sent it out again

I've decided I'm going to break with some "blog tradition" of anonymity and reveal the names of the agents to whom I'm sending., after they've passed on the manuscript (there's a reason for this, but I don't want to blog about this right now). The first
agency, who passed on the unrevised manuscript of The Strega's Story, but wants to see a revision, was the Sandra Dijkstra Agency. Since my manuscript was picked out of the slush pile at this agency (one of the top five agencies in the country) and still given a very positive response, I'm hesitant to do a multiple submission, for now. It depends upon what the next agent's response is, I think. One writer suggested simply getting my next agent query together, ready to send in case of a rejection.

I don't have a lot of writer friends who can give me an agent referral, though I've gotten referrals for some really bad agents or really inappropriate agents (someone who mainly handles self-help books, for example). Still, I do know it's possible to have a fair reading after having one's manuscript picked out of the slush, because it happened to me on the first try! There is a part of me that wants things immediately and so the universe must teach me patience, I suppose.

Sharon Olds letter to Laura Bush

For reasons spelled out below, the poet Sharon Olds has declined to attend
the National Book Festival in Washington, which, coincidentally or not,
takes place September 24, the day of an antiwar mobilization in the capital.
Olds, winner of a National Book Critics Circle Award and professor of
creative writing at New York University, was invited along with a number of
other writers by First Lady Laura Bush to read from their works. Three years
ago artist Jules Feiffer declined to attend the festival's White House
breakfast as a protest against the Iraq War ("Mr. Feiffer Regrets," November
11, 2002). We suggest that invitees to this year's event consider following
their example.
- Editors, The Nation

  Laura Bush
  First Lady
  The White House


Dear Mrs. Bush,

  I am writing to let you know why I am not able to accept your kind
invitation to give a presentation at the National Book Festival on September
24, or to attend your dinner at the Library of Congress or the breakfast at
the White House.

  In one way, it's a very appealing invitation. The idea of speaking at a
festival attended by 85,000 people is inspiring! The possibility of finding
new readers is exciting for a poet in personal terms, and in terms of the
desire that poetry serve its constituents - all of us who need the pleasure,
and the inner and outer news, it delivers.

  And the concept of a community of readers and writers has long been dear
to my heart. As a professor of creative writing in the graduate school of a
major university, I have had the chance to be a part of some magnificent
outreach writing workshops in which our students have become teachers. Over
the years, they have taught in a variety of settings: a women's prison,
several New York City public high schools, an oncology ward for children.
Our initial program, at a 900-bed state hospital for the severely physically
challenged, has been running now for twenty years, creating along the way
lasting friendships between young MFA candidates and their students -
long-term residents at the hospital who, in their humor, courage and wisdom,
become our teachers.

  When you have witnessed someone nonspeaking and almost nonmoving spell
out, with a toe, on a big plastic alphabet chart, letter by letter, his new
poem, you have experienced, close up, the passion and essentialness of
writing. When you have held up a small cardboard alphabet card for a writer
who is completely nonspeaking and nonmoving (except for the eyes), and
pointed first to the A, then the B, then C, then D, until you get to the
first letter of the first word of the first line of the poem she has been
composing in her head all week, and she lifts her eyes when that letter is
touched to say yes, you feel with a fresh immediacy the human drive for
creation, self-expression, accuracy, honesty and wit - and the importance of
writing, which celebrates the value of each person's unique story and song.

  So the prospect of a festival of books seemed wonderful to me. I thought
of the opportunity to talk about how to start up an outreach program. I
thought of the chance to sell some books, sign some books and meet some of
the citizens of Washington, DC. I thought that I could try to find a way,
even as your guest, with respect, to speak about my deep feeling that we
should not have invaded Iraq, and to declare my belief that the wish to
invade another culture and another country - with the resultant loss of life
and limb for our brave soldiers, and for the noncombatants in their home
terrain - did not come out of our democracy but was instead a decision made
"at the top" and forced on the people by distorted language, and by
untruths. I hoped to express the fear that we have begun to live in the
shadows of tyranny and religious chauvinism - the opposites of the liberty,
tolerance and diversity our nation aspires to.

  I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival in order to bear
witness - as an American who loves her country and its principles and its
writing - against this undeclared and devastating war.

  But I could not face the idea of breaking bread with you. I knew that if
I sat down to eat with you, it would feel to me as if I were condoning what
I see to be the wild, highhanded actions of the Bush Administration.

  What kept coming to the fore of my mind was that I would be taking food
from the hand of the First Lady who represents the Administration that
unleashed this war and that wills its continuation, even to the extent of
permitting "extraordinary rendition": flying people to other countries where
they will be tortured for us.

  So many Americans who had felt pride in our country now feel anguish and
shame, for the current regime of blood, wounds and fire. I thought of the
clean linens at your table, the shining knives and the flames of the
candles, and I could not stomach it.

  Sincerely,
  Sharon Olds

sending to agent, despite the waning moon

I am getting my query ready for another agent, even though the moon is waning (remember, I'm on a full-moon cycle with sending to agents). The reason I am breaking with this newly-established tradition is that, on the night of the full moon, I was making my "camel belt" for a Dancers of the Crescent Moon performance on Sunday. This camel belt consists of almost fifty tassels (made by hand--and these are big tassels, like on a bell pull in some Victorian house, so they take FOREVER to make). These had to be sewn in rows onto a handmade belt base, made of two layers of denim sandwiched between two layers of broadcloth (the same color as the shirt and pantaloons of my costume). Of course, I left it all to the last minute and had to stay up almost all night finishing the belt. I ended up getting three and a half hours of sleep before the performance--but I did okay (had a cup of "real" coffee beforehand, and I didn't forget any of my steps and actually had fun this time, not terror). Plus, the camel belt looked great--the tassels look incredible when everyone in the troupe spins (they fly out from the hips and make a huge, colorful circle. We do a lot of spins and turns, probably for that purpose). I recently got my bellydancer name, by the way--it is "Ajita," which means "unconquered." My troupe leader, Siwa, named me--she said she chose the name because I (apparently) don't let difficult dance moves phase me, nor the playing of finger cymbals, at which I am doing better. She hasn't yet seen me trying to balance my sword on my head (yes, I just got this a couple of months ago. It is very difficult, not the least of which because the sword is HEAVY and I am scared it's going to fall and spear my foot).

So, all the "Ajita" stuff got in the way of the strega-stuff, but I'm going to be sending out anyway in the next few days. Since it is a waning moon cycle, I will do a ritual to reduce negativity surrounding the book and keep my fingers crossed. Sometimes I do rituals because I am simply scared. and it is a way to keep myself centered. I still sometimes find myself remembering the disturbing vision of the director of my MFA program telling me that my book will never be published. I need to banish these ghosts.

I was glad to see Hurricane Katrina relief people from the Red Cross at Desert Dance Festival, and I gave them money. I give the Red Cross a few dollars every couple of days. Afterwards, Mr. Strega and I went over to San Jose State, where I picked up my personal copies of my MFA thesis at the King Library. I was so happy! They are all bound in blue, with my name stamped on the side.
I am so proud of myself--the thesis will be in the King Library, too (the "big" copy, which is on one side of the paper).

So, I am getting back into the adventure again of getting my book published--but in one way, it has been, and I am proud that I finished my MFA. My diploma and my thesis copies are in my living room right now and I am looking at them. I did all this in my forties! :)
I got an MFA and became a bellydancer, too. How much better can life be?

The adventure goes on

First off, I want to honor this anniversary, which affected so many lives--in fact, affected everyone in this country, but especially those who lost loved ones. This day stregthened my commitment to be a better person and to work for peace--sounds a bit simplistic, but there it is.

Second of all, the agent to whom I sent my work sent me an extremely nice and encouraging email last week, after considering the manuscript for seven weeks (which is standard and actually a very good response time). She said she shared the material I'd given her with another agent, and they agreed that the writing was excellent and the theme of the book was unique, but that they weren't as sure as they wanted to be about the book in its present form--she personally feels that memoirs should read like novels (I took that to mean moving in linear time, and my book isn't linear--it dips into the past and works in different voices). She did pinpoint the trouble spot that's been bugging me, too, the very first chapter of the book. She called me a "writer with promise" and told me she would very much like to see a revision and any other manuscripts I might have--and also said that hers was a completely subjective opinion and that another agent or editor might have a totally different opinion. So, I sent her an equally nice email back--don't want to burn that bridge at all--and will now choose another agent to send to and continue the adventure. This agent also waited until I read the email to start sending back my material, which I really appreciated, too. I don't think I could have hoped for a better experience the first time around, if it was in the cards that the manuscript would get rejected. If it gets rejected this positively by one of the top literary agencies in the country, then I know someone else will pick it up. I feel I have to find someone who believes in this book strongly to represent it.

I feel a little silly about all the "answers" I sought in dreams and in signs all over the place--but honestly, this could still turn out to be true (remember, she asked to see the revised manuscript)--and it still gives me hope. Sometimes blind faith is the very hardest thing to live with, especially creatively. As for my own part, I have been slothful and depressed since graduation, but now really am getting revved up to work and write (some of the depresssion involved family issues I really needed to resolve). I've been decorating The Office a little, too, and making it a more secure-feeling place to work. So, I'm on to the next step in the journey.

More hurricane comments

I couldn't believe something I read in the paper the other day--residents of a new Orleans nursing home were left to fend for themselves when the hurricane hit; the staff abandoned them, and many of these elderly people died. It's an outrage, and it seems like a microcosm of how the federal government abandoned the evacuees for so long--imagine being without food and water for days, after losing everything. The hurricane has torn through much more than a city; it's pulled back the covers on how indifferent the Bush administration is. Many--probably most--of the evacuees in the Superdome and the New Orleans Convention Center were poor, elderly, disabled, etc., had no way of getting out (many people's assistance checks would not be paid out until September 1st--and believe me, sometimes there really isn't a spare ten or twenty at the end of the month to get gas. I also read that many of the evacuees who went to the shelters or tried to stay in their homes didn't even have transportation). I've been donating to the Red Cross; I am extremely sad over this terrible disaster, and it makes my own personal grumbles seem very small.

Hurricane Katrina--appalling

I am heartbroken for everyone affected directly or indirectly by the Hurricane Katrina disaster. I don't even have the words to express how I feel--the neglect of the survivors of this disaster by our federal govenment is appalling. I am donating to the Red Cross today (our tiny video store in Felton has a donation station). I have been reading the news (don't usually watch TV) and my heart breaks over and over.