It's beginning to look a lot like...aw, hell.

It's that time of year again. I've stocked up on headache reliever and Zantac in preparation for the holiday season; it's a ritual of mine.

We all have our little holiday rituals. I used to make cookies, but then everyone went no and low-carb. So that's over.

I still do my yearly search for the most outrageous Christmas displays. (And yes, this year I've asked you to participate, for prizes.) And, I go to one of my favorite websites for a little divine (well, sort of) inspiration. Cavalcade of Bad Nativities

I invite you to do the same. But put down your coffee and finish chewing, first...

Perfect? Or "good enough"?

Part of my job as a editor at Lyrical Press is to review and accept (or reject) manuscripts. I've been doing this for a few months now, and there are a few tips I'd like to share with other writers who are hoping to  get their manuscripts at least considered for acceptance.

The reason for this is that I've been a writer longer than I've been an editor; I've been a member of Passionate Critters Critique Group since its inception, belonged to other crit groups online and face-to-face, judge contests, joined professional writers' groups, attended conferences, retreats and workshops. I've done my research and I've worked really hard.

Yesterday, when one of my crit partners posted a revision of a query because she felt it "just wasn't quite right" and another critter posted a contest entry for a final review before sending it to the contest coordinator, I realized that the perfection I expect from myself (and my crit partners of their own work) is the same perfection  I expect from those submissions I review.

Unfortunately, too many writers submit work that appears as though they dashed it off without caring about the way it's received. I suppose these folks are so confident that their work is brilliant, they don't consider any other option.

Like, spelling. For example, one writer wrote "she had to flea to China" in his query letter. After I was done giggling, and imagining the protagonist morphing into a flea, I wrote a great, big NO on the submission. I didn't even bother with the synopsis or the actual manuscript. That spelling error told me everything I needed to know.

Another error (actually, it's more of a thing) are hyperbolic queries. I'm glad these authors are proud of their work, but...

"Written in the style of Nora Roberts and Ernest Hemingway, this fast-paced love story takes place on a fishing trip. The reader will be on the edge of there seat as they follow the adventures of outdoorsman Nick Adams and a stripper named Candy Cane who often gets mistaken for Cameron Diaz, as they trek the wilderness in search of the legendary trout "Big Willie Johnson". Interspersed with this riviting adventure is actual text from fishing magazines. At the end, diagrams are shown for the  reader to learn how to slide a live worm onto a hook. I'm sure you will love this book and wait eagerly for your offer of acceptance."*


Okay, so the author tried, but...um...NO. Please, don't tell me how to receive your book. Let me make my own decisions. And please, please, please don't review your own book. "This book is stunning! Readers will flock to read this book! It will be the next bestseller and you'd be a fool not to accept it."

Takes one to know one, I say.

The best advice I can give the aspiring writer: Go for perfection. Proofread carefully. Have someone else--preferably another writer--proof it for you, too. Consider a critique group. Join writer's groups. Learn. Read. Research. And always remember: There's no such thing as "good enough" if you want to be published.


And speaking of "good enough" please, check out my December contest!  You could win free books! Or a critique of your first chapter (and your query) from a real, live cranky editor! 

*This query is a work of fiction. No copyrights were infringed upon in the creation of this example. So there. Nyah. Now go bait a hook.

writing and editing through the holidays

I bet you're hoping I'm going to tell you how to do it.

Sorry. I was hoping you could tell me.

Yesterday, I spent the entire day (or so it seemed) in the car or on my feet, doing stuff. Okay, grocery shoppping was a necessity, but that was it. Really. Picking up the Christmas tree and figuring out how to tie it to the roof of the Jeep,in the pouring rain, with three kids trying to "help". Not to mention getting the tree off the roof at home...and figuring out how to stand it up in the garage to dry without putting it in the stand (or letting it fall on a helpful child); then going to the store to buy the skates the nine-year-old has been nagging me about for weeks (it's part of his Christmas presents--hopefully, he'll remember that when he has one less present under the tree than his sister and brother); taking the twelve-year-old to a doctor's appointment (filling out forms with the two-year-old climbing up to sit on my head...)

I'm off to go buy more lights for the tree, which really didn't look this big on the farm. I'll post a pic later (aren't you thrilled?). My goal is to finally finish editing the wonderful book I promised to finish yesterday no matter who tries to take my computer away from me. (Of course, I can't even finish this blog post without being interrupted to help the nine-year-old put on his socks...good Lord.)

Speaking of lights for the tree--don't forget my contest!

Dear Santa: Please bring me a vacation in a hermitage with WiFi access from Christmas. Thank you. Oh, and please--tell me how to write and edit through the holidays...

I need a vomitorium and a contest announcement

Like many Americans, yesterday I ate too much. In part, this is because my husband is half-Italian and his sister married a full Italian-American. So when they feast, they feast. In the style of the ancient Romans. We ate until we lay across the table and moaned.

And then, we ate pie.

No, seriously, it was a splendid affair. I have to give my sister-in-law internet kudos. She did an awesome job; her table was beautiful, her food was delicious and we all had a very nice time. (Despite yesterday's post!) Even the two-year-old was impressed.
(Even if his response to "what did you eat at Auntie's?" is "Poop!", it's an exuberant poop.)

I hope all of you feel the same.

And now--an ANNOUNCEMENT! (trumpet fanfare)

Okay, folks. Thanksgiving's over, Halloween's long gone. It's CHRISTMAS!(Yeah, that's me over there on the right, being all seasonal and 30's, with my bright red lipstick and high heels. Pretty festive.)

I thought we (meaning me and my two or three faithful readers, bless them) might have some fun.

You know those festive outdoor holiday displays that makes you stop your car and say (festively) "What the f--k?" You know, the kind that's either so over the top that nearby birds sing all night because they think the sun is up, or the half-hearted kind that consists of a single strand of blinking lights on a broken branch? Well--I wanna see 'em.

From now until Dec. 20th, please upload your festive display digi-photos to me at cynd@cdyates.com. (Compressed to fit jpgs or gifs only, please.I'm not a techie!) I'll upload them to my blog (until Blogger crashes, if necessary), for my first annual IS YOUR HOUSE ON FIRE, CLARK? contest. During the final week until Christmas, I'll post them and we'll vote. Categories: Most Blinding, Most Like a Brothel, Most Unfestive and (my favorite) Most Likely Not to Have Been at the Birth of Christ But On the Lawn Anyway. 

Prizes: Winners in each category will receive one book of mine, of their choice, ebook or in print (if available). If you don't know what I've written, go here to find out. Or--for my writer readers--if you've already read all my books (bless you!)--I'll put on my editor's hat and do a free critique of the first chapter of your completed manuscript.

So what are you waiting for? Git to clickin'!

Happy Root-of-All-Your-Nerosis' Day!

I'm going to go out on a limb here, but I'm pretty confident that most of my family doesn't read my blog. Because I'm not a "real" writer, in their minds. (Don't ask.)

With that in mind, I can say this without hesitation: Thanksgiving is a day where you eat lots of food with your family and count your blessings that you only have to do it once a year. Now, you must understand. It's not that I don't enjoy my family or their food. It's just too stressful.

You know what they say: You can chose your friends but you can't pick your family. You've got nothing in common with these folks (other than the obvious) and you just can't be yourself. Think about it. Can you feel your stomach clenching? Your head buzzing? Your shoulders tightening? Your teeth grinding? Me, too. To be honest, I think I'm scared to death of my family. Somebody, please...pass me the Tums.

I hope that I'm the only one who feels this way (though I'm afraid I'm not) and I hope that the rest of you have wonderful, happy Thanksgiving despite your families. And now, a list of what I'm really thankful for:

I'm thankful for my home. We almost lost it this year but by the grace of God, we're still here and planning to stay.

I'm thankful for my friends, many of whom I'd never have met without the internet. (See, I chose them.) One of my friends even came to visit this year--from the UK! And it was as if I'd known her forever (even though, we realized in horror at the international gate at the airport, that we had no idea what the other looked like. So I'm thankful for the "Neph Keeper" sign I made. Otherwise, we'd still be looking for each other).

I'm thankful for my little dog, who just strolled over the arm of the couch to sit on the arm of my chair and then ask to sit on my other leg as I type. Because sometimes, you need to feel loved by someone who's warm and cuddly and accepts you just as you are, not as they expect you to be.

Thankful? Not really. Neurotic? Probably. Nauseous? You betcha. Happy Thanksgiving!

Oh...f--k!

Note to self: Do not edit lesbian erotica when the nine-year-old is in the room. He can read.
 
When you're a two (almost three)-year-old boy, it's really cool when Daddy uses a shocking word when he's angry. It's even cooler when your big brother--who you idolize--uses it when Mommy's not paying attention. It's so cool, you decide to use it yourself, all the time. Especially when Mommy tells you, "It's a grown-up word," and tells you not to use it:

"F--k! F--k, f--k, f--k!"
"You are a f--k!"
"Hi, f--k!

This word makes people cringe. It makes Mommy put soap in your mouth. And when you tell her you like soap, she tries a dab of hot sauce.

Being two (almost three), you tell her you like hot sauce and ask her to do it again. She decides she's given the word too much power and decides to ignore you when you use it in the hopes it will lose its excitement. So you sing it to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star: "F--ka, f--ka, f--ka, f--k..."

You use it in the front yard where all the neighbors can hear you: "Hi, f--king mailman!"

You decide to mix it with other new words that make Mommy suck in her breath: "Look at my f--king poopy pe-nis! Penis penis pee-eee-nis! Poop. F--k."

Mommy tells you Santa will bring you rocks for Christmas and no pink Princess bike (because that's what you really want). You say, "F--k Santa," and hurry off.

Mommy is going to ask Santa for tranquilizers. They are for her, not for you. F--k.

New arrivals

Unlike everyone else in the writing world, apparently, I'm not going to blog about the recent Harlequin hoopla and ensuing RWA kerfluffle.

Instead, I'm going to blog about--my new great niece! Hello, Shae Evelyn, and welcome to the world. Weighing in at exactly 7lbs., she was born on November 18th after 2 days of labor. (Her mom, Lora, thought it was her Crohn's acting up...oops.)

Anyhow, here are some pics. Look at all that hair! (Oh...and don't be put off by the huge forcep bruise.) Other than that mark, she looks a lot like her daddy, Enrique. Here she is with her Papa, considering the possibilities of life outside the womb:

Here she is doing her famous burrito imitation...

And here's she is...just exhausted by it all:

Sigh. Babies. They're wonderful. They're small, cute, portable, and they don't run outside naked on a rainy November day while Mommy tries to work on her writing...