Good morning, Ether. I wanted to let you know what sort of curios i will be shelving in these pages. You may look forward to (eagerly, indifferently,or full of contempt, your choice, my E-feelings are not as sensitive as my Carbon-based feelings, anyway . . .) a variety of writing on a variety of subjects. Nothing in particular though particularly to do with nothing--so philosophy. Or perhaps, something of which I am especially fond though not in which I am especially skilled--so creative writing. Also, I suspect I will complain a lot. Ether, sorry in advance for whining; I will try to temper my melancholy with occasional exultation. At times, I will post poems that I am working on (or have given up on), other times, I will post excerpts of fiction. If I discover something interesting out in the real world, I will share it with you--trapped as you are like a Genie in the world-wide-bottle. So feel free to grant me wishes.
To prove that I am willing to share my curios--my sundries and miscellanies--I am posting below a portion of a query letter that I am working on to pitch my 1st novel to agents. If you are not familiar with the process, let me congratulate you on your probable sanity. If however, you are or have been embroiled in said process, accept my deepest condolences. Essentially, the trick is to capture the essence of 90,000 words in a jar that fits only 300. Eventually, I will have to write a longer synopsis which, given the additional leeway, you would think would be easier, but word on the street has it that composing the synopsis is almost as painstaking as composing the novel itself. Yay. Anyway, here's a sip of what I'm working on. [Perennial Author's Disclaimer (read: clause stipulating the future right of the scribbler to redact, disown, or utterly abolish any or all previous illusions that the piece in question was a paragon of deft articulation)--This is a work in progress.]
An old man dies and lives to tell about it. Unfortunately for Elijah Stenson, he is tortured by a past that he is reluctant to reveal. Psychologically wounded and desperate for a friend, he hires Justin Latterly to help him tell his story. Justin is a disillusioned graduate student and night-shift grill cook who’s own pile of problems seems to be mounting daily. In an attempt to escape this reality, Justin accepts the ghostwriting job with high hopes—too high, as it turns out.
As told from Justin’s perspective, the narrative follows a multi-corded braid of interactions with a variety of characters—each with their own crisis to ply. A lover’s betrayal, a sister’s tragedy, a mother’s illness, and a strange woman’s incessant vagaries each threaten to topple Justin into an ever-near despair. Meanwhile, the writing project is going nowhere. Over the course of six months, the old man’s reticence and penchant for distraction has Justin on the verge of madness.
The story resolves when, for the second time in his life, Elijah Stenson dies. And this time it’s for good. Although Justin never finishes Elijah’s story, the reader learns that it’s in the gist of the story that the moral is learned.
There, just a sip--until we learn to trust each other.
Well, the crows are laughing which means I should get back to real life. They think my soul is funny so mostly I keep it hidden.