I have not been in the publishing game long, but the thirty some odd rejection letters I have gotten have all been form letters, Now I understand the benefit of form letters I volunteered at a campaign office a few years back. It just make me feel even smaller when they point out that it is a form letter. I can tell a form letter when I see one, now you are just insulting my intelligence. I understand you are busy, no need to tell me that either. Just get tot the point and politely say, "We are not interested in your work at this time." If you are one of the few that have the time to write out a reason why, please do so, we as authors enjoy constructive criticism. It is the only way we get better, that and practice, lots of practice.
I read through the first full length novel I wrote the other day and I nearly died laughing. It was horrid. The story was there, but I did no fact checking and the story was entrenched in the court system. I'm not a lawyer or a legal assistant. I know next to nothing about the legal system, but I thought I could just wing it. Boy was I wrong. Research is a key factor in writing, whether it is one on one research or utilizing the many resources on the web, it doesn't matter, but you have to do some for of research. If not, your book will fall flat, trust me. I am looking at the last novel I completed that is a bit short to be called a decent fantasy noel, so I am working on that and try to expand on certain things. The other story I am currently working on is an urban fantasy set in 2311. I think is has some uniqueness to it while still stealing ideas that have been floating around in my head from some story or another.
I would however like to say thank you to one individual and that is my wife. Living with a full time write who is in his early thirties and has nothing published yet is rather annoying, trust me, I know. But she stands by me anyway.
In the next entry I will be talking about my medical conditions and why I am a stay at home writer.
Here is a piece of poetry for you to read.
I read through the first full length novel I wrote the other day and I nearly died laughing. It was horrid. The story was there, but I did no fact checking and the story was entrenched in the court system. I'm not a lawyer or a legal assistant. I know next to nothing about the legal system, but I thought I could just wing it. Boy was I wrong. Research is a key factor in writing, whether it is one on one research or utilizing the many resources on the web, it doesn't matter, but you have to do some for of research. If not, your book will fall flat, trust me. I am looking at the last novel I completed that is a bit short to be called a decent fantasy noel, so I am working on that and try to expand on certain things. The other story I am currently working on is an urban fantasy set in 2311. I think is has some uniqueness to it while still stealing ideas that have been floating around in my head from some story or another.
I would however like to say thank you to one individual and that is my wife. Living with a full time write who is in his early thirties and has nothing published yet is rather annoying, trust me, I know. But she stands by me anyway.
In the next entry I will be talking about my medical conditions and why I am a stay at home writer.
Here is a piece of poetry for you to read.
Love on the Beach
I see you standing there on the beach,
my toes digging deep in the sand,
attempting to gain proper footing
before my heart takes over
and forces me to run,
without thinking,
into your awaiting arms
that are attached to your perfectly tanned body
that is covered with a pair of ripped up blue jeans
and a shirt that probably saw its last good day
in the summer of 1998.
Ironically that was the last time I was on a
beach staring at someone with eyes like yours,
piercing deep into my soul, but this time my
soul cries out for you to hold me, to catch me
in your arms and gently lay me on the blanket
there at your feet, waiting for our bodies to lie
on top of it; tangled so badly that no one would
be able to tell where you ended and I began.
So I stop thinking and start moving, slowly at
first, so that I am sure that this is exactly what
I want to do, then I speed up quickly throwing
one naked foot in front of the other; gaining
ground quicker and quicker because I am being
driven by the look in your eyes and the gentle
way the corners of your lips rise to the sky,
like they are telling heaven to cover its eyes.
Water laps further up the shore, coming
dangerously close to the blanket due to the
rising tide, which mimics the rising tide of
emotions that are building up inside of me
waiting to be released as my skin touches
yours, which it does as I arrive at my desired
destination, your body with those outstretched
arms that are now wrapping around me, letting
me melt into you as the emotions pour forth
like the tears that are streaming down my cheeks.
We fall down together, against the warmth of
cloth and the sand gives way, just a little,
making room for my body, on top of yours,
a smashing of limbs and lips, an entanglement
of salt water and sand, against us as I finally
find that that goal of you, and your skin,
and the release of letting all the desire, the need,
the exhilaration be passed from my soul into the
air between us, building as the waves
start coming more frequently, lapping at our toes.
The water sips at this feast, as you push me back for a
second of air and wrap both arms around me
meeting at the small of my back, looking up at me
with that half smile of invitation, the nakedness
of you; nothing that can be defined without looking
into your eyes, baring the oceans of your soul in that
second. The words that could be said are not said, but
spoken all the same as you lift up, arching toward me,
in the same motion as the waves, to meet my lips.
Our bodies turning, until you look down at me,
long hair tangled over your shoulder, bits of sand
pinned in place like glittering stars that shower over my face.
You are like a picture, held into the corners of my memory
by the sound of the water rolling over us, the way your
skin glistens with the moisture and the heat, by the turn of
your hip as we are buried in surf and soil, in each other.
One arm, pushed into the ground as you take
everything you could want and I am neither sailor
or captain, but you are still my siren as the high tide
comes in and I am suddenly seeking every breath
that passes between these kisses, the air that you
breathe becoming my life force.
I do not, will not, could not care if I drowned here with
you beneath the water which buries us in turn as you rise
above or I rise above in the midst of this making of love.
The only thing left in this moment is you, the glimpse of
your floating hair as I push you beneath or the way your
eyes shimmer, slightly off center, as I look up and you push me
beneath, drowning each other in turn,
loving with no regard to everything else;
giving in to the moment;
lost in the current of us.
my toes digging deep in the sand,
attempting to gain proper footing
before my heart takes over
and forces me to run,
without thinking,
into your awaiting arms
that are attached to your perfectly tanned body
that is covered with a pair of ripped up blue jeans
and a shirt that probably saw its last good day
in the summer of 1998.
Ironically that was the last time I was on a
beach staring at someone with eyes like yours,
piercing deep into my soul, but this time my
soul cries out for you to hold me, to catch me
in your arms and gently lay me on the blanket
there at your feet, waiting for our bodies to lie
on top of it; tangled so badly that no one would
be able to tell where you ended and I began.
So I stop thinking and start moving, slowly at
first, so that I am sure that this is exactly what
I want to do, then I speed up quickly throwing
one naked foot in front of the other; gaining
ground quicker and quicker because I am being
driven by the look in your eyes and the gentle
way the corners of your lips rise to the sky,
like they are telling heaven to cover its eyes.
Water laps further up the shore, coming
dangerously close to the blanket due to the
rising tide, which mimics the rising tide of
emotions that are building up inside of me
waiting to be released as my skin touches
yours, which it does as I arrive at my desired
destination, your body with those outstretched
arms that are now wrapping around me, letting
me melt into you as the emotions pour forth
like the tears that are streaming down my cheeks.
We fall down together, against the warmth of
cloth and the sand gives way, just a little,
making room for my body, on top of yours,
a smashing of limbs and lips, an entanglement
of salt water and sand, against us as I finally
find that that goal of you, and your skin,
and the release of letting all the desire, the need,
the exhilaration be passed from my soul into the
air between us, building as the waves
start coming more frequently, lapping at our toes.
The water sips at this feast, as you push me back for a
second of air and wrap both arms around me
meeting at the small of my back, looking up at me
with that half smile of invitation, the nakedness
of you; nothing that can be defined without looking
into your eyes, baring the oceans of your soul in that
second. The words that could be said are not said, but
spoken all the same as you lift up, arching toward me,
in the same motion as the waves, to meet my lips.
Our bodies turning, until you look down at me,
long hair tangled over your shoulder, bits of sand
pinned in place like glittering stars that shower over my face.
You are like a picture, held into the corners of my memory
by the sound of the water rolling over us, the way your
skin glistens with the moisture and the heat, by the turn of
your hip as we are buried in surf and soil, in each other.
One arm, pushed into the ground as you take
everything you could want and I am neither sailor
or captain, but you are still my siren as the high tide
comes in and I am suddenly seeking every breath
that passes between these kisses, the air that you
breathe becoming my life force.
I do not, will not, could not care if I drowned here with
you beneath the water which buries us in turn as you rise
above or I rise above in the midst of this making of love.
The only thing left in this moment is you, the glimpse of
your floating hair as I push you beneath or the way your
eyes shimmer, slightly off center, as I look up and you push me
beneath, drowning each other in turn,
loving with no regard to everything else;
giving in to the moment;
lost in the current of us.
