Month: January 2004

No sleep till Brooklyn

Writer guy

Tech guy went nuts and made a bunch of enhancements to the site that will appear in the next few days, including a search piece and some other niceties. I’ve been asking him to take care of this stuff for awhile, but he’s busy, so he gets to it when he gets to it.

A new poll and weekly pic is coming, maybe as early as tonight – once again courtesy of the Pollster.

Thanks to everyone for spreading the word about the site. samhilliard.com has gotten many, many thousands of hits since January 1, 2004. So to everyone who blabbed, many thanks. Please go blab some more. That’s all I ask, if you like the place, send somebody a link to it. It’s just good karma. Hell, even if you don’t like it, send somebody a link to it anyway as penance. Yep, I am shameless.

Unless I’m run over by a water buffalo, the query letter should hit the streets early next week. Enjoy Super Bowl Sunday.

This is the quote of the day

Writer guy

After many false starts, the query letter for the book is ready. Ostensibly when you’re on the outside looking in and have zero contacts in the publishing biz, the best bet is to query a prospective agent about your manuscript. Or so all the books and web resources say.

This theory makes a lot of sense to me. Because if the query letter is good, and grabs the interest of the agent, then maybe, just maybe the manuscript is good too. If the query letter is awful, it’s a lot easier, faster and cheaper to reject a query letter than a manuscript or a bunch of sample chapters.

Now armed with the query letter and the almost completed revisions from editor person, I’m ready to roll.

As I query prospective agents, I’ll blog about it and when the responses come back, I’ll post them as well, blacking out the contact information.

I’ll also post the query letter that wins over the agent. There’s a ton of books and resources on writing query letters for fictional books, but next to no examples of an actual one that won over an agent. How helpful.

Lackey this!

Writer guy

Editor person at last came through with the needed revisions ( draft four, revision two ). Only they were in Chicago, so I was stuck dealing with their rogue lackey. Rogue lackey greeted me at the door, with a scowl and this note.

To: sam
From : editor person
Subject: edit done – on sideboard in kitchen
Message : see subject

sam : I’ll just get my pages and be on my way.
rogue lackey : They said give you the note.
sam( presenting note ): Right. And the note says the pages are done.
rouge lackey: It says on sideboard in kitchen..
sam: Can I have my pages please?

The lackey retreated, returning moments later with a large manila envelope labeled edits for sam and passed it to me. I opened the envelope to reveal the revised pages. I thanked the rogue lackey.

sam: Thanks rogue lackey.

Rogue lackey took a swipe at me but I backpedaled and ran for my car. They stood little chance against a man on a mission…

Come on Veronica

Writer guy

This morning my cats tried to kill me. More precisely, one of them tried to kill me, the other served as the distraction. It started one minute before the alarm went off. Cat’s know that moment, right before the alarm rings, where their people are at their weakest mentally and physically.

I heard them circling my head, in tandem, stomping from pillow to pillow, comforter then back to the pillow. Hearing the alarm they bolted down the hall, expecting me to follow. Ah, but I did not follow. I hit snooze and ignored them. That was my mistake.

The alarm went off again. Eyes half shut, oblivious, I stumbled down the hallway, unaware that my presence had awoken the beasts of hell. Barreling down the corridor they came for me, a large black shadow and a smaller gray and white streak. The wife’s gray cat reached me first, darting past my bare calves, pivoting, then dropping at my feet. In order to avoid stomping the demon, I stepped to the right, knocking myself off balance.

My cat, the traitor, slammed headlong into my legs, knocking me forward, sending me down like Santa Claus on the seventh day of Chanukah.

As I lay in shock, the wife called out from the shower, �Oh honey, I forget to tell you. The cat’s haven’t eaten yet.�

�Yeah, I’m all over that,� I said, spitting out carpet fibers.