Eight Minutes!

Today at exactly 2:30 p.m. PST, with clammy hands and fingers, I pushed the send button and my email query sailed into cyber space. Exactly at 2:38 p.m. I had a response. Is that a world record? Nevertheless, there is a positive side to this because the editor said I should feel free to submit more queries in the future... You betcha.

What is the shortest amount of time between submitting an article and receiving a response for you?

Jenna Glatzer of AbsoluteWrite.com addresses the benefits of E-Queries in her book “Make a Real Living as a Freelance Writer”. She says you don’t have to spend money on postage, ink, paper and envelopes. Response time is faster.” (I say it is!)

Of course there is always a down side to everything. You have less time to engage your reader with an e-query. “A busy editor checks her email with one hand on the mouse, ready to hit ‘delete’” Jenna says. “You have to use every word to convince her to read on.”

When sending an email query you can be a little more creative with the subject line so you can grab the attention of the editor. In these days with the bombardment of spam, it is probably better to identify yourself as a writer immediately, rather than risk looking like an ad. For instance you can write “Query: How I broke the Glass Ceiling”, in the subject line or any catchy title that may generate a response.

Let’s hope you write a fantastic lead because in an editorial meeting, editors usually only have about ten seconds to pitch their (your) ideas. Keep this question in mind: “What can you write that will be easy to summarize in just a few seconds?”

Which ever method of delivery you choose, snail or email, to send off your query just make sure it is what the editor asks for. Keep sending them because persistence pays off. So get ready to send out a killer query.

Write it down,
Carma

The Human Condition

Samuel Beckett (1906 - 1989)

'Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again.

Fail again. Fail better.'
~Samuel Beckett

Hope Clark at Funds for Writers, prompted me to comment on Samuel Beckett this evening with the above quote.

Is this a pessimistic statement from Beckett or can we catch sight of the positive in it? Some readers might say Beckett meant that nothing in life matters because we are all destined to fail. Or does it mean that when we do fail we should learn from it and move forward?

I am not familiar with Beckett’s work so I did a little research. I found that Samuel Beckett was a talented writer, poet and screenplay writer and very unhappy. I also realized that he cared deeply about The Human Condition,

The Human Condition is a philosophical problem. Only human beings ask themselves questions relating to the purpose of life beyond the base need for survival, or the nature of existence. Why was I born? Why am I here? Where will I go when I die?

There are some things that cannot be understood. Maybe we should just learn to "Be" and learn to "Accept" and learn to (at the risk of being too simplistic) "Bloom Where You are Planted"

There are 4 things in life you cannot recover:

1. The Stone, after the throw

2. The word, after it’s said

3. The occasion, after the loss

4. The time, after it’s gone

Write it down,

Carma

Get A Human

Have you forgotten what it is like to talk to a human over the phone? I called my city offices the other day and my call was answered with a recording.

This peeved me a bit so I left an unkind message. I wasn’t rude; I just told them that as a public agency they were doing a disservice to the community by not having a live person answer the phone. I did not leave my name or number.

Ten minutes later, the city office called me. Apparently, caller ID is working fine.

If you relate to the frustration and difficulty of trying to talk to a live person when you call a company, go to getahuman and try their cheat sheet. They provide you with information that will help you navigate the automated menu. It’s a neat website and you get to rate the company you call.

Write it down,
Carma

Is Your Passion Enough?

As I was driving to an appointment today I added a new CD, (which had been sitting on my dresser for about 2 years), into my car’s multi disc player. The CD was given to me by the artist when I visited my daughter in Washington. She and her husband were giving a Welcome Home Party for her son who had just returned from Afghanistan.

Although his voice was not remarkable I remember that he played the guitar pretty well. He mixed Spanish and English into the verses of his songs very effectively. He played his guitar through out the party whether we were listening to him or not. We called him The Guitar Guy.

I punched button number 6.

Whoa! I Instantly realized this guy did not have the capability to carry a tune. I acknowledged to myself that anybody can produce a CD or a video for that matter. No one asks if you have talent. Just show the green. Is it possible that it is easier to produce a CD than publish a book?

However, through the agonizing torture of listening to just a few words of each song, I did sense his passion. That is when the question came to me.

Is passion enough?

We are passionate about our work as writers, but does that mean it will be sellable? Will people want to read what we write? With this thought in mind I began to analyze my own desires and penchant for writing. Is my passion enough? I don’t think it is by itself. I will write something inspired by anger or some other strong emotion, then hours later it will not translate into the same message it did when originally put on paper. Passion and emotions can be flighty. Skill and passion need to emerge. Our passion needs structure.

The Guitar Guy believed in himself enough to pay for the recording of his CD. His songs were not original, although he did occasionally burst out into English with a “Let’s all sing together now” as his rendition of La Bamba was brought to a new level. Also, this was the first time I had ever heard “Wooly Bully” sang in Spanish.

Write it down,
Carma

When Your In-laws Have the Keys to Your House

I was discussing schedules with a friend and she began to tell me what was going on the day of her daughter’s high school graduation party. In the course of the conversation, she mentioned that while she would be at her daughter’s graduation her in-laws would already be camped out in her house. I asked her what she meant.

Do you mean they have keys to your house? I asked.

Yes, for twenty-five years.

I don’t know about you but this is carrying family loyalty a little too far.

Two of my daughters have a key to my house to use in case of an emergency. For instance, if I was in a coma and they could not get permission to go into my house, then and only then would it be acceptable. My friend’s husband takes the saying “Mi Casa, Su Casa” very literally.

However, we all have in-laws with odd quirks. Maybe your family is a little mixed up but whose isn’t? The sooner we realize who our in-laws are, the sooner we can accept them and realize that they probably do not have a conspiracy against you.

Get to know your in-laws early on. If you can’t get direct answers from your spouse try searching the stars here.
Most in-laws want to get along as much as you do because they want their favorite child to be happy. In-laws are not your parents. They don’t abide by the same set of rules your parents do, so compromises may be in order for a while.

Write it down,

Carma

Oh What A Night!

Friday, May 18, 2007 I sat down in row E at the Curran Theatre in San Francisco, CA. Lights went down, curtain went up and exploding on the stage was the sound of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. I was so close to the stage that I could see the performers spit when they belted out their songs and dialogue. Fortunately they were spitting stage center.

But never mind that. For two and a half hours I was 18 again forgetting what year this is. Also I forgot that Jarrod Spector wasn’t Frankie Valli. If you haven’t seen Jersey Boys, you need to see it. Seeing it once is not enough. I think it has been extended out here on the West coast till September. Oh What A Night,(late December, 1963).

Write it down,

Carma

Judging The Guilty

Last month (April) I went through the jury selection process and became Juror Number 7. I allued to that in my post of April 10, 2007, Juror Number Seven

Some people may regard jury selection as a bore, but I considered it to be exciting and rewarding. I had been waiting all my adult life to get to the juror’s box! I didn’t get to serve on a high profile trial (and in some ways I am glad about that after the fact), nevertheless, serving on a jury is mentally exhausting. The defendant, a convicted felon, was charged with possession of a fire arm and resisting a police officer.

During jury selection, I was surprised at the excuses prospects gave to the judge in order to get excused from serving. The excuses ranged from “I’m too old, I have a disease, I cant’ hear, I have already made up my mind” and one guy could only come on Thursday.

When asked if she had any preformed opinions of the defendant, juror number 12 said, “Once a felon, always a felon”

“Bailiff, call the next juror.” barked the judge.

When questioned if he had ever had an experience with a gun, juror number 11 said "My dad shot me when I was 16."

“Did he miss?”, asked the judge. It was obvious the judge had a sense of humor. This trial may not be too boring after all.

The story goes that on a Sunday morning the defendant, Roger, was jogging in a dangerous part of North Richmond near a public park. Sgt. Townsend, who had been on the same beat for thirteen years, and his K-9 dog Arrow, was driving around North Richmond also, searching for a dangerous felon by the name of Leroy who was wanted on a federal warrant and had been reported to be in the same vicinity. Everyone on the street knew who Sgt. Townsend was. Also Roger and Leroy looked uncannily similar from a distance and they each had a record of felony arrests.

Sgt. Townsend stopped his patrol car about 30 feet from Roger, when he saw him with his shoulder hunched down and his head leaning inside the window of a car occupied by a young woman. Sgt. Townsend stopped his car, and opened the door. His 6ft 4 inch frame uncoiled from the patrol car as he yelled to Roger: “Hey You, come over here.” Roger glanced over his shoulder at the Sgt. and turned back around to resume what ever he was doing.

Sgt. Townsend bellowed: “I said, come over here, I’m talking to you!”

Roger stood up straight, turned around and angrily shouted “I ain’t got nothin’ to say. F U”. Roger proceeded to walk backwards slowly with his hands up in classic arrest style, toward the park. When his feet hit the grass he turned and began to run.

Sgt. Townsend jumped in his car and drove right over the sidewalk into the park and chased Roger up to the museum. Townsend, called for backup because he couldn't catch Roger without leaving his car and a K-9 officer never leaves his dog unattended.
Roger ran around the building and by a large trash can. Sgt. Townsend wrote in his report that he saw Roger drop a dark object into the trash can. Further, Townsend reported that when he went to the trash can he saw a semi automatic pistol lying on top of the garbage. Later, when Roger was caught, the police realized he was not the suspect they had been looking for but nonetheless, Roger had ran and drew suspicion upon himself.

Open and shut, right? No. There were no fingerprints found on the gun although Sgt. Townsend admitted he had picked up the gun with his “bare hands” and layed it on the floor of his patrol car. We all suspected Roger was guilty but the lack of fingerprint evidence was overwhelming because the fingerprint expert was unable to establish a reason for not finding any prints anywhere.

Anyway that is my story and I’m sticking to it.

Saturday I will discuss the jury deliberation experience.

Write it down,

Carma