That moment when you have to (grudgingly) admit your critique partner was right about something and change it.
Today I’m mired in a swamp of banality and I think my novel sucks. That’s ok. Tomorrow* I will think it’s highly entertaining again.
*Or April at latest
As I wrote in my coffee/writing spot today, I was treated to not one, but two conversations at adjacent tables, on the subject of fishery science. This was good because I didn’t have the slightest desire to listen in.*
*Apologies to any employees of NOAA reading this, especially if you were one of the fishy talkers.
Usually I give a novel 15 pages to grab me, but Pulitzer Prize winners get a few more. You know, it’s like the difference between waiting for a T.A. and a full professor.
So I’ve given this very beautifully written book fifty pages. So far it’s about 80% back story, 50% of which is adjectives. NOTHING IS HAPPENING. Times up, award winning novel.
In fairness, I’ve probably been spoiled by reading The Goldfinch, a prize winning book that overflows with action and adjectives.
Thursday isn’t the day after Tuesday.
Can you query a sequel when the original novel hasn’t been accepted for publication yet? If so, do you rewrite it as if there’s no earlier work and hope someone will treat that like a prequel some day, or leave it as is?
*You know this is the equivalent of “Asking for a friend,” don’t you?
Threw our annual cast party last night. How long have we been an ensemble? Let’s just say, with the exception of myself, nobody was with the same partner they were when they joined the troupe. And don’t say improv ruins your marriage…