This month's newsletter is out, and with it an excerpt from my newest NaNoWriMo novel, Christmas On Mist Creek! You can find it here:

 https://mailchi.mp/44770eabb377/a-free-read-from-nanowrimo?e=2b1e842057

  (By the way, if you sign up for the newsletter your e-mail address will NOT be sold or given to anyone else.)

I've completed the rough draft, and also won NaNoWriMo by going past the 50,000 word goal and hitting 59,296 words. The novel itself is actually about 56,500 words: The extra is the word count from other writing I did during the month, including writing a blog and the newsletter itself.

How long it will take to edit and polish the work, I don't know. I already saw some spots in the scene I posted that I'd like to change, including an opening that's a bit too stereotypical romance novel. But hey--that's what editing is for.

 

Remember, every time you sign up for a newsletter, Benjamin Franklin's ghost gets another beer. Ben loved beer--that's why he hung around Sam Adams.


 

(Also, don't forget: Buy books for Christmas!)

 

 Find ours:

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

Recently I spent two days sending queries to literary agents. Several hours of researching the agents and their agencies, composing query letters, enclosing requested materials, and sending out twenty-two e-mails. Most agents accept simultaneous submissions, but they also appreciate a personal touch, so researching whether we'd be right together was pretty time consuming.

By the end of the first day I'd already received two rejections.

Many authors do just fine without agents, these days. You don't need one if you self-publish, or if you submit to publishers that permit direct submissions, like most small and medium sized publishers. Harlequin, the Big Shot in the romance novel business, doesn't require agented submissions. In fact, one of the Harlequin lines is currently looking at my romantic comedy novel, Fire On Mist Creek.

They've had it for two years. I'm not confident.

Many authors get published without agents, after all. I should know.


Many publishers, especially the big ones, won't look at a submission unless it's received through an agent. Also, good agents act as full partners with the author, assisting in many areas besides the submission process, and also provide a shoulder to cry on. As slow as the publishing industry can be, that shoulder can be important.

But is an agent worth the process of finding one?

I tweak my submissions to make them more personal. In addition, each agent has different requirements: Some want a synopsis, some a separate author bio; some want the first five pages, or the first three chapters, or the first twenty-five or thirty or fifty pages.

So  I took the time to target each. Some gave me a quick rejection; some I might never hear back from; some might send an encouraging note that they liked my writing, but didn't get excited enough about it. (And an agent must like your work, because they're going to dive into it with both feet.)

Maybe they'll like the query and ask for a partial; maybe they'll like the partial and ask for the whole manuscript; maybe they'll like the whole manuscript but, as with one agent, have a meeting with their staff in which it's ultimately rejected. (They loved my young adult novel but thought it wasn't dark enough, and felt "dark" was the way the YA industry was headed. No wonder young people today are depressed.)

Even if you ultimately land one, it might not be a good fit. I did have an agent, years ago, but eventually he decided to get out of the publishing industry, and I started again from square one. It wasn't my fault. I think.

There's ultimately no guarantee that the agent can make the sale, but you can be sure they'll try ... because a legitimate agency won't make any money from your efforts unless they do.

So there's the process: similar to the process of submitting directly to a publisher, and with a similar rate of success. Many authors are successful and perfectly happy with independent publishing, and others do very well submitting directly to publishers. Is the extra step worth it? Well, so far it's only cost me time ... on the other hand, time is a precious commodity.

We'll see what happens.

Any way you go, you still have to put the after-sale work in.


 

Find all of our (unagented) books at:

 

Well, I finished my first draft of the synopsis for Fire On Mist Creek.

3,642 words.

Now, opinions differ on how long a novel synopsis should be. (In my opinion, I should be rich enough to hire someone else to write my synopsis and not worry about how long a synopsis should be.) The general consensus in the writing community is that a synopsis should be kept strictly between two thousand words and, oh, fifty words long. But the shorter the better; just like opera, or congressional term limits, or that little guy from Game of Thrones.

 

"Did you just call me a LITTLE GUY?"

 

 So I have some cutting to do, and with an ax, not a scalpel. There's a certain irony in cutting a novel down to something you then have to cut down. Meanwhile, I've identified a possible publisher for the book, but according to their publishing guidelines my novel is four hundred words ... too long. (Which is not something I'm remotely worried about for the moment.)

Later I'll probably have to boil my synopsis down into a back page blurb. There'll be significant shrinkage.

 

 

This is so much easier than writing a synopsis.

 


I spent some time last week judging 4-H writing projects. As usual, I marveled at how good  the entries were ... many of them much better than I was at the same age. It's great to know there are still young writers and readers out there. It's also great to know my own childhood writing has disappeared.

Then I dove back into revising Fire On Mist Creek, which I wrote last fall and edited in early winter. Revision isn't all that much fun to me, so I made myself a promise: Once I get this manuscript done ... I can start work on another story. The most fun parts for me are brainstorming the story, writing the first draft, and those little edits later on, when the story's mostly done and I can relax a little. (Maybe I should have promised myself cake.)

Major revisions of the rough draft, on the other hand--pulling stuff out, moving it around, changing whole scenes and so on--not so much fun. It beats self-promotion, though.

You know what else it beats? Writing a synopsis. I hate writing synopsis ...um, synopsi ... um, synopsises. Unfortunately, for the purposes of an upcoming submission I've paused the revision, and gone over to finish the synopsis, first.

Still a better job than assembling axles at a factory, or working at a bee moth larvea farm. Trust me on that.

 

I finished the second draft of Fire On Mist Creek, and didn't have to make as many major changes as expected. This was surprising, considering it was a NaNoWriMo novel, and the first draft was completed in about thirty-five days. (But I had an extensive outline going in.)

I added about a thousand words, fleshed out a character who didn't exist in my original outline, added one new scene, and completely rewrote another scene. Also, I gave the dog a bigger part. You can never go wrong putting a Dalmatian in your book.

 

And now: another round of edits. It's time to seek out and destroy adverbs, gerunds, passive voice, and weasel words. Weasel words are okay, if the character saying them is a weasel.

I haven't really given a full report on how National Novel Writing Month went for me way back ... gee, was that a whole month ago?

My NaNoWriMo novel, Fire On Mist Creek, topped out at 58,735 words on around November 26. I even managed to write a few hundred more words on a short story before the thirty day period was up, so all in all it went pretty darned well. Of course, as I've mentioned before, I started November 1st with a full (if messy) outline, character sketches, and other research all done.

But things happen, and I now face major rewrites. One scene is going to be replaced, a character is going to make more appearances and be more antagonistic, and another character just popped into existence in the next to last chapter and now has to be back-written into the story. I also need to add more description. One can't just spend a single month writing a story and be done with it. Well, most of us can't.

December got crazy, as December tends to do. there's still some craziness to come in January, but just the same, it'll be time to start the whole process again. Editing, polishing, submitting, promoting, tracking down agents, editors, and cheerleaders (also knows as reviewers, bloggers, and word of mouth ... mouthers), planning the new books and pushing the old ones, stuff ... things.

It's either that or go outside. In January--no contest.



This is both stuff and things.
ozma914: mustache Firefly (mustache)
( Nov. 24th, 2017 01:07 pm)
Who's a National Novel Writing Month winner???

That's right ... I am!

52,265 words so far, baby. Actually, One more chapter and I'll have the first draft of Fire On Mist Creek done ... although I've already thought of another scene I need to go back and put in, and a few more things to add along the way. I'm figuring around 65,000 words when all is said and done.

Then major revisions, followed by minor revisions, followed by polishing. Then Emily will go through it and find all the stuff I missed. Then I'll put it aside for a month or so to "cool" ... then I go back and start the revision process all over again. January will be National Novel Editing Month. (Actually I think there really is one of those.)

But still ... totally won #NaNoWriMo2017 !!!



45,000 words! Way ahead of schedule.
 

Naming characters is one of the great joys of a fiction writer, when it's not one of their great nightmares.

We all want to come up with the next Sherlock Holmes, or Indiana Jones, or Stan Lee. (Isn't he a character?) It can be more complicated according to the genre: With science fiction you might need a Han Solo, with fantasy a Bilbo Baggins. Alliteration is your friend ... sometimes. After all, we have Clark Kent, or anyone invented by the previously mentioned Stan Lee.

Sometimes I go to great effort to give my character names meaning, while other times I just go with what sounds good. In my first published novel, my male protagonist was famous for taking extreme risks, even as he denied being a risk taker. His name? Chance, of course.

With its sequel, The Notorious Ian Grant, I was creating a character who already had a last name--he's the son of a minor character from Storm Chaser. I wanted something to fit his rakish, shall we say notorious personality, and settled on Ian. I also had to take into consideration what his father, an old school type, would have named him.

Often I painstakingly go through the meanings, sorting through my close to a dozen books about names (hey, I'm ready to name your baby!) And that's fine, but it might be more important to pick out a name that just doesn't conflict in other ways.

Do you have two characters whose names begin with an R? Or do all your characters have one syllable last names? Do the first and last names fit together? Say my name fast, without the middle initial ... I wouldn't give a character my name. Look at your cast list, and make sure two of the names aren't too like each other.

You might also consider whether to give your characters names that could apply to either sex, like Robin. I love the female name, Dani. But if Dani's best friend and her family all call her Dan, it could cause some confusion with the reader.

Then there's the question of ethnic names. In the Storm Chaser series is a character named Fran--her full name is Francesca. In my unpublished novel Beowulf: In Harm's Way is a character named Sachiko Endo, whose parents hail from Japan by way of another planet. Now, that story is set 500 years in the future, so there's no reason to think someone named Maria Nejem or Mohan Singh are from any particular place on Earth, or even from Earth at all. But there's also no reason to think my ship's crew will all have names like James and Leonard.

My current novel in progress is a romantic comedy. While the romance genre doesn't have the strict rules it once did, there are certain limitations on names, at least for American audiences. Colin and Wyatt are fine names for male protagonists, depending on the sub-genre; Larry Duckworth would probably not be your male lead.

I named my male protagonist Reed Carter. Why? Because I liked it; I had a backache at the time and didn't feel like looking up meanings. These things happened. Similarly, my female lead is Alice Delaney: I've always liked Alice, and Delaney had an extra syllable that seemed to work well with the first name, and Reed's name.

Now, with secondary names you can have a bit more fun, but be careful if your character might end up with a larger role in a sequel, or series. In Storm Chaser, I gave Chance Hamlin's little sister the name Beth, mostly as an afterthought. She was just a minor character, after all. But in the tradition of Urkels and Fonzies everywhere, she took on a life of her own and has so far shown up in three novels and a short story collection. If, in the new book, Alice's friend Rina Quade takes off, hopefully I'll be able to live with the name.

Finally there's naming characters after friends, family members, and enemies.

Don't.

Well, not without their approval, anyway. Never underestimate the power of people to be offended. Of course, if the character has a different last or first name, and their hair color is different, or even if they're of different gender, hey--just a coincidence, right? Before you do this, know who you're honoring. If you're dishonoring them, change the character around a lot.

My new book (working title Fire on Misty Creek) is set in northern Kentucky. It features a volunteer fire department, and to fill out its membership roles I chose popular last names from Knott County, where my relatives came from--even though its in southeast Kentucky. A little honoring of the roots, there.

The important part, when choosing names, is to have them fit the character, and to avoid confusion. If you end up with a Sherlock Holmes, that's just gravy.

He is Groot.
Now remember, this is still the rough draft of the book I'm doing for National Novel Writing Month. Certainly changes will be made before it's finished, maybe many changes--it's already different from how I originally envisioned it. Changes might include the name of the dog, which right now is named after a Dalmatian I once owned--I just gave it the same name out of convenience.

The same goes for the title. I like Fire On Mist Creek ... although it should be pointed out that at no time in the story will there be a literal fire on the creek. Anyway, here's the opening scene:





FIRE ON MIST CREEK
 
CHAPTER ONE
 
Alice didn’t have to be a firefighter to know the truck had been on fire.
She switched on her SUV’s hazard lights and slowed down, passing the pickup truck before coming to a stop on the berm. It didn’t take great detective skills, either: A red fire extinguisher and an empty water jug stood near the truck’s hood, which was propped open. The underside of the hood was covered with whirls of smoke and scorch marks, and in the glow of her taillights she could see the slightest wisp of smoke drift up from the engine.
Grabbing her Maglite, Alice opened the door and stepped out. Her passenger let out a mournful howl, and she turned toward the elderly Dalmatian. “You need a potty break, Halon?”
Halon wagged her tail. “Well, it’s not like there’s a lot of traffic at three in the morning.” She left the door open, and the dog climbed down. There was a passing lane here, a third lane added to let drivers get by semis climbing the slope away from Mist Creek, although the truck had been headed toward the town. Passing lanes were common in this hilly section of northwest Kentucky, but at this hour it just meant a lonely stretch of highway seemed lonelier.
Alice played her light over the pickup truck while Halon headed for the side of the road. After a moment Alice approached, shining the light inside to confirm a lack of occupants. Two old, battered suitcases and a backpack appeared to have been abandoned in the truck bed. She was reaching for her cell phone when Halon started whining and she glanced over, to see the old girl beside the guardrail, wagging her tail.
Along with another shadowy figure.
Alice’s heart skipped a beat, and it took a second for her to recover enough to shine the light that way. The man sitting against the railing paid her absolutely no attention—he was busy petting the dog.
“How you doing, girl? Love a Dalmatian, and you’re an extra cute one.” Now he glanced up, shading his hazel eyes. “Is this your guard dog?” Halon laid down and rolled over, presenting her belly to the stranger. “Guess not.”
“She’s supposed to be tearing your arm off right now.”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll get around to it.” He commenced belly rubbing, making one of Halon’s back legs twitch.
After an automatic moment of caution, Alice had to relax a bit at the way Halon took to the man. Usually the dog was a bit standoffish toward anyone who wasn’t a Mist Creek resident, or a …
Ah. When he looked up again, Alice recognized the Maltese cross on the newcomer’s t-shirt. A glimpse of his wristwatch showed the same symbol, and she relaxed more. “Have a fire, fireman?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle—I had a backup supply of drinking water. If that hadn’t done it, I’ve been on the road for a while and haven’t seen a rest stop.” He stood, revealing himself to be half a head taller than Alice—maybe six foot three. His sandy hair was cut short, but he sported at least a day’s stubble. Halon stood on her hind legs to lean against his muscular chest, so he went back to petting her. “Oh, and I believe the term these days is firefighter. You look like you are one.”
“The dog?”
“The front license plate that says ‘Mist Creek Fire Department’, and that little red light bar on your Ford. Where I come from there’s no place for a vanity plate.” He smiled.
Nice smile—wherever he came from apparently had a good dental plan. She could so be a detective. “I’m Alice.”
“Reed Carter.” They shook hands, which struck her as faintly ridiculous. He had a good grip, and less calloused hands than she would have expected. Halon wedged between them in a push for more loving, which this time Alice provided. “I would have called for help, but it appears your hills are phone service resistant.”
“Just passing through?” A reasonable question, she thought. Technically they were on a Kentucky state highway, but it didn’t get much traffic, especially lately.
“Well …” Halon jumped up, planting her forelegs on his chest again. He rubbed her back, then gently lowered her to the ground. “It depends on whether your dog is the biggest tourist attraction. Is there a motel in Misty Creek?”
“Mist Creek. A few miles past, but it’s right along this highway. How do you plan to get there?”
Apparently he hadn’t thought of that. “Um …” He glanced back at the truck. “Well, I’ll just walk. The weather’s nice for this time of year—it’s October now, isn’t it? Seems like it should be cooler.”
Alice’s mind was on anything but the weather. Reed Carter looked a few years older than her, maybe thirty-five, and he was built like—well, a firefighter. Overall he seemed like a pretty normal person, if you could call firefighters normal, but she had to keep in mind that he was a stranger.
Halon broke away from her and rubbed against Reed’s leg. He reached down to scratch behind her ears.
Okay, Alice might have lost her skills at judging men, but Halon could be trusted all day long. “Put your stuff in the back. I’ll give you a ride to the motel.”
Reed blinked. “You will?”
“Firefighters.”
She didn’t miss the look of gratitude on his face, but he said only, “We’re all brothers … and sisters.”
She reached into the pocket of her windbreaker, which suddenly seemed too warm, and pushed the button to unlock the SUV’s gate. “You’re not a pervert, are you?”
“No more than average. You’re not hauling uranium or nitroglycerin, are you?”
“Not this week. This week I’m serving with the Town Watch.” She felt a little silly identifying her more or less official position, and realized she never had to before. But sometimes that kind of thing cut down on the chance of someone acting wrongly.
“I see.” He carefully set his luggage into the back of her Ford. “So we’ll make our Escape. See what I did, there?”
“I do … I’ve never actually had anyone make fun of my vehicle’s model.”
“Ouch.”
Alice opened the car’s back door, as Reed walked around to the other side. “Halon, get into Lucy.”
Reed paused with his door open. “Lucy?” The dog vaulted into the back seat, then lurched forward to lick his hand.
“She’d a redhead” Alice patted the Ford’s top, then got in at the same time Reed did. There was a moment of uncomfortable closeness before they situated themselves and belted in. “Does your truck have a name?”
“Clunker. But I named her—it—him? Just now. I’ve never driven it much, and never out of town … I’m not all that surprised it didn’t hold up for a road trip.”
“Good thing you were the right man for that particular breakdown.” She made a mental note to notify the county dispatch center of the vehicle’s location and the status of its driver, then gave him a sidelong glance before pulling out onto the highway. “Do, how long have you been fighting fires?”
“Fourteen years, but I don’t do it anymore.” His voice seemed to tighten a bit for a moment, then relaxed again. “How about you?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Fourteen years.”
“No kidding? We should start a fourteen-year club.”
“I have a feeling you were on a busier department, though.” His t-shirt did indeed have the fire service’s traditional Maltese cross on it along with a pattern of firefighting tools—crossed ladder and ax—but there was nothing to identify his department. She’d noticed words across the back: “Just Point to the Smoke and Get Out of the Way”. Definitely not an official department shirt.
“Oh, probably. They all burn the same, though.” He reached back to pat Halon, who had rested her head on his shoulder. “I decided to move on a few months ago.”
Moving on from firefighting? Alice had a hard time imagining that. “Have you considered—?”
Halon sat up straight and gave out a blood-curdling howl.
Shrill beeps came from the pager on her belt. She jumped a little despite herself, while Reed leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. The female voice that emerged from the little speaker made her heart start pounding.
“Mist Creek Fire, respond to a house fire, 5364 North Old Trail Road. CP advises heavy smoke from the second floor.”
Alice’s foot, almost unconsciously, pressed down on the accelerator. Then the address kicked in, and she eased up. “Oh, boy.”

 Aaaaannnnddd ... away we go. 2,196 words done on the first day ... but because I didn't insert the word count into the NaNoWriMo website until just after midnight, it's assuming I did them on the second day--so I'm already behind.

 

National Novel Writing Month begins. 

 

I feel like I'm one of those guys who walks a marathon. I'm definitely going to finish, but I'm not all that worried about those young author pups who get there before me. 50,000 words in thirty days? My goal is 50,000 in six weeks, and since six is a smaller number than thirty, I win!

 

It's all about coming out of it with a finished novel. And that, I've learned in recent years, I can do.

 

 
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