Peter's Cross Station

No Virginia, There's No...You Know

For more on this, see my latest BlogHer post.

InSoWriMo: the Second

Slight improvement over last week, I think.  This is based on a true story of how I had to go across the country (um, the country of England, that is) on an emergency basis on the day before my twenty-first birthday.  And there was a crazy blizzard the like of which Southern England had not seen in fifty years.  And BritRail was stumped.  And then I got really lost when I did manage to arrive at my destination.  Not sure why I thought of it.  But I figured it was as good sonnet fodder as anything else. Well, not really.  But anything that came to my mind this week.

The Wrong Kind of Snow, 1991

 

When I turned twenty-one it snowed all night

And in the morning all the trains were stalled

I set out for the station before light

I told them “Epsom” and they were appalled

 

“You cannot get there in this kind of snow,”

The ticket agent argued with a frown

But I stood my ground at her small window

And in the end I got to Epsom town.

 

Circling around my goal in snowdrift dark

I searched for my hotel room in the cold

No sleeping town had ever been so stark

As midnight struck, I suddenly grew old

 

I wonder where the dancer is today

Who turned nineteen on that year’s shared birthday?

See What I Mean?

Just found a book blog that has this thread about the slush pile.  Don't drink anything while reading it.

More on Darts in the Dark and Being a Sport about It

I got two rejections in the past twelve hours or so.  Neither was a surprise.  Actually, one was kind of a pleasant surprise, because it had been out a while and often enough, I've found, agents don't tell you when they pass.  So there's a folder in my bookmarks of agents queried that never move into the rejection folder.  The loose ends are aggravating.

It's not bothering me too much.  There's a little twinge, a whisper of doubt about the writing in the back of my head, but mostly I chalk it up to a another days' work and actually, to progress, because at least now I know I need to move on.

I have been accruing a few agent and editor acquaintances (mostly via Twitter, who knew?) and through links and clicks and second and third hand referrals, accumulating knowledge of this particular area of publishing.  The thing is, one agent/editor/blog/website will say "dear god, for pity's sake don't EVER do X!" then another will say "geez, why is no one doing X!  You've got to do X, people!"  And if you ask five of them is Y is helpful, one will say "No." One will say "YES!" One will say, "well, it depends."  One will say, "only if also Z." One will give you an inscrutable emoticon in response and leave you scratching your head.  The upshot is each and every query demands a ton of research into that individual's preferences, ideas, philosophy, style, etc.  And you know, actually, it's kind of fun.  I seriously kind of enjoy that part.  But it can get annoying to be told (not ME being told, but to read general info for the general public including me) that something is absolute and carved in stone, when in fact it's only so for the person doing the telling/writing/tweeting/whatever.

So again with the darts in the dark.  Because you just never know when what you've done is going to align perfectly with what some agent thinks you should do or misalign entirely.  And so I for one believe the rejections that say "this is not a good fit, but that's no commentary on your project." 

Mind you, I'm cynical enough to know that sometimes it is a commentary on my (or anyone's) project.  I can only imagine the slush to be found in those slush piles.  Really.  Me?  I could NEVER do what agents do.  I laugh when people say "famous, rich, successful Writer X was rejected fourhundredandseventythree times!"  Because you know what?  For every rich famous, successful writer who was rejected a lot, there are approximately twelve million losers who never published a sentence fragment who were also rejected a lot.  While success may = a history of rejection, the inverse is not, by any means, necessarily true.

For me it will be though!  Stiff upper lip!

InSoWriMo: the First

Here's REALLY hoping they get better as the month goes on, but the week is slipping by and I was desperate, so here you go.

Ode to the Morning Routine Around Here

Shall I compare thee—“two girls want to eat!”

Cereal flakes, buttered waffles or toast?

Milk first, the kettle filled, Sesame Street

Cued on the laptop—the one you like most.

Batter my heart three—“scrambled eggs and cheese!”

Where is the frying pan? Still in the sink—

Crusted with last night’s leftovers and grease

By the bananas beginning to stink.

I caught this morning—“the milk on the floor

Needs to be wiped! But I didn’t mean it!

Just an accident—I’ll do it no more.

Especially if you make me clean it.”

Writing a sonnet in the morning is

Not easy when you’re waiting on two kids.

Now, where's yours?

Bilingual? Raising Bilingual Kids? I need you!

Writing an article about kids and second-language/bilingual/emersion school education.

Can I interview you?  If so please leave a comment and I'll send you the questions.

Thanks!!!!

Considering Adoption?

Take thirty minutes to watch a brave father tell his story about broken promises in an open adoption.

Open adoption can be a great experience.  It's been shown in many studies to be best for all parties to the adoption.  But until the promises made in open adoption are legally binding contracts, stories like this will be too common.  Too many prospective adoptive parents are willing to promise the moon to get a baby.  They probably usually mean to keep their promises.  But there is too little real training and education to prepare people for open adoption and there is too little post-placement support and counseling for parties to an open adoption.

For peer support for your open adoption, go register at Open Adoption Support.

For more things to consider when considering adoption, see this post.

Inspiration for InSoWriMo!

It's not a sonnet, but it's one of my favorite poems ever.  I discovered it when I was twenty and loved it for its multiple internal rhymes and lovely, creative imagery.  Now, on the brink of forty, I get the theme at a visceral level.  Love it even more.

The Sunlight on the Garden

The sunlight on the garden Hardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the minute Within its nets of gold; When all is told We cannot beg for pardon. Our freedom as free lances Advances towards its end; The earth compels, upon it Sonnets and birds descend; And soon, my friend, We shall have no time for dances. The sky was good for flying Defying the church bells And every evil iron Siren and what it tells: The earth compels, We are dying, Egypt, dying And not expecting pardon, Hardened in heart anew, But glad to have sat under Thunder and rain with you, And grateful too For sunlight on the garden. Louis Macneice

Introducing: InSoWriMo!

International Sonnet-Writing Month, that is.

I'm going to write a sonnet per week in the month of December.  Wanna join me?  Will post the results here.  If you have a blog, do the same.  If not, post yours in the comments on mine.  Come on, you know you want to!  Who's in?

Adoption Awareness: A First Mom Talks about Parenting after Placement

Go read Firemom on her first parented child's fourth birthday.  More consideration of the after-effects of adoption on first parents needs to be part of any discussion of adoption.  Firemom is always great for these things.  If you don't read her, start now!