Ever find yourself facing a situation raging out of control, almost certain a disaster lurks around the corner, all the while completely powerless to look away? It’s bad; you know it, and you can’t stop staring.

I refer to Poppy Z. Brite.

Ms. Brite has so much talent–she’s written some great short stories and novels–and so few coping skills. To read her journal, I might think she was a colossal whiner. In fact, she’s probably quite charming and funny on her good days, just a bit lost at the moment.

Hopefully Poppy raises herself out of this funk soon, heals those wounds, and carries on with what matters. As an author, there’s some narrative bouncing around those dark chasms she keeps locked tight, still clawing for the surface.

I was chatting with a friend who’s totally fed up with the dating scene. Below is a transcript. Screennames changed to protect the innocent.

[22:18] crazybuddy: im thinking of taking myself out for a date

[22:18] crazybuddy: the question is do i try and get myself drunk?

[22:18] sam: that depends, do you need to? will you take no for an answer?

[22:19] crazybuddy: maybe. will i respect myself in the morning?

[22:20] sam: probably not, I’m betting.

[22:20] crazybuddy: should i splurge? go all out? get the apple martini?

[22:20] sam: oh yeah, spare no expense. nice bottle of Merlot. at least 5 bucks.

[22:21] crazybuddy: do i pick myself up? or meet me there?

[22:21] crazybuddy: where do i go afterwards?

[22:22] sam: somewhere private. like your closet.

[22:24] crazybuddy: damn. i hate dating

[22:25] crazybuddy: already i don’t see much hope for a second date

[22:25] crazybuddy: i’m afraid i only want one thing

[22:25] crazybuddy: do i even want to get to know the real me?

[22:25] sam: I don’t know the real you, so…

[22:27] crazybuddy: should i reply to my text messages?

[22:27] crazybuddy: or wait for 24 hours play hard to get….

[23:06] crazybuddy: all right

[23:06] crazybuddy: i go bed now

[23:06] crazybuddy: and think about where i’m going to take me

Quiet lately as I tend to housekeeping necessary for pitching the Last Track to agents. Updated the synopsis on Friday. The previous version–revised last in May–could not account for the new middle half; that content did not exist until September. Right now, the synopsis is just over 800 words. It might need a little cutting, still, so I’ll revisit the two page 30,000 foot view of the story once more. Probably Sunday.

This evening I finalized a list of 50 agents to target. Even though the official resolution was for 46, keeping a few on reserve in case one leaves the business or changes agencies made sense to me. A bit of math drove the selection criteria; I’ll detail it later.

The next step: verify the contact information in hand. For that I will consult both reputable print and Internet sources. I predict that task will require a few nights of tedium, but it’s necessary, though not because of the prohibitive cost of a query reaching the wrong location. Between paper, return envelopes and round trip postage, each solicitation costs about a dollar. Relatively cheap business, lobbing notes over the transom, especially in bulk. The right address matters because I want each toss to have an equal shot reaching its destination. What happens once it lands in the blue collection box is out of my hands. I can at least make a concerted attempt to get the address right.

It was fun putting the list together, though, because it revealed the musical chair nature of literary representation. Some names I almost tried with The Ridge Runner two plus years ago. Several I tried and never received responses from work at different agencies. Quite a few are no longer in the business. I’m not pitching anyone who formally declined The Ridge Runner, for two reasons. One I consider a proper rejection–even a form letter–a fair shake. I pitched; they passed. Good enough. Second, there’s a lot more agents who never heard of these characters in any form, than those who have. Better scouting for virgin ears, than those with a history. If it’s necessary to bark up a familiar tree in the future, I’ll do so without hesitation. Or shame.
Next up, a final polish of the query letter…

Someone was bound to publish an SMS novel–a manuscript consisting entirely of text messages–and now Hannu Luntiala is that author.

Talk about pushing the envelope of literary trends and social conventions. A facsimile reproduction of more than 1000 text messages, The Last Page documents the travels of a fictitious IT executive on a vision quest. For now, The Last Page is available only in Finnish, but with any luck, the publisher will ship an English translation someday.

Since time is so finite, I use a triage method when picking writing projects. Posting on the site occupies the bottom rung. The way I look at it, writing for the Internet resembles treading water–it probably doesn’t hurt, though it’s unlikely to propel me forward. When a post appears here, it’s after I’ve gotten something done on a manuscript. I may write a little, or even quite a lot without posting on the site, yet I avoid the reverse.

That goes double for commenting on other websites. For all the social benefits: the camaraderie with other posters, the nod to the post author, I consider commenting entertainment. Therefore it comes last, which in practice is rarely to not at all. Occasionally a topic resonates with me, and I’ll chime in. Otherwise, I lurk. So far in 2007, I spent about thirty minutes commenting out there on the Internets.*
Lately between edits for The Last Track and the draft of The Confession, I haven’t had much energy for the web. I think that’s OK. Energy levels fluctuate. Manuscripts come first. They must.

* Back in 2004-2005 I posted approximately 5,000 entries on a web hosting forum. I got paid to do this.

This afternoon the Wife and I attended a Couples Kumbayah reunion. Nearly all of the couples from the three day workshop in October returned for a six hour session. Good seeing the results of declarations couples made together three months ago.

Mental preparations for the reunion and yesterday’s entry really got me thinking about how much energy I invest in writing versus other activities. I use the word energy because that more accurately reflects the sheer effort funneled towards it; speaking in terms of time alone limits the consideration too narrowly. Writing takes more than time.

It takes focused energy, a very engrossing kind, whose lure is powerful enough to disappear within any moment of the day. In broad terms, it merely takes a moment of yielding to the imagination. One can develop or explore scenes far away from a computer or typewriter. And once a writer retreats to that place, time ceases to matter. The act runs as long as the writer stokes the fires.

Perhaps on the surface this may not appear problematic; it may not even be a bad thing. A fertile imagination and storytelling are blood sisters. Depending on the context, however, if I allow those same diversions to unseat me from the moment away from the screen, or if they prevent me from experiencing what the hell is actually happening around me, then writing becomes a distraction. I miss out on life.

How often does this mental disappearing act happen? I’m not even sure, though often enough for the Wife to catch me at it.

And that in itself, is very telling…

Open Office, besides being free and sporting nearly all of the features of Microsoft Office 2003, maintains a number of internal statistics, and one of them is total time a document is edited–a feature I wish I never found.

Since November 11, 2004, I spent 2141 hours working on The Last Track at a computer, be it a laptop or desktop. Assuming 40 hour work weeks, that’s 53.5 weeks out of a possible 113. To be more precise, nearly 1 of every 9 hours over the last 2 years and 2 months went into the novel. There were other projects during that period, too. A few short stories, the birth of a new novel, and regular site postings. Good Christ, I need more sunlight.

Obsessive as that figure sounds, it actually understates the true number. One aspect the utility overlooks–it simply can’t account for this–is the time spent off line with an electronic document. Like say, reading a hard copy.

Getting to this point also involved three separate feedback rounds: The Eight, Team Eagle Eye, and the Final Three. A considerable amount of effort went to preparations for, and into, those sessions. All of that work happened away from the computer. Taking such meetings into account, as well time spent reading the manuscript in printed form, adds another 2 weeks. I still have one more reader from the Final Three to consult with.

Not certain whether to laugh or cry…