Monday Morning Wanderings

Today I am determined to be productive.  The deadline for the PNWA contest is coming up on the 17th (received by, not postmarked -- thanks Colleen for the reminder) and I must revamp my synopsis for Ashford again before I send it in.  I am a little hesitant to send it this year, as I've sent it already two years running, but my scores and critiques were better last year than the year before, and I want to give it one more chance.  But because I'm submitting the same one again, I would like to get the current project sendable as well.  However, it still needs both a complete synopsis and a title, which I find to be the two most difficult things to produce.  I am also determined to send off at least one more query today, and I need to make a run up to Colville to find supplies for headpieces for Flower Festival.

So now I am up in the study, listening to the new album Intriguer by Crowded House (yes I'm going through a Crowded House phase, don't judge me) and alternating between this blog, the query, and the new novel.  It still needs a title.  Grrrr...  It's extra confusing because personal preference is such a big part of publishing.  Apart from the obvious things such as spelling and punctuation, so much of your success or failure depends on choosing the right person to send it to, someone who shares some part of your vision.  Last year at PNWA's summer conference, I was able to talk briefly (in completely star-struck fashion) to Andre Dubus III after his speech.  It was a book signing, and we were all waiting in line for our chance to get his autograph.  It was completely worth the wait.  He took time with everyone, asked each of us what our books were about, and wrote little personalized notes rather than just signing his name.  Anyway, when he came to me, he asked what my book was about, so I told him.  Then he asked what the title was.  When I said Ashford, he said, "Great title!"  So that was, you know, awesome.  Then the next day I had a meeting with an agent.  I gave her my pitch.  She wrinkled her nose and said she didn't like the title.  So often it feels like you're putting together an especially confusing jigsaw puzzle -- the kind where it's all sky and about twenty pieces look like they should fit, but only one of them really does.  I'm sure when you find the piece that fits it's a glorious moment, but meanwhile trying everything that looks possible feels a lot like trying to find matching socks at 5 AM when it's dark and you don't want to turn on the light and wake your husband but you have to go to work.

It is a dreary day of mixed rain and snow, of peevish low clouds obscuring the mountains, and wet, cold, slushy streets.  A restless day, when the things which usually keep my mind and body busy seem dull and drab, as if they've united themselves with the weather to put a blight on the day.  Days like this are rare for me, but this time of year they arrive more predictably, as the end of winter nears and I grow impatient for spring.  To drive away the restlessness I try to imagine what spring will be like, to think of the budding trees, the fresh spring rains, the feel of new grass under my bare feet.  It will come soon enough.  Meanwhile, there is writing to do, query letters to send, laundry to fold.  Today it all seems rather pointless.  I know that will all change -- if not tomorrow the next day.  The clouds will disperse, the sun will come out, and the mundane daily tasks will reclaim their magic, until even laundry folding regains a sort of simple charm.  Meanwhile, I shall make myself a cup of tea and dream about the spring, and my dreams will make the laundry and query-writing less tedious.