One Drop

I've made no progress toward finding a literary agent or publisher. It ain't for lack of trying. I've spent hours staring at the computer screen trying to come up with the requested pieces with absolutely no luck at all.

Usually this kind of frustration means I'm making something harder than it needs to be. I suspect that's true here, too. Making things harder than necessary is one of my gifts and a possible explanation for the slow learner thing.

Generally speaking, submission requirements differ depending on whether the book is fiction or nonfiction. For nonfiction, you submit a query, a book proposal with a complete table of contents (including descriptions of each chapter), a complete biographical sketch, a marketing plan and a bunch of other stuff. Arrrrrrgggghhhhh!!!

Now I'm rethinking my decision to classify the manuscript as nonfiction. Glass Houses isn't entirely true. I changed some names. I also took liberties here and there with the way things happened. If even one sentence is fiction, doesn't that mean the entire manuscript is fiction?

If it's fiction, all I need to do is submit a one-page synopsis and the first fifty pages of the manuscript. Coming up with a one-page synopsis is no easy feat, but at least it seems more doable than the stuff required for a nonfiction manuscript.

Yeah...Glass Houses is a work of fiction. Just ask Emmy, Tim, Wendy, Calvin or even Mom. I'm sure they'd agree with...

The Crotchety Old Man

Another Wish Comes True

About five years ago I was having trouble reading some of my favorite comics and any kind of fine print. I went to the eye doctor for a check-up. Having never received the memo about regular check-ups, it was my first eye exam since grade school.

That grade school eye exam was a huge disappointment. I really, really, really wanted glasses and was dismayed to learn I had 20/20 vision. Careful what you wish for.

Anyway, after various tests the optometrist said my deteriorating vision was just a normal function of aging. He encouraged me to pick up some reading glasses from a drugstore. My childhood wish came true...just four decades later. I picked up some reading glasses and was delighted to see close-up again.

My vision steadily deteriorated. Stronger glasses didn't make any difference. I went back to the eye doctor in October and was referred to a retina specialist. After a series of tests the specialist said I had macular degeneration in both eyes. The condition was particularly advanced in my left eye.

Imagine the eye as a coconut. Macular degeneration is a swelling in the meat of the coconut. The swelling blocks the pupil, thereby obscuring vision. The ability to focus on fine details is especially hard hit. Peripheral vision is usually unaffected. Get this...the swelling is caused by a build-up of cholesterol.

The treatment for macular degeneration is to inject Avastin into the eye. Avastin is a colon cancer drug that coincidentally shrinks the swelling. That's right--an eye shot. Just kill me.

Minutes after telling me I needed an eye shot, the specialist gave me that first injection. I'm glad. Having to wait would have allowed me to spend entirely too much time in my head freaking myself out about what was to come.

Since then I've gone back every six weeks and had three more injections. No matter how many times I tell myself the injection is no big deal, I still freak out. It doesn't hurt...it's just the thought of a needle in the eyeball. It's not like I can close my eyes while it's happening.

Things have gone a little easier since I befriended a plus-size African-American lady who assists during the injections. Now that she knows to hold my shoulders down so I don't jump, the injections aren't quite as bad. I think I love her.

Six weeks rolls around fast. Last Wednesday I went in for my fifth injection. After the examination, the doctor told me I didn't need an injection. I could have kissed him! I nearly did when he said I didn't have to come back for two months.

My vision is now 20/15. I don't know what it was in October. I still have problems with some close-up stuff but can see much better than before.

I go back in April for another check-up. Maybe I'll need another injection. Maybe I won't. I'll worry about that later. For now I'm celebrating the shot I didn't have to have, the extra two weeks between appointments, and all the wonderful friends who care about...

The Crotchety Old Man

Facebook & Karma Unite

Today I want to talk about the dreaded "u" word: Unfriending. For any of you who haven't yet created a Facebook profile, unfriending is what you do after you change your mind about adding someone as a friend. It's ugly business.

In recent months I've been unfriended on Facebook a number of times. A political conversation on my page pissed two people off enough to dump me. I knew why right away. One of them took it a step further and blocked me. Thanks for reinforcing my opinions about tea baggers.

Others dumped me for no apparent reason. Wild asses from my past, old running buds who have since found religion, and a certain type of dumbass redneck apparently disprove of my lifestyle too much to remain friends. We wouldn't have anything to talk about anyway.

I ain't gonna lie. Being removed from someone's friend list, even someone I don't especially like, stings. I blame them but always wonder what I did.

Of course, most of you know I sorta have it coming. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn I'm in the top 100 unfrienders of all time. Last March I clicked "remove" to dump about a third of my Facebook friends.

Saying I didn't know what I was doing would be a lie. I knew. hehehe There was a reason for each and every one.

The mistake was friending certain people in the first place. Being a tad competitive, I thought the goal was to have more friends than anyone else. I happily befriended strangers, acquaintances and people I barely knew like they were long lost pals.

Getting to know some people better doesn't improve the relationship. I don't accept friend requests from coworkers, period. Reconnecting with old party pals can be risky. When you're trashed enough, little things like psychopathic tendencies can slip through the cracks.

I thought last March's massive unfriending episode was behind me. But in the last few days, posts from the previously unfriended have been appearing on my wall. It's creepy--like Facebook is somehow taunting...

The Crotchety Old Man

Delayed Gratification

Camellias, pansies and a few others usually start blooming in my yard in November or December. Unless the temperature drops below freezing for more than a few hours, they'll keep blooming through April. Having color in the garden in January is one of the great joys of life in the Deep South.

Thanks to a January cold snap that kept the mercury below freezing for several days, the 2011 gardening season is off to a late start. The only color comes from a few scattered pansies. This is the second year in a row cold weather has delayed the start of the blooming season.

Last year the delay upset me. Those first blooms are somehow the most precious flowers of the entire season. January is depressing without color in the garden.

January came and went again this year with nary a bloom in sight. Unlike last year, however, I'm not depressed. In fact, I'm a little excited.

I still patrol barren flower beds in search of signs of spring. And I have to admit, I am just the tiniest little bit disappointed by the absence of color. But I've learned that good things will come if I just wait.

Carefully tended gardens always improve with age. The joy of gardening comes from watching the season unfold. Each comes with its own mysteries and surprises.

Sooner or later, every variety will bloom. In milder winters it's a slow and gradual build-up of color over many weeks. The delayed start this year means everything will come on all at once.

I don't know what the groundhog saw, or what the Farmer's Almanac has to say. I don't care either. It's going to be a spectacular year in the garden, or I'm not...

The Crotchety Old Man

Wanna Bet?

My search for an agent continues. Yesterday I told you about the query--the first step in my journey to get Glass Houses published. If the query catches the eye of the agent I'm trying to land, she'll take a look at the book proposal.

The book proposal includes a table of contents with complete descriptions for each chapter, the entire first chapter and additional sample chapters. The whole package, including the marketing plan, an interesting bio and a "dynamic" photo is not to exceed fifty pages. Pulling the package together will take longer than it took me to write the book.

I'm starting with the annotated table of contents--a Cliff's Notes version of the book. Boiling each chapter down to the essential elements has been helpful and I've barely even started. More revisions will likely come from this process before I'm done. Tasks that make the book better don't bother me--I want it to be my best work

Coming up with a solid plan for marketing and promotion is more challenging. Success will require getting off my ass and will likely involve a great deal of smiling and hand-shaking. My bowels clench at the very thought.

If my dream agent likes what she sees, she'll ask to see the manuscript. It would be a lot easier if I could just submit the manuscript now. But that's not how it works. As with many things, the process is designed to screen out all but the most determined.

Am I Determined? Yes. Determined enough? We shall see. But, if I was a betting man, I'd put my money on...

The Crotchety Old Man

Call Me Unpublished

I thought all I had to do was send Glass Houses to a couple of major publishers and wait for the bidding war to begin. The resulting six-figure advance would enable me to retire from my day job. I'd move to a beach house somewhere in South Carolina, Georgia or northern Florida to write all the time.

That's what I get for thinking. Nobody accepts unsolicited manuscripts. For "the unpublished" (said like you have a mouth full of something unpleasant), writing a great book isn't enough. With or without a proven track record, you need a solid plan to market and promote the book.

"The unpublished" are unknown entities, a writhing mass of author-wannabees all clamoring to join the chosen few. There are lots of different paths to publication. Before I'm done I may try them all. For now I've decided to try to find a literary agent.

The first step is to research literary agents to find a good match. They have niches, too. Submitting my book to an agent who specializes in Christian works of fiction, for example, would be a profound waste of time. Aside from the obvious, a memoir is considered nonfiction.

A variety of tools enabled me to produce a list of agents who like memoirs and either gay authors or subjects. Internet searches turned up additional information, including bios and statements of interest. A literary agent without a web site in 2011 seems fairly useless to me. Striking them cut my list in half. Upon closer inspection many of the rest were easily struck from the list, too. The also-rans seemed like a good enough fit in a bland, generic sort of way.

I felt a connection with two agents--both from the same agency. It's like they were speaking to me. The one I really like said she "is looking for exceptional writing [snip] that touches the heart and makes us feel something." Sounds like Glass Houses to me.

The next step is to write and submit a query to her. The query is a one-page pitch to sell the book, my writing ability and the marketability of the book. If the query fails to stand out from the hundreds she receives every week, it's over (at least with this agent). Talk about pressure. I've written a first draft and have already changed it a thousand times.

I'll keep you posted on my progress. In the meantime, you keep reading. And keep sending those comments to...

The Crotchety Old Man

My Humble Opinion

A lot of people believe requiring health insurance is a bad idea. Some judges say it's downright unconstitutional. Requiring citizens to carry health insurance, in my humble opinion, is an essential part of health care reform.

Hospitals and other medical professionals can't refuse care to people who lack insurance. Uninsured patients fill emergency rooms around the country. Who do you think pays for their care? We all do.

You can't have it both ways. Either everybody pays (with some kind of assistance or tax credits for low-income individuals) or we continue to subsidize free riders through higher health care costs. I can't understand why conservatives aren't all over this one.

There appears to be confusion about the difference between investing and spending, too. Spending means using money for things you used yesterday or need today that likely won't still be around tomorrow. You spend money in a grocery story.

Investing is a particular kind of saving used to reach long-term goals. The value of the money invested today increases over time. The more time you have, the more you stand to gain. Spending for infrastructure and workforce development is an investment because the pay-off increases over time. China gets it.

Unfortunately, our well-insured, overpaid politicians believe investing is building big campaign war chests for re-election. Spending is what the other party does. It's all smoke and mirrors to conceal the transfer of income from the people to the multinational corporations that line their pockets with bribes campaign contributions.

Don't know the difference between spending and investing? Good luck spending your way to retirement. I recommend lottery tickets. If you win, since it was my idea be sure to send a few bucks to...

The Crotchety Old Man