Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Why the 'Why?' Behind a Lit Agent's Rejections are Often Left Out

Literary Agent Rachelle Gardner explains why literary agents don't usually write "a word or two" on the reasoning behind manuscript rejections. First off, adding an extra two words for every rejection would mean hours of more writing for the agent. Some agents are so busy they don't even write a personalized greeting on their rejection letters.
Second, people underestimate the difficulty required to explain the rejection in words. Committing to a written explanation means analyzing all the feelings that went into decision. Sometimes a manuscript fails to appeal because of a random premonition or a gut feeling. How can those instances be put into words?
Gardner offers this analogy in her post: "When you walk through the department store looking for clothes, do you stop at every single item of clothing and dissect why it's not right for you? Of course not. And if you did, you'd spend an awful lot of time trying to identify exactly why it doesn't appeal. Something about the style?...Is it just plain ugly? Or is it... (drum roll please)... just not what you're looking for right now?"

Gardner gives a logical and concise explanation. Judging from the people who agree with her in the comments section, it seems that many literary agents share her pain. To the readers and especially to the Grumpy Literary Agent, what is your opinion? Please make it a grumpy one, but feel free to share any thoughts in the comments section.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

The Flower by Lisa Kendall

Je suis devenue une fleur jaune comme le soleil.  Mes peids se sont changes en racines sous la terre.  Mes cheveux ont disparu et des petales jaunes ont pris leur place.  Une grande tige, solide et verte, a remplacer mes jambes.  Du pollen sucre recouvre mon visage.  De jolis oiseaux ont chante pour moi et les papillons me couvrent avec du bouche-a-bouche.

I plan to translate it, although it surely could not be the same.

My memoir- No Place Like Home

My desk phone rang, interrupting me from my inbox. It way my sister calling to ask me for a ride. It had been months since I had seen Mindy and with few appointments, a good day to take an hour from the office. She gave me an address for a hotel near the Convention Center. When I arrived, she was wearing a ridiculously small and childish nightgown. It was hard not to reveal the disgust I felt to what was clearly her attire for the previous evening. I pictured the man with whom she spent the night leaving the last conference at the Convention Center to fly back to his wife and children. The man who paid to spend the night with my baby sister.

My car had just been broken into, leaving the passenger lock frozen. Telling her she'd have to climb through the drivers' side, she joked that she might know who did it. Her greatest talent had always been snappy comic timing.  Like all good jokes, this was hilarious bc we both knew it was true. Never acknowledging the bitter truth of her life with criminals, we enjoyed the sweet banter about what she might do to get my stereo and CDs back.

As usual, she was disorganized and unprepared. 
 
Can you hold these things for me?, she asked.

Sure.  Where is the purse I gave you?

I threw it into oncoming traffic when I was high.

Not thinking that required explanation, she went on to the next subject.  Her stories were always filled with the misfortune of her unstable life. She clearly wanted me to care about the crime and injustice she experienced, but I often answered numbly. I sometimes wonder what she thought of my lack of reaction to ugly disclosures. 
Leaving her at a rundown apartment, my new, white car seemed to illustrate the difference in our lives.  Unable to work, I stared out the window of a newly constructed building for hours as the phone went unanswered, faxes unsent, and paperwork not completed. How to re-enter the only world I knew. Oddly aware of the tailord suit and black pumps I was standing in, I vaguely attempted to process what I had just seen, experienced, and felt. Seeing the contrasts in our lifestyles, personalities, and clothing, you wouldn't think we could know each other, but I knew we were linked by background, religious upbringing, mother, and, at that time, lack of education.

The following week, I took her to the Council for Prostitution Alternatives. It was incomprehensible to me that a $25 bribe was her only motivation. On the way, I also gave her a new purse full of make-up. Her appreciation was evident in her weary face and shoulders. It felt good to meet one of her needs. Taking the foundation from the delicate white purse, she began applying it to the tracks on her hands.  Trying to remain calm, I quietly watched as the ugly sores became ugly sores caked with skin-colored paste.

The most surreal moments were in the lobby, as my brain knew why I was there, buty my senses did not.  The casual, business-as-usual atmosphere made me feel relaxed, as if the furniture itself was saying, "hey, we do this all the time." On some level I had to remind myself what brought me...and the other waiting women as well. The intake person assigned to take down our information moved with compassion. It was clear that we found a judgement-free zone. She asked Mindy questions I had never heard and Mindy knew all the answers. It was as if they were speaking a foreign language.

What is your drug of choice?
Speedballs.

How old were you when you first did drugs?
Fourteen.

Where do you live?
I'm homeless.
 
I sat completely still with my eyes closed, afraid to open them and see what I was hearing. Wishing I could be strong, wishing it was all different. I
only hope the tears told her what I could not. That she mattered to someone. In my own trauma at hearing of her pain, I could not put my arms around her or tell her I was sorry.
 
My saddest memory of Mindy is her sweeping my deck to show her appreciation for my support. She was full of hope for a better life. The next morning she would be taking a train to a drug rehab program I had arranged and paid for. Her dreams of art school and stability fueled my belief that she could do it. So accustomed to disaster, I reacted calmly when the director called to tell me that her issues were far too great for them to address

Friday, September 17, 2010

Prison by Tara Brenner

-Tara Brenner

Prison 

They say that every one in four people know someone currently incarcerated in the United States Prison System.
And me – I work there
So you can count me in.
When your son or brother has a question
When your husband or boyfriend has a problem
They come to me
I’m beginning to know them.
This guy is in for life.
He works in laundry, says he likes coming into my office to talk to me.
It was his idea to put the shirt over his victims head so that when he shot him point blank in the face he wouldn’t get any blood on his new pants.
I’ve just enrolled him in a GED program, told him he’s a thinker.
The kid in North Wing doesn’t belong here.
They’d been dating for two years
He was 19, his girlfriend was 17.
Her mother called it in.
He got three to five for his trespass
I guarantee you he will leave this place a felon.
Three years in an intensive study in the criminal mind.
I’ve seen this kind of thing before.
He’ll probably walk out of here a gang member
Or a drug dealer.
Believe me, he’s nothing but a sex offender now – and got nothin’ to lose.
I never said justice was fair.
The man from 214 likes to wave at me in the hallway.
Tells me he likes what I was wearing today
Three years ago he talked some girl my age into his apartment
Handcuffed her to his son’s crib,
Dressed her in red lingerie,
And raped her for two hours straight.
If it was me, I wouldn't have let her go
But when the cops came to arrest him
They started going through his picture phone
Only to see pictures of girl after girl after girl in red lingerie.
I walk among inmates every day.
And I’m beginning to feel more comfortable.
I’ve started building a home here.
I’m finding iron bars in my closets
And razor wire under my bed sheets.
I watch my back whenever I’m getting ready to fall asleep.
They say that every one in four people know someone currently incarcerated in the United States Prison System.
Me, I know over 2,000 men currently serving time.
I know what they’ve done
I know where they’re going when they get out.
I’m beginning to get an idea of what monsters really look like.
Standing tall in the dark with eyes wide and excited.
They’re beginning to look like people.
And I’m lying to you.
Because every time I look at you I can no longer see you for who you are
But only what you are capable of doing.
There’s no investigation report out here to prove your innocence to me
And to be quite honest with you
I feel safer in there
And I’m sorry.
Sorry that I now live a life between locked gates
And concrete walls
I’m sorry that I’ll never let you get close enough.
The prisoners say that if you stay in the system long enough
That you won’t want to leave.
I’ve been building a cell here bar after bar and brick after brick.
I’d rather stay with the demons I know
Than brave the demons I don’t
Just mark my name on the list of people you know
In prison.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Eastside Writers Group- Bean and Letters at Bipartisan Cafe

Come join us one Wednesday each month at the inspiring Bipartisan Cafe at SE 79th and Stark.  Share your experiences and adventures in the world of writing and publishing.  Bring your work for some informal editing help as well. 

Call Lisa for details; 503-317-6793

Memoir Lessons for Children

Lesson Planet, an online resource for teachers, has creative lessons and comprehensive lesson plans for teachers and their students. Take a look!

http://www.lessonplanet.com/search?gclid=CJ3Sjdn0gqQCFQMBbAod4zvjHg&keywords=Memoirs&media=lesson&rating=4

Friday, September 10, 2010

Wordstock brings "Mortified" to the Bagdad October 8th

As you know, Wordstock is all about stories, and this year, as we started to think of a way to showcase personal stories and histories, we were drawn very quickly to the bright flame that is Mortified. For the uninitiated, Mortified is a live performance that features everyday people reading aloud their most embarrassing, pathetic, and private teenage diary entries, poems, love letters, lyrics, locker notes -- you get the idea. In the words of one recent performer here in Portland, "It's hilarious and oddly cathartic." Trust us, you don't want to miss this one! It's Thursday, October 8, at McMenamins Bagdad Theater in Portland. Mortified founder Dave Nadelberg will be flying up from LA to join us for this special event, at which he'll be interviewing a special guest in the middle of the show -- a special guest we'll be announcing very soon...

Review of Jeanette Walls Glass Castle- From Galley Cat

Jeannette Walls grew up with parents whose ideals and stubborn nonconformity were both their curse and their salvation. Rex and Rose Mary Walls had four children. In the beginning, they lived like nomads, moving among Southwest desert towns, camping in the mountains. Rex was a charismatic, brilliant man who, when sober, captured his children's imagination, teaching them physics, geology, and above all, how to embrace life fearlessly. Rose Mary, who painted and wrote and couldn't stand the responsibility of providing for her family, called herself an "excitement addict." Cooking a meal that would be consumed in fifteen minutes had no appeal when she could make a painting that might last forever.


Later, when the money ran out, or the romance of the wandering life faded, the Walls retreated to the dismal West Virginia mining town -- and the family -- Rex Walls had done everything he could to escape. He drank. He stole the grocery money and disappeared for days. As the dysfunction of the family escalated, Jeannette and her brother and sisters had to fend for themselves, supporting one another as they weathered their parents' betrayals and, finally, found the resources and will to leave home.

What is so astonishing about Jeannette Walls is not just that she had the guts and tenacity and intelligence to get out, but that she describes her parents with such deep affection and generosity. Hers is a story of triumph against all odds, but also a tender, moving tale of unconditional love in a family that despite its profound flaws gave her the fiery determination to carve out a successful life on her own terms.

For two decades, Jeannette Walls hid her roots. Now she tells her own story.

Defense Dept. Buying 10,000 Copies of CIA Officer's Memoir

According to "a senior Pentagon official," the Defense Department hopes to buy the entire 10,000 copy print run of Operation Dark Heart by Lt. Col. Anthony Shaffer.


Published by St. Martin's Press, the upcoming memoir recounts Shaffer's work as an intelligence officer in Afghanistan. As you can see by the screen shot embedded, the book's official website currently reads: "Our estimated launch date is September 30, 2010 ... Current status: Waiting on the man."

Here's more from the Washington Post: "The official said the Defense Department 'sent up a team to talk with the publisher some time ago,' and has been negotiating an agreement that might allow the Pentagon to purchase already printed copies of the book and permit a subsequent version to go forward as long as it complies with U.S. government requests ... Both sides now appear to have agreed on the contents of the second printing, but negotiations are focused on what to with the 10,000 copies already published." (Via Ron Charles)

Eastside Memoir Group starting up

Come join experienced writers with your project whether for family or publishing.  We will meet twice each month for editing and support.

Call Lisa with questions; 503-317-6793 

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Suggested Memoirs

The Liar's Club                                     Mary Karr
Running with Scissors                            Augesten Burroughs
Mennonite in a Little Black Dress          Rhoda Jansen
Stolen Innocense                                   Elissa Wall
Pursuit of Happyness                            Chris Gardner
Breaking Night                                      Liz Murray

Blackbird, although this book is known to contain some factual errors 

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

A Free Resource for Writers

Portland Writers is a free service to help local writers connect with readers. You are welcome to post your writing, feedback to writers about their writing, information about local events and resources for writers, and discussion about this website.
 
http://portlandwriters.com/