Nothing really to add, just a lovely day down the shore in Surf City (yes, there really is a town by that name) New Jersey. A little over two months from now Memorial Day will be descending upon us, and this tranquil scene will be mobbed. Enjoy it while you can, peeps.
All posts by Gwen Jones
Beware the memes of March
HOUSATONIC BOOK AWARDS NOW OPEN FOR SUBMISSIONS
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY NEW YEAR, AND LET’S LOSE THE ROT IN 2023!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING (TO WHOMEVER IS LISTENING!)
Thought I’d drop back in to wish you a HAPPY THANKSGIVING before I take off in my (now electric) corncob car for parts afield. So here’s to you and yours for a wonderful holiday, and hope that all your NaNoWriMo dreams come true!
Happy National New Jersey Day from the Best Place in the World
I do not jest. Just because I was born, raised, and still reside here, you may think I’m a bit prejudiced. But it’s true. So we have high taxes. We get a lot of bang for our buck. We have mountains (well, big hills) we have the best beaches on the East Coast. Gambling. Weed’s legal. We have free community college if you keep your grades above failing. The toughest environmental laws. Tough gun laws, too, still legal but regulated. Medical insurance exchanges, and Medicaid if you qualify. A woman’s right to choose and marriage equality protected. Some of the best colleges in the world. The best diners, the best tomato pies, Pork Roll (don’t give me that Taylor Ham bullshit), frozen custard (NOT “soft serve.”) Crowded metro areas, but also the largest tract of open space on the Mid-Atlantic seaboard. And we’re free to hate our Governor. We always do, no matter what party they’re from.
We’re not prefect. We have flaws. We love to hate ourselves. We love to say we can’t wait to get out of our own state. But we go down the Shore every summer. We have a gazillion restaurants to pick from with every type of food represented. If we see a pizza delivery vehicle from Domino’s we know it’s going to somebody from out-of-state because… why? There’s a real pizza joint on every corner! Blueberries, tomatoes, cranberries, OH MY GOD–THE PEACHES!! There’s a lot of reasons to love living here and I’m sure, just as many reasons to say it’s the worst. But we don’t care. So go pump your own gas. We don’t have to and it’s still cheaper than yours. We’re staying right here.
Hello from the other side of the Air Conditioner
Yes, it’s been a long time since I posted, and I’m absolutely thrilled you’ve been waiting to hear from me! This heat’s kind of baked my brain, and I’ve really nothing original to offer, so consider yourself lucky you’ve been saved from my blather. But I’m feeling pretty full of myself today, as I just sent my agent the final draft of something I’ve been working on for way, way, WAY too long. I suppose I could tweak it a bit more, but to quote a saying I’ve heard lately, I’m not going to let the perfect get in the way of the good. Or maybe I’m underestimating myself. Maybe it really IS perfect. Time will tell if it ever lands on an editor’s desk. As self-deprecating as I tend to be, you’re never going to hear me overselling myself here. That’s what my agent’s for. So if you happen to be an editor on the lookout for suspense, mystery, snark, and a little sizzle of romance (as well as possessing an underlying respect for the Oxford Comma), forget the rest of this post and go to the top of the page. You know what to click next.
As for the rest of you, I’m catch up with you during sweater weather. It’s gelato time.
TIPS FROM THE MFA PIT, PART 16
One of my students referred to a book she read recently that referred to a once-common publishing term known as the “slush pile.” Which led me on a discussion on open submissions and small publishing houses and how a new author can get their manuscript read without first having it vetted by an agent…
In your journal for this week you refer to William Goldman’s Adventures in the Screen Trade and his mention of the slush pile. In any event, the slush pile is a real thing, books (or screenplays) sent “over the transom” as they used to say, which means without an agent or a targeted call for submissions. Some of the smaller publishers—and even some bigger ones, though NONE of the Big Five—will still take unagented or open submissions, which can be considered the slush pile of today. Some editors love them, usually what’s referred to as the “baby editors,” former editorial assistants who work under a senior editor and are now building their own list, as they’re always on the look-out for the next big author or trend.
Young editors/agents are often the best to query as they’re more open to submission, and a good website to keep an eye on is Publishing…and Other Forms of Insanity, as their posts always highlight new agents looking for clients. The site also lists publishers of all genres who accept unagented submissions, and it’s really eye-opening how many publishing houses are really out there. So much emphasis is put on getting published by the Big Five, but in truth, your chances for publication are much better if you query a smaller house. Many turn out to be hidden (or unappreciated) gems as far as how they value their authors, and many are willing to take a chance on new ones. And don’t discount their influence either as far as getting discovered. One of my favorite stories is of a small-house author making is big named Nelson Johnson, author of Boardwalk Empire. He published a book with Plexus Publishing, a small house out of Medford, NJ, and he was just lucky enough to have it read by HBO showrunner Terrance Winter, who eventually turned it into a hit series for HBO!
I guess the moral of this story is you never know where your fortunes lie, and if the opportunity arises, just take it. You never know who’s reading!
I have no idea what any of this has to do with Easter or Passover, but here’s to a Wonderful Holiday to those who celebrate
Some watch for robins, some for crocuses, some even say marshmallow peeps, but for me the real harbinger of spring are potholes, I’m telling you, those pervasive little asphalt assailants never fail to creep up on us, around every bend and over every hillock, disguised like shimmering little macadam birdbaths until you hit one and bam! there goes the hub cap, spinning away like a frisbee.
I live fifteen miles from work, and on my way home last week I counted no less than 25 of the replicating little suckers. And that didn’t include the ever-widening fissures in the middle of the road, and the winter erosion of the softer shoulders, due to the dig and drag of the snow plows. And then there’s those inevitable frost heaves that pitch up and crack the roads, always on whatever side of the road I’m driving. Which, of course, quickly becomes your side when you swerve into my lane to avoid them.
But if all this isn’t bad enough, the cure isn’t much better. How many of you have driven smack into a fresh pancake of cold patch, that municipal quick-fix of asphalt the town boys tamp down with shovels and their own boots, to shut up the one irate taxpayer that doesn’t quit calling until it’s fixed. Ahh…the lovely ping-ping-ping of loose tar as it plies itself to the undercarriage of your car. You’ll be scrubbing that off until nigh on August. Soon those road patch patties will be as ubiquitous as dandelions, and just as hard to get rid of. Because if you’re betting on highway dollars on high to get them gone, you can just forget it. Cold patch is too much of a bargain.
For the meantime, take your comfort where you can get it. After the mild winter we’ve had here in Jersey, it could have been much worse. Besides, it’s only a matter of time until we’re burning our bare feet crossing it. And that, my dears, could only mean a day at the beach.