to my WIP. Try it. Substitute "novel" or "characters" for "mistress" as you read.

Sonnet CXXX

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

It's not easy to take a step back and realize your novel isn't perfect, but you can love the poor flawed thing, anyway, right?

What do you do when your WIP isn't perfect? Do you abandon it? Edit it again?

Liebster Up-and-Comers (Like Me)

I got an award!

This week, I made the top ten in the GUTGAA blogfest's First 200 Words contest. My Top-10 slot had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the host (also one of the judges), Deana Barnhart, is in my writing group. Nope. It also had nothing to do with the fact that another one of the judges, Nancy Thompson, seemed to feel a bit of gratitude toward me, for helping her snag one of the top slots in the Week 3 Query Contest. (She had an awesome premise and she let me play with her pitch.) Nope, it was totally because my first page is that good. Not, like, Top-3 good, but a nice, solid Top-10. I'm happy.

But that's not the award I'm talking about.

No, yesterday, I also got an award from Lisa Chickos--one of the Top-3 in the First 200 Words contest. She won a partial request from the agent-judge, Kathleen Rushall. I like Lisa not only because she has the coolest job in the world (she's a zookeeper, animal trainer and environmental educator), but the first page of her novel talks about working with dolphins! How fun is that? Thanks, Lisa!

The award is the Leibster Award, which spotlights up and coming bloggers who currently have less than 200 followers. The rules of the award are:

1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3. Display the award on your blog.
4. Have faith that your followers will spread the love to other bloggers.
5. And most of all - have bloggity-blog fun!

Since I know and follow so many awesome bloggers, it took me a while to figure out which of them had fewer than 200 followers. Here's the winners:

1. Ru: She's a lawyer, a writer, hilarious, and she has an adorable puppy. She recently joined me in a pitch contest just because I threatened to kidnap her puppy. I may, anyway. :)
2. Heidi Tighe: Another in my writing group--she's a college English instructor, a brand-new blogger, and gives awesome advice. Everyone should go over and tell her to blog more.
3. JD (not sure if he wants me to reveal his Clark Kent identity): I knew this boy in high school (go Beetdiggers!), and we've reconnected online. He's a tax lawyer who recently decided he wanted to write novels. He read my WIP and had AMAZING advice.
4. Christy Dorrity: she has excellent taste in WIP titles, knows how to Irish dance, and was recently spotlighted on Sara Eden's I Need Friends Friday. She also writes a mean YA Fantasy (we were bootcamp-mates at LDStorymakers this year).
5. Nancy Thompson: because I can't resist someone who thinks I give good advice. :)

Everyone should go check these folks out. Seriously. Why are you still here?

Yup: It's Another Pitch Contest

What can I say? I'm addicted. (Also, pitches are hard, and I'm not quite good at them yet. Practice. Practicepracticepracticepracticepractice.)

This 2-sentence pitch contest is going on over at Beyond Words, and will be judged by Chantelle's agent, Victoria Marini, of Gelfman Schneider Literary Agents, Inc. They prefer that you only join the contest if your WIP is complete, because the prize is a Full Request from Victoria--and she promises to at least critique it for you.

It closes tomorrow night, Friday, July 7th at midnight GMT. (I'm a bit math-challenged, so help me out: EDT=GMT-4hrs. I'm in MDT. So that's GMT-6hrs, right? So the contest closes Friday night at 6 PM MDT, right?)

As a bonus? You also get to include your first line. And boy does my first line look lonely all by itself like that. You should totally come join the contest with me, so it's not so lonely. Writing pitches is a special kind of suffering that really must be shared.

Why I love Janette Rallison

I've blogged before about the benefits of dark themes in YA. I truly believe that dark stuff can teach us something about life and how to survive it intact.

But what if we're not in the mood to learn about darkness, no matter how beneficial? What if we prefer lighter fare? What if we just want to feel good?

Enter Janette Rallison (and others like her). Janette deals with tough issues--don't mistake me here. Her books (her 18th comes out this October) deal with addiction, death, and betrayal--but always with a light-hearted spin. They make me laugh, they make me cry, and they make me feel good about life.

Oh, and they're always romantic. :) That's very important. Especially since Romance, Romance is the topic of Janette's Authors' Advisory Conference Call tomorrow night. She's going to tell us how to create a romantic story line--whether it's the main story or a subplot--and what the important elements of such a story line are.

As a special bonus, Janette has volunteered to give away two of her books as part of her conference call! I'm not going to tell you more right now--details will be discussed on the call. Call in, ask questions, and WIN!

"Which of Janette's fabulous books can I win?" I'm glad you asked.

How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend is about Giovanna, who has a really cool boyfriend Jesse... who agrees to support the mayor's son in his student body president campaign against her twin brother. Of COURSE she has to dump him, right? Ever hear of loyalty? Only, being Jesse's ex-girlfriend isn't as fun as the alternative. But how do you get your boyfriend back in the middle of a down-and-dirty election when you're on opposite sides of the war?

My Fair Godmother is about a normal girl. With normal problems. In the normal world. Who makes a normal wish for a princely prom date. Only she happens to be assigned a very ABnormal godmother-in-training for three of her wish-fulfillment needs. She signs a contract without reading it (gasp!!), ends up as a series of fractured fairy-tale princesses, and dooms the boy she likes to the middle ages until he can figure out how to become a prince. Fer reals. In a plan that involves dragon-slaying. This is the first in an ongoing series about the exploits of Chrysanthemum Everstar, who only scored a "fair" on her fairy godmother test. I've read the first two and eagerly await more.

You want to win them, don't you? Call in tomorrow night, starting with an informal Q&A at 8:45 EDT, to find out how. See the Authors' Advisory site for details.

I have 150 followers!

Just 'cause it's tradition, and I like to celebrate. Thanks so much to all my followers!

GUTGAA Week 4: First 200 Words

For the final week of the Gearin' Up to Get an Agent blogfest, hosted by the amazing Deana Barnhart, we are perfecting our first pages! First we're posting them on our blogs and hopping around to give feedback and advice. (One of the query contestants last week was smart enough to take MY advice and made the finals!) :D (No, I'm not bitter.)

Then, by Tuesday at 3:00 PM EDT, we email our official entries to Deana, where they will be judged by a team of preliminary judges and then by Agent Kathleen Rushall of the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency and by writer Monica B.W..

Yes, yes, I know. I just posted for a first page contest last week. That was a different contest. With different judges. And different participants (probably). If you helped me out with that one, feel free to either help again or ignore this post.

UPDATE: Once again, based on the awesome comments, I've revised the first page and would like feedback on whether I've been successful in fixing the issues you all saw. The original is just below, with the revision after that. Thanks, everyone!

So, without further ado, I present my first 205 words for my YA Fantasy:

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her dubious best.

She knew it, but figured hurrying home for her mother’s birthday party would merit a special dispensation of luck. She didn’t even bother to grow to human size first, but left her purse and car keys with Moria and launched herself out the palace window.

The first flash came from her left and, like an idiot, she twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk.

As a special bonus, the magazine’s cover photo had captured the moment her four bright white wings had frozen in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Naturally, it was taped to her locker first thing Tuesday morning. The cover hadn’t been torn carefully, and a jagged gash ripped halfway through Brina’s right wing. As if she needed help looking ridiculous.

So, what do you think? Got any advice that will help me beat you in the contest? :D

REVISION (210 words):

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her questionable best.

She knew it, but figured hurrying home for her mother’s birthday party deserved a special endowment of luck. She didn’t even grow to human size first, but left her purse and car keys with her best friend Moira and launched herself out the palace window into the sweltering air of San Antonio, Texas.

The first flash came from her left and, like an idiot, she twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk.

As a special bonus, the magazine’s cover photo had captured the moment her four bright white wings froze in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Naturally, the magazine cover was taped to her locker first thing Tuesday morning. Brina stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, forcing her human and pixie classmates to swerve around her.

 Annnd... cut! Is that any better?

Poetry Summer Week 9: Listen to the MUSTN'TS by Shel Silverstein

I had so much fun with Sick, I thought I'd do another Silverstein poem this week. I saw it last week while I was searching for Sick and, you'll have to agree, it's perfect for a writer. Everyone tells you that getting published is like winning the lottery, as far as odds of success goes. (Also that you can't win if you don't play.) Planning a career as an author? Fugedaboutit. But what if that's what I REALLY want? Plenty of bestselling authors started out as nobodies and look at them now! It can happen. If it was impossible, no one would do it.

Listen to the MUSTN'TS

by Shel Silverstein

Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,

Listen to the DON'TS

Listen to the SHOULDN'TS

The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS

Listen to the NEVER HAVES

Then listen close to me--

Anything can happen, child,

ANYTHING can be.

So what impossible things do YOU have on your to-do list?

Now that I've stopped crying....

Breathtaking. Gorgeous. Riveting. Drool-worthy. And the cover's not bad, either.

In a grand testament to the benefits of being generally obnoxious, Brodi Ashton sent me an ARC of EVERNEATH this week. It arrived yesterday. I'm forbidden to check the mail at my house (seems bills get misplaced when that happens--what CAN have happened to them?), so I didn't even know it was here until we were getting ready to leave for a party and Jerry (quite reluctantly, I might add) handed me an awesome padded manila envelope. Much squealing ensued, followed by a prohibition against taking it to the party (my husband is SUCH a kill-joy). So I started reading it last night after the kids were in bed. And stopped around 2 am when Jerry insisted (see above-mentioned kill-joy reference). And started again around 7:30 am when I realized the utter futility of trying to get back to sleep. Who needs more than 5 hours of sleep when they have EVERNEATH to read? After making breakfast for the boys, I finished the book (checks log of obnoxious progress-report text messages to Brodi) before noon.

I'm going to save my full review for my scheduled time (I'm part of a blog tour for EVERNEATH), but I do want to mention a few things. There are no spoilers, here. I'm not going to talk about any plot element not mentioned in the jacket blurb. That said....

Have tissues handy. Maybe it's just me, but I get very weepy about people dealing with death. Take a girl who has already (sort of) died once and who is anticipating another imminent-and-more-permanent "death," and I was a mess. Brodi writes this perfectly. She layers Nikki's illogical hopes with her reality of hopelessness. She contrasts Nikki's selfless desire to make things better with the inevitable damage she's doing by selfishly being there at all, when she's just going to leave again. She expertly weaves a tale of improbable redemption from the fabric of self-inflicted despair.

Whenever I talk a book up so much before I've even read it, I worry that it won't live up to the hype. My fears are at ease. EVERNEATH is all I hoped it would be and more. It is amazing.

Brava, Brodi. Now get back to work on book 2--why are you wasting time reading my blog?!

Uh-oh. I just went back and re-read one of my favorite parts and now I'm all weepy again. Excuse me while I open a fresh box of tissues....

Poetry Summer Week 8: Sick by Shel Silverstein

Boy, I'm posting a lot lately--that's what I get for signing up for so many things that require it!

Is anyone else noticing that memorization is getting a LOT easier? I just memorized and passed off Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night in about 30 minutes. Of  course, it has a lot of repetition, and who knows if I'll still have it in my head tomorrow, but I'm duly impressed with myself regardless.

This week's poem is departing (slightly) from the recent theme of death and gloom by talking about faking a sickness to get out of Things We Don't Want to Do. No, I don't empathize with Peggy Ann McKay. I've never recited the first few lines of this poem on particularly harried mornings. Why do you ask?

Sick      

by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"

Said little Peggy Ann McKay.

"I have the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I'm going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I've counted sixteen chicken pox

And there's one more--that's seventeen,

And don't you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--

It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,

I'm sure that my left leg is broke--

My hip hurts when I move my chin,

My belly button's caving in,

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,

My 'pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb.

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,

I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,

My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There is a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?

What's that? What's that you say?

You say today is. . .Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Chime on in--Peggy Ann is a very strange child/person, no? None of us responsible adults would ever do anything like this, right?

Contest with Teen Judges!

I couldn't resist this one. Brenda Drake is hosting a blog fest with four teenage judges. They're reading the  35-word pitch / loglines and first 250 words of each entrant's WIP, and choosing which one they'd buy. The winner gets a synopsis and 10 page crit, which is so perfect for me, since I'm really worried about my synopsis-writing skills. :)

Now, if I understand the rules right, you get to help me fix my entry before it is judged on the 20th (when I will post it to the entry site). So please feel free to be candid and brutal. I like winning more than I like compliments and I'm perfectly capable of ignoring advice I don't agree with. :)

Without further ado....

35-Word Pitch:

Humans are used to pixies, but human-pixie hybrid Brina will have to leverage her differences to understand her heritage, slow the flow of illegal dust, and win the heart of a certain charming Midsummer ass. 

UPDATE: Based on all the wonderful comments, I've flipped things around a bit. The original (246 words) is below, followed by the revision (249 words). Please comment on whether the revision fixes the problems, introduces new ones, and (if it comes to that) which you like best. Thanks so much!!

First 246 words:

The magazine cover taped to her locker hadn’t been torn carefully, and a jagged gash ripped halfway through Brina’s right wing. As if she needed help looking ridiculous.
Brina stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and forced herself to breathe. Stretched her lips into a slight smile. Pressed her head to the side, as if she were pondering a pleasant surprise. Ignored the churning in her stomach.

Soon, she’d be able to shove her feet forward. 

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her dubious best, but she’d been running late after her workout, and hadn’t even bothered to grow to human size first. Instead, she’d left her backpack and schoolbooks with Moira and rocketed out the palace window toward home and her mom’s birthday party. 

The first flash had come from off to her left and, like an idiot, she’d twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk. 

As a special bonus, this particular picture had captured the moment her four bright white wings had frozen in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Revision (249 words):

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her dubious best.

She knew it, but figured hurrying home for her mother’s birthday party would merit a special dispensation of luck. She didn’t even bother to grow to human size first, but left her purse and car keys with Moria and rocketed out the palace window toward home.

The first flash came from off to her left and, like an idiot, she twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk.

As a special bonus, the magazine’s cover photo had captured the moment her four bright white wings had frozen in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Naturally, it was taped to her locker first thing Tuesday morning. The cover hadn’t been torn carefully, and a jagged gash ripped halfway through Brina’s right wing. As if she needed help looking ridiculous.

Brina stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and forced herself to breathe. Stretched her lips into a slight smile. Pressed her head to the side, as if she were pondering a pleasant surprise. Ignored the churning in her stomach.

So what do you think? How can I make it utterly un-put-down-able?

Gearin' Up to Get an Agent Week 3: Queries

It's Week 3 of the Gearin' Up to Get an Agent Blogfest, hosted by Deana Barnhart. Here's the rules:

Week 3

Query Critique Contest
-Visit Deanas's blog starting Saturday and sign up in the linky she provides so others can visit your blog and give HELPFUL advice on your query.

Rules:

-We will hop around giving our input until Tuesday.

-Tuesday take your polished query and email it to [Deana]

-Wednesday I will pick the top 5 or 10 depending on number of participants and post on my blog

-Friday, Lora Rivera will pick a winner and he/she will get a choice of a query critique or a first 5 page critique.

One thing about Lora and her critiques...
She may not be an agent anymore, but she still thinks like one. She has told me her critiques are very thorough, therefore I believe they are extremely beneficial!

So this is the leg I'm most nervous about. I've already had my query critiqued by several awesome people, but there's something that feels so vulnerable about putting it online, yanno? Still, more input is good, right? *Sigh* I'm a paranoid wimp, so I'm covering my query in black highlighter. Select it to read it. This might not stop anyone from using it for nefarious purposes, but it makes me feel marginally better. Like hiding under the covers to escape the monster in the closet. :)

Dear Ms. Agent:

You indicate on your website that you are interested in unique ideas, told with a strong voice. I hope you will consider representing my novel GEAS, a young adult fantasy set in modern-day San Antonio.

It’s impossible to fit in when you have brown skin and dragonfly wings. Humans don’t have wings, and pixies are never brown.

Sixteen-year-old human-pixie hybrid Brina stands out even more when she’s cast as Puck in her integrated high school’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream—but after her dust is illegally harvested, her worries triple. It’s hard to fret about call times when she’s suddenly producing all eight kinds of pixie dust, fending off human dust addicts, and dodging a group of rebels convinced she holds the key to an age-old supernatural secret.

Brina will have to embrace her differences if she’s to have any chance of understanding her heritage, slowing the flow of illegal dust, or winning the heart of a certain charming ass.

Fans of WINGS by Aprilynne Pike will enjoy the blending of the real and the supernatural in GEAS. It is complete at 99,000 words. The first ten pages are attached below, as per the instructions on your website.

I’m a third generation theatre geek with seven years of experience as a criminal defense lawyer, where I’ve learned about the drug trade directly from traffickers and addicts. I’ve published a paper on the juvenile death penalty, but this is my first novel. The death penalty paper was easier.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Robin Weeks
[email address]
www.robinweeks.blogspot.com
www.authorsadvisory.blogspot.com
[phone number]

Story Chain!

Deanna Barnhart's Gearin' Up to Get an Agent Blogfest is in its second week, and this one is awesome! All participants are helping to write a story, brilliantly pre-structured by Deanna. To see the list of participants, together with their prompts (and words-to-include), go here. To start at the beginning of the story (participants include a link to the blog after theirs, so you can follow straight through), go here. To just see the part before mine, go see Tayler Roseberry. (Fiona didn't post on time--or at all--so I skipped her. Sorry Fiona!)

My prompt is: Start the climax of the story. Your words are: song, prejudice, string


Here's my piece:


Dio was so startled, she didn't think. "Tony!"


"Dio? Where are you? I've been looking for you all day!"


Dio paused. What if this was the wrong Tony? "Um, I'm safe, I just--"


"You're at home?" Dio cursed the inventor of caller ID. Whoever it was must have been prejudiced against safety. "Hold tight, I'll be right there."


"No! Wait!" "Tony" hung up and Dio stared at the phone. Great.


Just then, in a flash of light, Roddern appeared in front of her.


"Roddern!" She rushed to hug him, but he grabbed her arms. 


"There's no time, Dio. The Grandoolex are planning an invasion. They want to destroy the fairies once and for all and they'll take mankind out with them. We have to seal all the portals. Now!"


"Seal all of them? How?"


Roddern shook his head. "I have no idea, but we only have about five minutes. I think I know what will help, though." He snapped his fingers and her book appeared in his hand. The Wish Granter. She'd never been one to trust in book titles before, but she fervently wished that this one was accurate.


Dio grabbed the book and frantically leafed through it, the smell of rotten eggs wafting up from its pages. There had to be something in here to stop the Grandoolex invasion.


From the couch, her mother cried out "Dio! Your necklace!" 


Confused, Dio reached into her shirt and pulled the circle out. It was glowing, pulsing in time with the frantic beating of her heart. "What do I do with it, Mom?"


Mom was breathing heavily. "You have to make it sing."


"Sing?"


Still panting, Mom gasped out, "Flowers open in your sun, rocks sing with your heart."


"What?" Dio had no idea what that meant, but mom was unconscious again.


She looked at Roddern. "Did you understand any of that?"


Roddern was staring at her mother and thinking hard. "I guess we need to make your heart sing."


Then he took two steps across the room, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. 


Dio had been kissed before, but man! Roddern poured his whole self into the kiss. Despite the panic she'd been feeling a moment before, she melted into his arms and eagerly kissed him back.


After a moment, she felt a burning on her chest and pulled back long enough to see her necklace flashing a bright white light. Then it let out a piercing 5-note song and jerked upward. The thin chain broke like a piece of string and her rock hung suspended in the air for a heartbeat before bursting into a million pieces.




To continue on the chain, visit Angie Cothran next. She's scheduled to post at 11:30 PM EDT. Which means she gets an hour, so you know it'll be good!

How Do You Know When You're FINISHED?

Sunday night, my husband left on a week-long white-water rafting trip. It was rather sudden, actually, but he's off having a blast in an area with no cell reception. For the first time in our 11-year marriage, we will not be talking on the phone before bedtime.

Late Monday night, in response to the aforementioned departure of my sons' primary-care-giver, my mother-in-law generously agreed to double up on grandchildren and take my three boys a week early, the same week she's taking three of their cousins. That's six children aged ten and under. She's amazing, that woman. Truly.

So I'm all alone. By myself. Oh-so-lonely.

Whatever shall I do?

Oh, yeah. I can finish my edit!

After I finished the first draft, I let it sit for a month or so, edited it (cutting over 12,000 words), let it sit for another month while my awesome writer's group tore it to bits (though they mostly liked it), edited it again, sent it out to amazing beta readers who spotted more mistakes, rewrote the ending and the beginning again, let it sit for a few weeks, and now I'm over halfway through the edits suggested by my betas. I still need to hunt down wayward semicolons and over-used words and phrases, but then I'm rather at a loss about what else I can fix. I'm worried I'll do more harm than good if I keep fiddling. I know it's a bit long for my genre, but I don't know which scenes can be most easily sacrificed.

By the end of the week, I might start calling my WIP a Manuscript.

By the end of the week, I just might be ready to --

See? I can't even say it. Or type it.

Because once I hit send on a... you know... reality will inevitably fall. Once I hit send, industry professionals will start to tell me that I'm not actually finished. Right? Everyone says so. Even if it's perfect, it won't please everyone. I don't need it to please everyone.

But what if it pleases no one?

What if ONE MORE edit would do the trick? Should I let it sit for another month and then read it again?

HOW DO YOU KNOW WHEN YOU'RE FINISHED?

Yes, I know that my awesome blogfest buddy over at Novel Thinking already asked this question last week. There were lots of great responses. I even chimed in (oh, the irony). What I really want is for someone to say "Yes! Robin! Finish this edit and send that sucker out!"

'Cause then I can blame you when it all goes pear-shaped.

Poetry Summer Week 7: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

My boys enjoyed The Charge of the Light Brigade. There was fighting and dying in it, so they were quite pleased. They made me do it twice so I could get it word-perfect.

This week's poem is about fighting death, about struggling to stay in this life for as long as possible. I come from a long line of long-lived people, so I plan to hang out here for quite some time. Still, there are lots of different kinds of death. Hope can die. Resolve can die. Goodness can die. We should fight not just to stay alive, but to live as well as we can. To do the most good we can while we're here.

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

So I seem to be doing a lot of poems about death, dying, mayhem, and sorrow. I tried to think of a different poem for this week, but couldn't. I'd appreciate some suggestions for happy, insightful poems for future weeks, k? Anyone?

I'm an Aspiring Author! (Chantele proves it)

Well, in case this blog didn't do the trick, the cat's out of the bag: I'm an Aspiring Author! Head on over to Chantele Sedgewick's blog to see my interview!

Gearing Up To Get An Agent Blogfest: "I just had to ask...."

This is the first week of Deana Barnhart's Gearing Up to Get an Agent Blogfest, and this week we're doing random writer questions!

So this is probably the lamest question ever, but, I've been wondering for a long time: What the heck is a semicolon good for?

Now, I'm pretty good at google, and I've found an awesome website that actually has a rather helpful poster about it (you can view it and even BUY it). After reading the poster tips, I think I have a better grasp on the semicolon (sorry--attorneys never ask questions we don't already know the answers to), but now I'm wondering if I'm using it correctly. So here's some semicolons I've forced into my WIP. Please let me know if this is a correct usage of that dreaded punctuation mark:

It had been taped to her desk in biology—marked over with devil horns and a forked tail; stuck to the bathroom wall—with bat wings and fangs; and slipped inside her English book—with blacked out teeth and crossed eyes.

The website really wasn't much help on the above: it didn't cover semicolons being used with em-dashes. (Em-dashes I love. Probably too much.)

He had no idea why they so stubbornly lived where no one wanted them; but as long as they were here, he, his three older brothers, and the rest of the San Antonio pixies were forced to mingle with the humans.

I'm pretty sure this is right... right? How about this one?

All in all, it might have been mildly pleasant if not for three things: his lips slammed into hers with the full force of his teeth behind them, pressing with bruising, one-directional force; the arm around her waist caught her lower right wing, folding it back at a painful angle until she almost cried out; he was so much taller than Brina, her head was forced backward until her skull rested on the back of her neck.

See, I think this one is good, too. I'm mostly including it because I like it. ;) I really do wonder about the next one:

Pixie scientists worked with the human variety to develop soon-to-be-essential drugs: Yellow anti-depressants; Orange energy supplements; Red-enhanced testosterone (quickly outlawed in competitive sports); Purple sleep-aids; Blue erectile aids; Green-enhanced vitamins; and White-enhanced psychotropics.

Should those semicolons be commas? I think commas would work, but there's the parenthesis... which I should probably get rid of, huh?

Here's more em-dashes:

Moira’s mother was always pulling her away to have mini-lessons on court politics—also known as gossip; fashion—also known as how to look like a slut without being labeled one; and eligible crown princes—also known as future husband possibilities.

Should those semicolons be commas?

Help?

UPDATE: To answer some easier questions (maybe--no promises), visit this list of blogfest participants.

A Winning Team

In April, I did a blog-swap with Michelle Davidson and posted (on her blog) about how great it was to have writer friends. I used Shannon Hale and Stephenie Meyer as an example of a great writer-friendship.

I'm so smart.

Shannon announced today that Austenland will be made into a movie! Shannon co-wrote the screenplay, so we know it'll be awesome! Keri Russell will star as Jane, and JJ Field will play an-actor-playing-Mr. Darcy!  Filming begins this week in the UK.

Stephenie Meyer is producing it, through her production company, Fickle Fish Films (others are also involved).

I stole this picture from the Twilight Lexicon site:
http://www.twilightlexicon.com/2007/09/09/shannon-hale-interviews-stephenie/

I, for one, am excited. This is amazing news.

Poetry Summer Week 6: The Charge of the Light Brigade

My 10-year-old son had a lot of trouble with the phonetic spelling of the French pronunciation of English words in De Stove Pipe Hole, but he was able to catch the times when what I said didn't seem to match up with what he was reading. He did a good job. So did I. :)

This week I am turning down Dan Wells' sub-challenge to memorize The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. With all due respect to the poetry masterpiece and to those who understand and like it, I've tried to read it several times now and got bored. If I don't like it enough to read it, I'm a-never gonna be able to memorize it. Sad but true. Besides, I'm using this poetry summer to memorize those poems that speak to me--mostly those which have spoken to me for years. Prufrock doesn't. Sorry, Dan.

The Charge of the Light Brigade, however, contains several lines that I've quoted over the years in conversation. Most particularly, the line "Theirs not to make reply, / Theirs not to reason why, / Theirs but to do & die" strike me as poignant. So many times we are called upon to do things we don't understand, with orders handed down by people who can't fully appreciate our individual circumstances. There is a virtue in being a good soldier in many instances, but blind obedience is always scary. This is one of the reasons I'd rather be issuing orders than taking commands.

This poem is not about the Revolutionary War, but I suspect that war in general suffers from many similar moments of blunder and tragedy. Therefore, in honor of America's fight for independence so long ago, on the eve of Independence Day, I present The Charge of the Light Brigade.

The Charge Of The Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854
Written 1854

Half a league half a league, 
Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred: 
'Forward, the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the guns' he said: 
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 

'Forward, the Light Brigade!' 
Was there a man dismay'd ? 
Not tho' the soldier knew 
Some one had blunder'd: 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do & die, 
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them 
Volley'd & thunder'd; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well, 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell 
Rode the six hundred. 

Flash'd all their sabres bare, 
Flash'd as they turn'd in air 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army while 
All the world wonder'd: 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right thro' the line they broke; 
Cossack & Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not 
Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them 
Volley'd and thunder'd; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
While horse & hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 
Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them, 
Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade? 
O the wild charge they made! 
All the world wonder'd. 
Honour the charge they made! 
Honour the Light Brigade, 
Noble six hundred!

Anyone else have issues with being good little soldiers?

Check out the #PoetrySummer hastag on Twitter to see who else is playing.