Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
p. 127 of re-write #3
The judge started barking her commands.
Forward. Halt. Forward, right turn, fast!
Babe and Martha marched in unison. Babe waddled along, her back rolling side to side with each step, and her lower canine tooth jutting jauntily over her puffy upper lip. Some of the humans watching around the ring chuckled during the “fast” part, as Babe bounced and waddled with her bowed legs beside her woman’s calf.
Normal, left turn, halt. Forward…
“Uh-oh,” said Emily.
Hope looked at her Emily to see what was wrong, and turned to look where her woman was looking. Babe was sitting in the corner of the ring in a patch of shade, where they had done the last halt. Martha was doing the heeling pattern by herself.
The judge’s eyes rolled.
The crowd chuckled.
Martha looked down for her dog and saw nothing but air and grass. She turned and looked behind her. Babe smiled at her from her nice spot in the shade.
The bulldog slowly got up and ambled over to her human, glancing from side to side at her adoring fans and wiggling her butt for effect.
“Oh, yes. I am Babe the bulldog. Feast your eyes on all this gloriousness!”
Folks in the crowd were holding their mouths in their hands, trying not to laugh out loud.
About turn, slow.
“Oh, my, if she goes any slower, she’ll be going backwards,” Hope heard her woman think.
Normal, right turn, halt. Forward, about turn, halt. Exercise finished.
Even the judge sounded relieved.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
It is a bit magical, and I suppose frightening in a who-has-got-control-of-copyright sort of way, but I'll be daggone!
Mama Pajama Tells A Story is now available on Kindle and Nook. Who'd of ever thunk it? And it's selling!
So I'm sitting in my little computer/sewing room. (The room is newly spic and span and organized, I might add, due to the fact that my novel had been nudging me to work on it, so of course I spent days cleaning, instead). I log on to my Facebook page and spit my coffee on my screen. A friend from Norway wrote on my wall. That's not so unusual, but what she posted caused the coffee spewage. (I think that's not a word, but it should be.) She wrote:
OMG had to share, it had been a while since I checked to see if your book was on amazon in kindle form and it now is!!! Very excited, just downloaded it :) I have been wanting to read it for a while but trying to keep all my books in kindle version. Hug your whippets for me :)And she included the link:
Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #241,692 Paid in Kindle Store
Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #14,096 Paid in Kindle StoreHoly moly!!! [She does a little giggly dance, a kind of Staying Alive John Travolta meets the Michelin Man and Pillsbury Doughboy's illegitimate love child. She's grateful no one except her dogs can see her. Even they look askance, except the youngest two who join in the fun.]
Amazon's Sellers Ranking formula is strange and incomprehensible, but that was a heck of a jump! I think it translates to somewhere around $20 to $30 in royalties for me, and that's if there is any way to hold Amazon accountable for eSales.
But. I need an agent for my novel. I believe in the story I'm trying to tell. I'm not so good in believing in myself, but oh I do so believe in this story. I'm on the third revision. The third rewrite. I want to get it right, as right as I possibly can, before I search for an agent. I wish I had an MFA in creathve writing after my name. I don't. I can't tell an agent that I am on the Faculty at some prestigious writing college. I've never even submitted to the New Yorker, much less been published there.
And this day? It might mean nothing to a 'real writer'. It does mean that there are 14,096 Kindle books which are selling more than mine today. But it has given this little writer the courage to dare to call myself a writer again.
Thanks, my friends.
Hug yourselves for me.