It's only a mockup, but still, an alluring and welcome cover image for my novel. If you'd like to read a free preview, click the link above. The artwork is by the wonderful artist Amber Feathers!
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When I was a senior in high school, I wrote a short story for a local contest in Los Alamos, New Mexico (yeah, that place where the atomic bomb was created). The prompt involved writing a story of 2000 words or less inspired by Ray Bradbury's 'The Martian Chronicles.' I was awarded first place for the story--in which an expedition of astronauts land on a barren planet of red sand that rises up, attacks, and swallows everybody up (What can I say? I was in high school.)--100 dollars, and, for the first time in my life, a genuine desire to write seriously and for enjoyment things I thought other people would like to read. I was called up before a hollering crowd and, as I crossed the stage, took in this strange man I knew little about (I'd only read 'The Martian Chronicles' at that point) with scraggly gray hair and thick-rimmed glasses nearly as thick as my own (though I wore contact lenses at the time), his bigger-than-life presence and confident grin. When I reached him, his large warm hand enveloped my own and he said, the light dancing in his eyes, "I really enjoyed your story. Congratulations." And I don't remember anything after that. All I could recall later was Bradbury's child's grin and twinkling eyes looking into mine and his encouraging words. It is this moment I think of now, when I look back, that made me want to be a writer, that made me consider writing as a serious pursuit. The contest was, of course, small and local, and my competition was limited, but it still meant something to me, more and more as I grew older and continued to write. It wasn't, however, until much later I would learn to appreciate Bradbury's prose for what it was: pure genius. I have now consumed most of what he's written, read and reread much of it. 'Something Wicked This Way Comes' is one of my favorites and his short stories are incredible! His prose style is complex, rich, and somehow remains endearing and sweet while covering many dark and fantastic subjects. I have always dreamed of publishing something--a novel, a significant story, something--that Ray Bradbury would eventually read and perhaps even enjoy. That will never happen now, but Bradbury's influence will never leave me. I will always wonder, whatever it is I write, no matter the level of my success, what Mr. Bradbury would think of it. Would he like it? Would he not? And I will always wonder, and his influence will grow with me, making everything I write that much better, and he will live amongst all writers and go on and on... http://www.raybradbury.com/ I struggled for hours, a week, several weeks, and am still metaphorically flailing about the guts of my work in my head to try and make my query letter the best it possible can be. Here are the basics--a sort of 'how to' guide--and then I'll share an example of what I came up with. You have one page to get the agent to read your book. That's it. Paragraph One--The Hook: You have one sentence, or possibly a couple, to pique interest and draw the reader in. This is not as easy as it sounds. Write and re-write. Paragraph Two--Tiny Synopsis: Now you have 150 words, maybe 200, to summarize your entire novel. This one feels like parasites in the brain where the harder you work, the hungrier all those little white worms are going to be and the more cheese holes they're going to bore. It's excruciating. Just keep on working it over. It's an extended hook. Paragraph Three--Writer's Bio: Keep the egocentric stuff related to writing and you're probably okay here. Brag a little, but don't be an arrogant douchbag about it. If you have some sort of writing degree mention that. If you have publishing credits, mention those. Writing awards are good too. Don't go overboard, but don't be too modest either. Closing: And then close by thanking the agent for his/her time and consideration. Then mention that the full manuscript is available upon request (it's finished, right? Right???). Then, you're done. Send it out to a few agencies and await the inevitable rejection letters. Here's an example of my own fumbling, trying to summarize my novel and make it appetizing: And it goes on and on as I tried (and continued to try) to find the perfect way to say what I am trying to say. It's a process.
The current incarnation of my query letter is, I believe, passable, and I tried sending it out to a few agents and agencies and now await responses, but I'm still not entirely happy with it. I think it needs some more work. It's lunch time for those parasites and I need to get cracking while I still can. I can feel them swimming around up there... The Three Army-Surgeons by The Brothers Grimm (translated by Margaret Taylor, 1884) Three army-surgeons who thought they knew their art perfectly, were traveling about the world, and they came to an inn where they wanted to pass the night. The host asked whence they came, and whither they were going? "We are roaming about the world and practicing our art." "Just show me for once in a way what you can do," said the host. Then the first said he would cut off his hand, and put it on again early next morning; the second said he would tear out his heart, and replace it next morning; the third said he would cut out his eyes and heal them again next morning. "If you can do that," said the innkeeper, "you have learnt everything." They, however, had a salve, with which they rubbed themselves, which joined parts together, and they carried the little bottle in which it was, constantly with them. Then they cut the hand, heart and eyes from their bodies as they had said they would, and laid them all together on a plate, and gave it to the innkeeper. The innkeeper gave it to a servant who was to set it in the cupboard, and take good care of it. The girl, however, had a lover in secret, who was a soldier. When therefore the innkeeper, the three army-surgeons, and everyone else in the house were asleep, the soldier came and wanted something to eat. The girl opened the cupboard and brought him some food, and in her love forgot to shut the cupboard-door again; She seated herself at the table by her lover, and they chattered away together. While she sat so contentedly there, thinking of no ill luck, the cat came creeping in, found the cupboard open, took the hand and heart and eyes of the three army-surgeons, and ran off with them. When the soldier had done eating, and the girl was taking away the things and going to shut the cupboard she saw that the plate which the innkeeper had given her to take care of, was empty. Then she said in a fright to her lover, "Ah, miserable girl, what shall I do? The hand is gone, the heart and the eyes are gone too, what will become of me in the morning?" "Be easy," said he, "I will help thee out of thy trouble there is a thief hanging outside on the gallows, I will cut off his hand. Which hand was it?" "The right one." Then the girl gave him a sharp knife, and he went and cut the poor sinner's right hand off, and brought it to her. After this he caught the cat and cut its eyes out, and now nothing but the heart was wanting. "Have you not been killing, and are not the dead pigs in the cellar?" said he. "Yes," said the girl. "That's well," said the soldier, and he went down and fetched a pig's heart. The girl placed all together on the plate, and put it in the cupboard, and when after this her lover took leave of her, she went quietly to bed. In the morning when the three army-surgeons got up, they told the girl she was to bring them the plate on which the hand, heart, and eyes were lying. Then she brought it out of the cupboard, and the first fixed the thief's hand on and smeared it with his salve, and it grew to his arm directly. The second took the cat's eyes and put them in his own head. The third fixed the pig's heart firm in the place where his own had been, and the innkeeper stood by, admired their skill, and said he had never yet seen such a thing as that done, and would sing their praises and recommend them to everyone. Then they paid their bill, and traveled farther. As they were on their way, the one with the pig's heart did not stay with them at all, but wherever there was a corner he ran to it, and rooted about in it with his nose as pigs do. The others wanted to hold him back by the tail of his coat, but that did no good; he tore himself loose, and ran wherever the dirt was thickest. The second also behaved very strangely; he rubbed his eyes, and said to the others, "Comrades, what is the matter? I don't see at all. Will one of you lead me, so that I do not fall." Then with difficulty they traveled on till evening, when they reached another inn. They went into the bar together, and there at a table in the corner sat a rich man counting money. The one with the thief's hand walked round about him, made a sudden movement twice with his arm, and at last when the stranger turned away, he snatched at the pile of money, and took a handful from it. One of them saw this, and said, "Comrade, what art thou about? Thou must not steal shame on thee!" "Eh," said he, "but how can I stop myself? My hand twitches, and I am forced to snatch things whether I will or not." After this, they lay down to sleep, and while they were lying there it was so dark that no one could see his own hand. All at once the one with the cat's eyes awoke, aroused the others, and said. "Brothers, just look up, do you see the white mice running about there?" The two sat up, but could see nothing. Then said he, "Things are not right with us, we have not got back again what is ours. We must return to the innkeeper, he has deceived us." They went back therefore, the next morning, and told the host they had not got what was their own again; that the first had a thief's hand, the second cat's eyes, and the third a pig's heart. The innkeeper said that the girl must be to blame for that, and was going to call her, but when she had seen the three coming, she had run out by the backdoor, and not come back. Then the three said he must give them a great deal of money, or they would set his house on fire. He gave them what he had, and whatever he could get together, and the three went away with it. It was enough for the rest of their lives, but they would rather have had their own proper organs. ### Interesting, huh? What do you suppose are the moral implications of this particular tale? What are the Grimm Brothers trying to tell us? It does make you think... |
"Unrelenting Horror"- FREE!An award-winning author known for blending elements of fantasy with horror in his surreal, literary style. Author of WITHIN, A GAME FOR GODS and VIOLENT HEARTS.
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