Friday, April 30, 2010

Face-Lift 763


Guess the Plot

The Emperor's Edge

1. The citizens are revolting. Seriously. To regain their respect, the emperor will have to rely on something never before seen in Sphereland.

2. What good is being an emperor if you can't have your own private tailor, your own private mistress, and your own private assassin? And, you save money if they're all the same person.

3. Tony Spagnolo owns the world's third largest razor company. He sets out with a daring plan to steal a fantastic new blade design from The Emperor Shaving Company. Can he beat the high tech security system and get . . . The Emperor's Edge?

4. For centuries the god-emperors of Dagot have ruled their kingdom with their unstoppable fighting style - until a humble street orphan stumbles onto their secret. All he has to do now is publish it before they can kill him. Of course, first he'll need . . . a query letter.

5. Idealist Jorian Vangnor sets out to compete in the Sacred Games. The victor becomes absolute ruler of the Sycrovian Empire for the next five years. Little does he know that the current Emperor has already marked the cards, shaved the dice, and gimmicked the roulette wheel.

6. Amaranthe Lokdon is supposed to be protecting the emperor with her blade, but she has her own problems: everybody in the city is trying to kill her, and her actual weapon of choice is a coffee canister. At least she's prepared if she needs a caffeine fix.



Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Imperial law enforcer, Amaranthe Lokdon, is good at her job: she can deter thieves and pacify thugs, if not with a blade, then by toppling an eight-foot pile of coffee canisters onto their heads. But when an arson [arsonist] destroys a giant kiln, [Fire destroying a kiln is like a rainstorm destroying a swimming pool. In the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, the entire downtown was destroyed; the only thing left was a kiln.] a mysterious creature ravages innocent citizens, and a secret coalition plots to kill the emperor, she feels a tad overwhelmed. [I'd remove the kiln from the list of stuff that's overwhelming her. Right now it's like saying a secret service agent is overwhelmed because terrorists are attacking the White House, Klingons are destroying Washington and his toaster is malfunctioning.] Matters get worse when her investigations annoy the wrong person, and a bounty lands on her head. Soon gangsters, assassins, and even co-workers are trying to kill her. [Why would anyone want to be an imperial law enforcer in a world where if an imperial law enforcer annoys you, you can put a bounty on her head and everyone will try to kill her? Instead of having imperial law enforcers they should just put bounties on all criminals.]

The only person not attempting to cash in is the most infamous criminal in the city, an assassin named Sicarius. He has an inexplicable interest in keeping the emperor alive, which makes him the perfect ally, [If everyone's trying to kill me, my perfect ally is gonna be someone with an inexplicable interest in keeping me alive, not the emperor. Screw the emperor.] [In any case, if there are 30,001 people in this city, and 30,000 of them are trying to kill me, I'm not teaming up with the other one; I'm getting out of Dodge.] in a dear-ancestors-sometimes-he’s-more-evil-than-the-villains kind of way. [Not clear what "dear ancestors" is doing there. Is it like Oh my God? I'd get rid of it. Or change it to Oh my God. And get rid of the comma after ally.] His coldhearted indifference to humanity chills Amaranthe, but she finds herself awed by his deadly athleticism, intrigued by the past he won’t speak about, and tickled that he actually listens to her crazy schemes. Together they might have a chance to thwart the ringleaders and save the emperor, but when her curiosity drives her to unearth Sicarius’s secrets, the revelation could start a civil war....

The Emperor's Edge is a fantasy novel, complete at 105k words. I would be pleased to send it for your review. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,


Notes

As you focus the query on protecting the emperor with no further mention of the mysterious creature, I'd leave out the creature entirely. Unless Sicarius's secret is that he's responsible for the creature's killing spree, in which case the last plot sentence might read: Together they might have a chance to thwart the ringleaders and save the emperor, but when she discovers that the mysterious creature that's been killing people is actually Sicarius in a bear costume, the revelation could start a civil war.....

If Sicarius is a wolfman, we need to know that.

Cartoon 632

Caption: Stacy

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Face-Lift 762


Guess the Plot

Courage of Story

1. An autobiographical tale of a life spent pushing fiction to increasingly hostile, and sometimes violent publishers.

2. The truth is revealed as the cowardly lion documents what really happened after his fateful encounter with a young girl from Kansas. Also, a recipe for stew using a tin pot and straw tinder.

3. A simple girl, a king and a mage have a story to tell, but first they must find someone who has the courage to listen. Do you? What about you?

4. Eighteen year old Tom Story cuts a dashing figure in his WWII uniform. At home, he uses a sob story and the uniform to bag hot nurses, but once he hits the front-lines everybody will see . . . the courage of Story.

5. Google Random Title Generator. Click on the top Googlition. Click on Give me some titles! Do you like the third one down? If not, request more titles. Do you like the third one down now?

6. When an editor receives a query letter for a book whose title seems to have been created with a random word generator, he soon realizes that he will have to write most of the fake plots. Can he get past the bad mood this is sure to put him in before he reads the letter, or is the author doomed to endure a scathing critique?



Original Version

Dearest Evil Editor,

Many people can speak without fear, but how many can listen? [Actually, almost everyone can listen without fear. Unless what they're listening to is the dentist's drill or the footsteps of an obsessed serial killer coming up the creaky stairs. Or a shark.] [Do sharks make sounds? I've never heard one, but that may be because the sounds were drowned out by the screams of the people the sharks were devouring.] [Opening with a vague rhetorical question is bad enough, but:

1. A primary feature of a rhetorical question is that the answer is obvious.
2. You apparently believe the obvious answer to your rhetorical question is Very few people.
3. The actual answer is Everybody.

Conclusion:
You're better off not asking the question and starting with the next paragraph.]


Raven is a formidable mage with a very gloomy outlook on life. Thani is the youngest, but also wisest, king his realm has yet seen. [Which, considering that he's fifteen, doesn't say much for the wisdom of the previous kings of Loonyland.] And Syvrus is a relatively simple girl with a relatively simple wish: to become immortal. [No point modifying everything with "relatively," unless you explain what they're relative to.] Together, these three characters tell a tale of power, of love, and most of all, of the courage to listen. [I don't even know what that means. This is the part of the query where you're supposed to summarize the tale. All you've done is list three characters. What do the characters do? Who tries to stop them from attaining their goals?]

Courage of Story [The title is bland. I got a couple decent ones from the random title generator: Wizard of Words and Thief of Silence. Even knowing nothing about what happens in your book, I recommend these titles over Courage of Story.] is a fantasy novel (directed at young adults) about a world of mythical creatures and incredible mysteries, and can be compared to other fantasy works such as “Eragon” or the “His Dark Materials” trilogy. However, unlike these novels, Courage of Story is not about a fight of good vs. evil. Rather, it is about the destruction of [evil] despotic traditional powers [by the forces of good], as well as sudden and powerful disillusionment. [This is all vague. What, specifically happens in the book?] This novel is completed and 135,000 words in length.

My name is _________________, and I am a second-year student at McGill University – with an avid interest in fantasy writing, directed at young adults. I have written a proposal for my novel entitled, Courage of Story. I would like to invite you to review my proposal (or my manuscript itself) and consider representing me. [Get rid of that paragraph.]

I noticed your impressive credentials during my search for a literary agent. I would be honored to have you represent me. If you are interested in my novel, please contact me as soon as possible. [You haven't said anything about your plot; how can I be interested?] I will be showing my proposal (or manuscript) to only one agent at a time. You can reach me at ______ or by email at __________. [That paragraph can go too.]

Yours truly,


Notes

Start over. Write an 8- to 10-sentence plot summary focusing on your main character's goal, problem, solution. Make it specific, and make it sound so interesting we just have to read the book. Then just say ___________ is a 135,000-word YA fantasy that can't be much worse than Eragon.

Cartoon 631

Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Face-Lift 761


Guess the Plot

The Eraser

1. Has Pencil Man finally met his match in The Sharpener? Or will his new girlfriend turn out to be someone who can make all his mistakes disappear?

2. A bitter story of rejection and disappointment from inside the pencil case when little Timmy starts writing in ink.

3. Jason has his heart set on an NFL career with the Pittsburgh Steelers, but when no team drafts him it looks like he'll be selling used cars. Then a professional wrestling promoter spots him and offers him a contract to wrestle as . . . The Eraser.

4. Nina struggles to teach her 4th grade students to love writing but her arch nemesis, The Eraser, destroys their papers with smudge marks and tears. The final, epic showdown comes during the state achievement tests.

5. It starts when Freddie throws his lucky eraser at Magda. She ducks, the eraser hits Mrs. Pomerantz, and Freddie gets sent to the principal's office. So begins a long streak of misfortune that will end only if Freddie, through keen detective work, is able to recover . . . The Eraser.

6. High school student Clara falls for her classmate Edgar, but romance takes a back seat when Clara dredges up repressed memories of when she was three years old: going to the park with her mommy; playing horsie with her daddy; and the day her parents were kidnapped by a brutal Chilean police torture squad charged with erasing all opponents of the Pinochet dictatorship and all evidence of its massive human rights violations.



Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Pretty, popular [, punctual] and privileged, fifteen-year-old Clara Vargas Leighton is the picture of young, aristocratic, propriety in Chile during the 1980s. [Remove "young, aristocratic" so the "p" alliteration is continued: the picture of propriety in President Pinochet's . . . ] [In fact, why not change the country to Peru and change Clara's name to Pepper Papanicolaou?]

But Clara was born with a questioning nature that defies the authoritarian traditions of her adoptive parents and of Chilean society during [under?] Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship. Coupled with [Haunted by? Troubled by?] traumatic, reoccurring memories of her early childhood, she embarks on an investigative journey. Her classmate Edwin, the black sheep son of one of Chile’s most prominent families, serves as her guide. Clara and Edwin grow closer to each other as they explore the world outside their exclusive enclave of Santiago’s Vitacura neighborhood. Clara’s hunger for the truth about her country is satiated as she hears too many stories of police brutality and crippling poverty, only a few of the many terrible side effects produced by the dictatorship, unknown to her until now. [I don't think "satiated" is the best word, and "side-effects" doesn't seem strong enough. How about: As Clara seeks the truth about her country, she hears too many stories of police brutality and crippling poverty.]

Clara pieces together her foggy memories with her newfound macabre knowledge. [I tend to think of "macabre" as referring to supernatural horrors. In any case, it's not the knowledge that's macabre.] She concludes that her biological parents did not die in a car accident, like [as] her adoptive parents tell [told] her. Instead, they were both left-wing opponents of the dictatorship who disappeared when Clara was three years old. [That's a pretty elaborate conclusion to reach from a foggy memory.]

Inspired by her latest discovery, Clara juggles her detective work with the mind-numbing obligations of her starchy, Catholic high school. She attempts to learn the definitive fate of her parents and how exactly she got into the hands of a colonel and his socialite wife. As Clara investigates further, she grows increasingly sickened by her patrician surroundings and their indifference to and not so tacit support for the horrors committed by the dictatorship.

THE ERASER is a 74,000 word novel for a mature young adult audience.

Thank you for your time and consideration.


Revised Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Fifteen-year-old Clara Vargas Leighton is the picture of young, aristocratic propriety in Chile during the 1980s. But Clara was born with a questioning nature that defies the authoritarian traditions of her adoptive parents and of Chilean society under Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship. Puzzled by traumatic memories of her early childhood, she embarks on an investigative journey.

Exploring the world outside her exclusive Santiago neighborhood, Clara hears stories of police brutality, torture and unexplained disappearances. Soon her foggy memories crystallize. She realizes that her biological parents did not die in a car accident as her adoptive parents told her; they were kidnapped.

As Clara tries to learn the definitive fate of her parents and how exactly she got into the hands of a colonel and his socialite wife, she grows increasingly sickened by her patrician surroundings and by her adoptive parents' indifference to the horrors committed by the dictatorship.

THE ERASER is a 74,000 word novel for a mature young adult audience.

Thank you for your time and consideration.


Notes

That's shorter, but it's mostly the same info in the same voice. Edwin is obviously important in the book, but not so much in the query. Same with juggling her school obligations.There's still room for a sentence or two telling us what eventually happens. Does she run away? Lead a coup? Devote her life to helping the poor?

There's no need to use complex vocabulary; simple and clear will get you where you're going without potholes.

Cartoon 630

Caption: Angie

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Minor Blog Changes

I've taken advantage of the "Pages" feature to put three things that used to be at Evil Editor's Gallimaufry over here (three things that no one comments on).

This makes it easier to navigate that site, and reduces the number of links on this site. I've also combined "Queries Waiting" and "Submit a Guess the Plot" into one list, so if you want to submit a fake plot or find out how close your query is to the top, click "Query Queue."

New Beginning 747

Ah, the Druggie Class…I love these twisted, stoned, turned upside down clowns. Man. This is the easiest class ever. We just groove, they grin, their stoned faces slack and loose, the tension oozes out of me just looking at them. I sit and relaaaaax… The joint I hooted before class helps me with relaaaax. They laugh, chuckle, corn hole each other as only Thai boys can and I can feel the "just clean fun" aspect running around the room reminding me of a fresh breeze from Canada. Boys will be boys.

I don’t have to whip the Stoners. I don’t have grab any ears or get in any faces and scream "Shut up! Any questions Einstein?" I don’t pinch or hit them. This is the only class I don’t beat on. No need, they are the "beat" generation of Thailand. Beat as in the beat goes on, and on, and where was I? The beat works well with the substance abuse they, I, we they enjoy. Am I making sense?

They are something, so today I freaked out when Tittiporn Wasawdeaboom (he goes by the nickname "Wasa" much to my regret). Wasa, who should be nicknamed Titti, Tits or Porn, he grabbed his junk and said to me, "President Obama, please show your respect to the delegation from Thailand."

I laughed and slid off my chair. Some burnout in a suit picked me up and whispered in my ear, "You promised you wouldn't use in office."

I rubbed his shoulder. "Relax, bro; I don't remember half the promises I make when I'm baked."

I hate it when people ruin my vibe with all that "keep your word" noise. Man, fuck healthcare or whatever.


Opening: Bibi.....Continuation: Matthew

Cartoon 629



Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Face-Lift 760


Guess the Plot

Nothing Is What It Seems

1. . . . including this book. Nestled inside the cut-out pages is a Colt .45, two seven-round magazines and a roll of hundred dollar bills. I'm Ben Darkley, literary private eye, and I know how to handle overly aggressive wannabe writers.

2. When Debbie Ryman starts work on a new account, she doesn't know her world is about to turn upside down. Turns out her client is a secret society out to conquer the world, her new husband is a CIA agent working to stop them, and her mother-in-law is a demonic, soul-sucking hell-beast. (Well, technically, that last one is exactly what it seems.)

3. First Maya goes to her husband's funeral, but there's no body in the casket. Then her new boyfriend turns out to be a rogue FBI agent hunting her "dead" husband, whose name "just happens" to be an anagram of Evil Satan. It's all par for the course in a town where . . . Nothing is what it seems.

4. Millie thought she was buying a book. What she was buying was a brain washing program designed by the shadowy organization that secretly controls every government in the world. Fortunately, she's a conspiracy theorist.

5. Down is up! Cats are dogs! Mice are toasters! Exclamation points are question marks! Can Emilio escape from this Bizarro world with his priceless violin intact, or will he be trapped forever as a sousaphonist?

6. Pigs flying on dragons and lipstick tubes offering cosmetic advice and that's not all Dannie encounters after falling through a manhole cover in New York City. If only she can get out before Man Croc, ruler of the underground cesspool, forces her to become his bride.



Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

An empty casket funeral entwines the lives of a relieved widow, a grieving child, a rogue FBI agent, and a badass loan shark with a penchant for shooting people. [Shooting people who owe you money is counterproductive.] In the small Texan town of Hill’s Creek, everyone has secrets . . . but some secrets are worth killing for. [Or so it seems. But nothing is what it seems.]

Bent on avenging his sister’s death, Agent Jonah White is on a vigilante quest to track down Eli Savant, con artist-turned-killer, and the fifty thousand dollars he allegedly stole. Instead, Eli’s widow, and possible accomplice, tumbles into Jonah’s arms, and right into his heart. [Or so it seems. But nothing is what it seems.] One look in Maya’s eyes and one impish smile from her 5-year-old daughter, Lily, and a smitten Jonah is willing to do anything to gain her trust. Their budding romance, and Jonah’s secret investigation, is threatened however when a dead body implicates him in murder and an old acquaintance warns Maya of impending danger. [Move the two commas in that sentence so that they surround "however." And change "is" to "are."] When Eli resurfaces, very much alive, everything spirals out of control: Jonah’s lies are exposed, Lily is abducted and Maya loses faith. To win back Maya’s love and save Lily from certain death, Jonah must trust Eli, the one man responsible for everything. In the end, it all comes down to who you trust because nothing is what it seems. [That's what I was gonna say.] One will die, and one will save the day. But who will win back Maya’s love? [My money's on the one who saves the day.]

NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS (79,000 words) is a completed work of romantic suspense. Thank you for considering my book for representation.

Sincerely,


Notes

I'm pretty sure that something is what it seems.

I don't think we need the loan shark in the first sentence.

How long has Eli been missing when they decide to have his funeral? Usually when there's no body they assume the guy ran off to Vegas with his mistress.

How can you claim Jonah is "willing to do anything to gain her trust" when he doesn't even tell her who he is?

There seem to be a lot of absolutes here. Everyone has secrets. Jonah is willing to do anything. Everything spirals out of control. Certain death. The one man responsible for everything. Nothing is what it seems. Aren't there any gray areas in this town?

Paragraphing would be nice in the long plot section. A new paragraph in the first two places I put blue words. Also, I think I'd drop the last two sentences of the plot.

Cartoon 628

Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Evil Eulogy 6

What can I say about a man who reached the very pinnacle of his profession and then decided to quit snake handling and become an editor? And, three months later, decided to quit editing and become a full-time blogger? Only one thing: I'm not dead, idiots.

And by "not dead," I don't mean like zombies, vampires, Jesus, and everyone who ever died on Lost.

I know what you're thinking. If you're alive, who's that in the casket? Hey, did anyone bother to flip him over, get his wallet and check his ID?

~~~~

Okay, mystery solved. It's some guy named Pepi Prosciutto. He doesn't even have muttonchops, you idiots. Go home.

--EE

Evil Eulogy 5

Hollowed steps echoed in a packed church as the man approached the church podium. The paid speaker cleared his throat.

“Dearly beloved…uh…excuse me…” Hack, hack, hack…cough – he started again. “It’s a terribly day today and we are all mourning. When I was told of his death…for me…instantly time stopped and this now momentous memory is burned in my mind, forever. I had the pleasure of meeting the fearless man who so easily pioneered the very paths our careers follow today. He’s an icon in the publishing industry, a forger of best sellers, a pillar of society and his charitable contributions were endless.”

The reader stopped, trying to collect his emotions. Mewed cries and sniffles filled the room. The pause was needed for everyone.

He continued, grunting into the mic. “And this man…this man was a friend.”

Silence reigned among the crowd, except for the singular noise of cricket.

Finally a demand bellowed from the audience. “Is he talking about Evil Editor?”

Several communal questions moaned in agreement.

A wave of whispers carried to the reader himself. And then Ms. Snark tip toed in her red 3”Christian Dior heels and matching wrap around dress, inappropriately but impeccably dressed as usual. She whispered, “The eulogy is supposed to be for Evil Editor. He was no friend. Who the HELL are you talking about?”

Her stern tone carried through the microphone, vibrating loud and clear throughout the house of God.

The speaker answered back, “I’m sorry. I was told that John Grisham died and I was to give his Eulogy.”

Ms. Snark stepped up to the mic, “Alright…whose idea of a practical Joke is this?”

John Grisham, himself, stood up snickering raising his hand. “Guilty.”

--Mina B.

Evil Eulogy 4

Sorry I’m late, ladies and gentlemen; schoolwork and all that. Where’s my notebook? My notes are—aha, here.

Evil Editor—genius, progenitor of the written word, scourge of authors and agents alike. We are gathered here to honor his passing with what he loved most: 300 words.

EE was born in New York nearly 80 years ago, and his childhood was unhappy but meaningful. His teachers had better English for the rest of their lives. In high school, EE—hold on a sec, the pages are sticking together—in high school, he led a jihad eastward into what is now most of present-day Mali. His sons inherited his kingdom and were the leaders of the Muslim resistance to French colonialism.

Uh… OK, wrong page. Let’s see. He had an unhappy childhood—his mother died when he was ten—his father was distant—boy, that is pretty unhappy, isn’t it. He joined the Party during the Depression, then the army at the rank of Scharfuhrer, where he became head of the Jewish Museum.

Moving on, he edited his first novel at the age or 13, when an overzealous classmate pressed him to read his three-volume epic literary novel. The novel, once edited, was published to great acclaim in “Flash Fictions R Us,” which has since gone out of business. And we all know the wonders and glories of what’s happened since.

What most of you don’t know, however, is why it’s a closed-casket funeral. There’s a story to that, of course. A few days ago, EE was—rats, another sticky page—ahem, he was in his palace when a group of young Peruvian supporters of Diego Almagro II broke in, killed his defenders, and stabbed him in the throat.

Wait a minute….

--_*rachel*_, with special thanks to the RSC for inspiration

Evil Eulogy 3

"We are gathered here today to remember a good friend, a pillar of the commu..." The speaker bent nearly 45 degrees forward with a jerk and his hand shot into pants pocket and grabbed flesh like the shark from jaws just clamped down on his most sensitive parts.

"Sorry. Just a pinch. I'll continue." He straightened his clothing. "...nity, and a pioneer of queries. His prowess at..." His eyebrows popped upwards and his face registered more surprise than if the Second Coming occurred at the rear of the church. "Yowser!" he yelped and turned his back to the mourners. His body hid the frantic movements of his hands slipping under his belt and struggling to purge the offending sprite.

"Damn! Feels like I've been stabbed. I swear tiny things with pitchforks ran out of that pile of slush and up my pants. Can't find anything in here. Are you sure you exorcised all those printer's devils before we took the body," he said before he realized that the audience could hear him. He blushed and let the priest turn off the microphone.

"I might have missed one of the little beasties in those mountains of slush. Remember, all authors are haunted by a vast assemblage of doubt demons, what-if demons, if-only demons, printer's devils, carping demons..."

"All right, all right. What do I have to do to get through the eulogy without looking like a deranged imbecile?"

"Say an Our Father and a Hail Mary and pour this bottle of ice cold Holy Water down your pants."

"Lucky I'm wearing navy blue." He did as instructed and turned back to the audience.

"As Isaac Bashevis Singer once said, 'the wastebasket is a writer's best friend.' EE lived well with both the shredder and the wastebasket."

--Dave F.

Evil Eulogy 2

I'm sweating like a pig even though the room is very cold. It's better for the corpse I'm told. I didn't look at the body, it's behind me, I'm looking out at the saddest group of mourners you could put together. I hang on to the lecturn, knuckles clenched, jaw working. They are bawling like calves being weaned.

Dave is blowing loudly into his handerchief, muttering about an unchosen continuation. Prince Parakeet is chewing his thumbnail to the quick, he's bleating on about the cartoon needing a caption, Phoenix is beside herself, she's a twin and they dressed in identical designer blue jeans with sparkly shirts and white cowboy hats. Smartly tailored, even though eye make up is running down four cheeks. Phoenix is muttering about how could he do this to her and now of all times. Inconsiderate so and so. Rudy is having a quiet nervous breakdown, Heat is comforting her. Whirlygig is stock still, maybe shock. Man Alive is saying too loudly he doesn't like it either, a tear leaks out of his eye on the left. Poor 119, she is a mess, shaking, I catch something about being next in the query line up and not convenient, not convenient at all.

And me, why am I giving the eulogy about someone I didn't know very well? We submitted eulogies and I lost, I mean won. My eulogy was based in China, it went downhill from there. But the critiquing went well, I did about two dozen revisions, submitted it again for a final tweak and here I am. I am ready to start. In comes Bloggy. For heaven's sake there are newcomers herding in behind him. It's an AA meeting for writerholics. Bot is tall, about a head higher than the rest. The top hat adds a little extra dimension.

"As you know, this eulogy is set in China." I begin. I almost jump out of my skin when I hear a bellow behind me. I swing around, my God, it's Evil! Sitting up, yelling. The gasps in the room leave me wondering if there's enough air left for me to breath.

Evil climbs out of his coffin, shoves me aside and grabs the oak lecturn. I swear I see the muttonchops vibrating. He's a big man.

"I have you all here in one room for one reason," booms out of his girthness.

"Evil, you're alive! What the blazes?" Daves on his feet.

"It's my birthday and for once I didn't want to spend it pouring over queries." Then Evil smiled, he folded his hands, gave a nod to the back of the room and in came the marching band, a three foot cake and a miniature donkey wear a pink party hat and oversized sunglasses.

"Make an old man happy minions, sing happy birthday to me." He meant it. I saw him try to hide how touched he was when the minions stood, joined arms and sang happy birthday to that lonely, tired old man.

And me, I was grateful I didn't have to endure a public critique by the man himself on my eulogy. He was very sweet actually and told me to post it, he'd get to me in due course. Then he whispered to not ever again mention the C. word to him on his blog. I nodded and slunk to the side of the room and kept going. I had a narrow escape, I slipped out the door to "He's A Jolly Good Fellow". I needed a drink.

--Bibi

Evil Eulogy 1

We are gathered here today to reflect on, and celebrate, the life of... a man who needs no introduction from me.

Born... not far from here (at least in astronomical terms), he grew up in... roughly the same place... and built a successful career doing... whatever the hell he did... editing, I guess. He was celebrated and beloved in... the community of which he was part, and everyone respected his... many sterling qualities, which are so well known that I don't need to expand on them here.

How many times did his friends and his neighbours see his familiar form, going about his daily... business, and feel cheered by the simple knowledge of his presence? (Seriously, how many times? Because I don't know. Lots, I hope.)

He is survived by his widow... umm... Mrs. Editor... and... at least one son, Evil Jr., and maybe others as well... our hearts go out to them in this time of (very probably) sadness. We know that, by many people's standards, he was taken from us too young, even though, by other people's, he died in the fullness of his years.

He was revered in his field, of course, having worked with so many famous authors, such as... people whose names are well-known to us all. And, in his capacity as an anonymous person on the Internet, he was an inexhaustible fount of advice and inspiration to other anonymous people on the Internet.

So, I'd like us all to bow our heads, now, and reflect on the memory of... whatever his name was anyway. Amen.

--Steve Wright

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Friday, April 23, 2010

CELEBRATE!

Some of the Evil Minions have arranged an anniversary event for today, the 4th anniversary of this blog. Here's the address.

And for something else to do, here are three amusing posts from the archives worth revisiting:

Evil Jr. helps critique a query on Bring Your Kid to Work Day


Continuation Writing Made Simple


Minions Being Their usual Helpful and Funny Selves in a Typical Comment Trail

Cartoon 627

Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Q & A 178

Could you post a query rating along with your guess the plot entries? For example:

0=so bad it is funny, Agent/Editor prints a copy to show to friends.
1=Agent/Editor deletes before finishing.

2=A/E reads the whole thing, deletes.

3=A/E reads the whole thing, sends stock rejection.

4=A/E reads, thinks about the query for a few seconds, sends stock rejection.

5=A/E reads, thinks, asks for partial.



You'll never make it as an editor/agent with such generous ratings. Here's how EE classifies his submissions:

0. Another one from that pest? Delete without opening.
1. Nausea attack. Have Mrs. V bring in replacement keyboard.
2. Report sender to authorities as potential sociopath.
3. Print copy for pleasure of burning it.
4. Send stock warning never to submit to me again.
5. Post on blog for universal mocking.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

New Beginning 746

There was an article in the paper that morning, about the man who killed his double. He got off: you don’t prosecute people for removing a faulty body part, even if the body part is shaped like a human.

I read it while I waited for the bus. Front page.

Daria would read it, too, when she and her hangover finally woke up, but she wouldn’t pay much attention until they told her I left. Then she’d load her gun and start looking.

New York was on the horizon and coming closer. I pressed my face to the bus window and watched the streets, where blank-faced doubles trailed behind their confident firsts. Clones, photocopies, doppelgangers. People.

Once off the bus, I pushed my way down the crowded sidewalks. Everywhere we went, Daria always had a driver.

There was a busker on a street near Central Park, strumming his guitar, enjoying his music whether the crowd did or not. I stopped nearby and watched, though nobody else did.

He noticed me first, my guitar case second, and smiled. “Want to join me?” he called when the song ended.

I walked over. “Sure. But I don’t have a permit.”

He shrugged.

I looked closer, the guy's face was blank now that he wasn't singing. So . . . he was a double. His first was lounging, foot cocked against the rail fence, grinning.

Crap, here came Daria, her driver skidding to a halt as she tucked and rolled in drama queen style to a flat body pose on the cement, aiming her gun back and forth at the first and the double.

I froze her in a bubble and the first and I jammed for about an hour while the double went limp to recharge. These doubles and double bubbles with their street begging and busking were seriously starting to interfere with life on planet Earth. Ah well, a volcanic ash cloud, earthquakes, asteroids . . . Earth was toast anyway. Figured I might as well speed up the process, prevent riots at Wal-mart. I freeze-shrank the Earth, shoved it my pocket and went home to Mirvbal. Now that's a planet.


Opening: Rachel.....Continuation: Bibi

Cartoon 626

Caption: Anon.

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Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Success Story


Molly Burkhart, known hereabouts as Gutterball, and author of several openings/continuations/writing exercises in years past, reports that her novel, My Gigolo, comes out May 11 as an e-book, and in print in about 10 months. Some of the dialogue in the novel morphed from this writing exercise.

The publisher's page for the book is here. No word on whether that's Molly on the cover.

Face-Lift 759


Guess the Plot

Zombies in Love

1. High school's tough for everyone, but while other kids have to worry about locking braces when they kiss, Francie and Chad have to worry about their lips falling off.

2. After the zombie apocalypse kills us all, Marley discovers that brains taste sweeter when he's shambling alongside Dixie Adams. But then the vampires show up and ruin everything.

3. Soon after Jack starts working in Lisa's pizza parlor, romance blossoms. Should he tell her he's a zombie now, or let her find out the hard way, when customers complain that fingers weren't among the toppings they ordered?

4. Melissa has grown tired of dating men who are interested only in her body. Eventually she meets George, a man who actually wants her for her braaaaaaaaaiiins.

5. John's beloved zombie bride Marsha has been kidnapped. Can he lead his fellow rotting corpses through the city and rescue her before she ends up as fertilizer?

6. Marla Higginson falls asleep watching TV only to awaken in a Zombiefied version of her favorite soap. Will she escape Zombism or, since her lover Brendan is now undead, will she convert for him? Tune in tomorrow when…


Original Version

“I am seeking representation for my humorous paranormal romance novel, Zombies in Love, complete at 68,000 words long.

When he was alive, Jack Kershaw's laziness and untrustworthiness nearly destroyed the family business. Now that he's a zombie, Jack has two simple goals: to hold on to his new job at Lisa Alioto's pizza parlor, and to keep his murderous cousin from realizing that he's not entirely deceased. But that's before he realizes that Lisa's delicious body may be even less attractive than her generosity and integrity, [What I think you're trying to say is: But that's before he realizes that Lisa's generosity and integrity are even more attractive than her delicious body. Trust me, no woman wants her body described as "even less attractive than" . . . anything.] and he begins to wonder-- has he found the love of his life after he's already dead?

Lisa Alioto has always lived the life her parents planned out for her, supporting her family and working diligently at Alioto's Pizza. [If you're gonna plan out your kid's life, always include a section on how she should support you.] But when handsome, charming Jack comes into her life, she remembers the wild young girl she used to be. [You just said she has always lived the life her parents planned out for her. When was she a wild thing?] Could a romance with Jack be the adventure she's always wanted?

But Jack and Lisa are in serious danger. Jack's second chance at life is the inadvertent result of a lab experiment by two graduate students, and Winthrop University-- a school with plenty of sinister secrets-- will do anything to conceal that someone on its campus raised the dead. [Winthrop University is your villain? What happened to Jack's murderous cousin? Why was he even brought up if he's not the villain?] [Are you sure Winthrop is on board with you claiming they have sinister secrets? You can always make up a college name.] After Jack inadvertently infects Lisa, she is equally at risk. [Technically, don't you have to be dead before you can be a zombie?] The two of them must find strengths they never knew they had if they want to gain happiness together. [A vague and blah last sentence. What, specifically, do they have to do?]

The academic sections of this novel are partly based on my experiences earning a PhD in the History of American Civilization at Harvard University [but I used Winthrop instead of Harvard because Winthrop doesn't have a secret slush fund for having slandering alumni murdered]. As an independent historian, I have published academic essays on the American middle class [, which certainly qualifies me to write about zombies,] and on merchants in Charleston during the Revolutionary Era. I have also edited and co-written _________________. Under my fiction-writing pen name, ______________, I have published several short stories such as "_____________, and the novella_____________, available as an e-book from Drollerie Press. “

Best,


Notes

Not sure why the entire body of the letter is enclosed in quotation marks.

If someone told me they'd inadvertently made me a zombie, I probably wouldn't believe them. Until I started craving brain pizza. In any case, I don't think I'd take it well.

When you say the "academic sections" of the novel are based on Harvard, do you mean the sections in which grad students create a zombie? Or is it the part where the students come into the pizza parlor, get drunk, destroy the place, kill someone for laughs, and get off with a slap on the wrist because their parents know a Kennedy?

When you open by saying Jack nearly destroyed the family business when he was alive, I expect him to save the business as a zombie. Just like I expect more about the murderous cousin. As neither gets mentioned again, let's leave them out and open something like:

Jack Kershaw has two simple goals: to hold on to his new job at Lisa Alioto's pizza parlor, and to keep Lisa from finding out that he's a zombie.

Lisa is bored with
her life, but when handsome, charming Jack comes along, she remembers the wild young girl she used to be, how she's long dreamed of having a romantic adventure . . . though admittedly with someone who was alive.


Now you have more space to give us some detail about the serious danger they're in and what they plan to do about it.

Cartoon 625

Caption: anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! ink in sidebar.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

New Beginning 745

Nina read the words on the pale green card for the last time. Name: Nina Krenkel. Birthdate: 07-08-1924. Birthplace: Vienna. Hair: brown. Eyes: green. Race: JEW.
Then she opened the furnace door, and put it in. The flames flared and ate the words in long licks. It was a ghost-card of curled ash, the words still visible for a moment, slowly fluttering apart in the wind of the fire's burning. Nina watched, transfixed, as her name fell away into flakes on the glowing coals.

“Nina! You did it?”

She whirled to face her younger brother. “I promised. And you promised too.”

“But we never got the fake ones!”

“He said we had to do it anyway. We have to, Gustav. We have to do everything he says.” Her eyes burned. She stood, pulling herself up by her crutches. “You want to go up there and tell him we're not doing it? And let him die knowing that?”

“But Nina—Uncle Samuel—”

“Uncle Samuel is WRONG!” she shouted. “Did you hear what he said? He said crazy. Is he crazy, Gustav? Tell me.” She looked him in the eye. “Do you honestly think Father is crazy?”

Gustav looked at her, his brown eyes wide. “I—” He shut his mouth, and looked down at his shoes. Shoes that Father had made him. “No,” he whispered. “He's not crazy.”

“I know it's scary, Gustav. I'm scared too. But he knows.” Just look in his eyes. Did you ever wonder if dying people can see the future? It scares me, Gustav, it scares me so bad, what he looks like he knows. “He says we're safer if we go. He knows. So we're going.” She stood leaning on her crutches, looking at him; then she held out her hand. He looked back at her for a long time, put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a pale green card. She took it, and bent again to the furnace door.

"Nina!"

She pulled her hand back from the flames and looked up toward the voice.

"Nina. What have I told you about coming down here? And Gustav, too. You should be ashamed!"

Nina stared at the floor. "Sorry, Uncle Samuel."

"Doctor Samuel, if you please. Now come back up to your rooms."

"Where is Father?" Nina asked.

"If, by Father, you are referring to Johann, he has locked himself in the ladies room again. Now come on."

The old lady pushed herself up on her crutches and headed toward the steps. Gustav, bent-backed, shuffled along behind her, the tissue boxes on his feet scratching along the cold basement floor.


Opening: Heather Munn.....Continuation: anon.

Cartoon 624

Caption: Anon.

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Book Chat 26



Book Chat 26: Anne Fadiman/The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down

Evil Editor said...Hi Anne. Thanks for coming. So, am I ill-informed because I'd never heard of the Hmong?

Anne Fadiman said...EE: Not at all. When I began this project, my knowledge of the Hmong (a word I had no idea how to pronounce) was a mere wisp. And that was one reason I was drawn to the subject. I like the adrenaline of a steep learning curve.

sylvia said...My mother worked with the Hmong in the 80s so I had a lot of context for this book (which was great btw)

Evil Editor said...In what country did she work with them?

sylvia said...In LongBeach, California - same issues as Anne describes: massive immigration and low integration and trying to work out how to deal with it. The Public Health Department hired my mother as a linguist - working on training interpretors and looking at how to teach English / get information across to people who couldn't read.

Anne Fadiman said...Sylvia--I'm curious. When your mother was working with the Hmong in Long Beach, did she find her work more frustrating or more exciting? Did she like the Hmong?

sylvia said...Anne: I recognised my mother in the "liberals from other cities" that you described. She loved the challenge - she was knocking down assumptions about language learning, especially for immigrants - so the Hmong gave her an excellent platform for proving that ESL tactics didn't work. Some of the issues you brought up were familiar - I remember there were issues with suspected child abuse because of the marks left by coins and my mother explaining that it wasn't abuse (and that it wasn't painful, so I grinned at the "yes it was" comment in your book) There was this horrifying miscommunication where someone at the Health Department was trying to explain about blood banks and the Hmong were already upset about having their life force stolen (that's how I remember it being phrased) because the nurses kept taking blood. And then someone said that you could donate blood to the blood bank and get paid. The Hmong suddenly understood what was happening: the nurses drew all that blood from patients so they could sell it to the blood bank and make money.

Evil Editor said...Those crazy Hmong!

AF said...EE: Er, I hope you don't really mean "those crazy Hmong." Do you? In the early days, American physicians seemed equally peculiar to the Hmong, and made any number of misinterpretations--for instance, assuming that Hmong parents wanted to take home their babies' placentas in order to eat them, which was of course completely untrue. I don't think the Hmong are the least bit crazy.

Evil Editor said...Just joking about the misunderstandings.

sylvia said...As I was reading, I couldn't help but think that it must have been a huge challenge just working out where to start.

Anne Fadiman said..."Where to start": a good description. There was the question of where to start in the interviewing; where to start in deciding which case to follow; and, years later, when I was ready to write, where to start on the first page.

sylvia said...Yes, it seems like it must have been really overwhelming in all of those senses.

Dave F. said...The cultural aspects of the Hmong were fascinating but the "insensitivity" (for lack of a better word) of the medical staff was just phenomenal. I've seen arrogance in doctors but not to that extent.

Anne Fadiman said...Insensitivity of doctors: Well, yes, but there was a broad spectrum. Dr. Small was genuinely insensitive. Neil Ernst and Peggy Philp were exceptionally altruistic and well-intentioned, but hampered by the culture of medicine. Dan Murphy was comfortable and multiculturally skilled.

Dave F. said...I liked the opening of the first and second chapters. Both work well for the stories.

Evil Editor said...What came as a big surprise was that people so primitive in some respects--such that after a few chapters I assumed they were all illiterate farmers--were suddenly declared to have flown war planes. How did the US manage to train the Hmong to be pilots?

Anne Fadiman said...You don't have to read to fly a plane or drive a car. You can learn by watching someone else do it, and many Hmong became exceptionally good pilots.

Evil Editor said...Still, it's a bit disconcerting to realize when I board a plane that the pilot may not know how to read.

Dave F. said...They weren't pilots on commercial airliners, they were pilots on fighter jets and only had to know when to fire missiles and drop bombs. Trained killers. They were like Roman soldiers or Spartans or Pharonic Egyptians trained to kill.

Anne Fadiman said...I'm not sure "trained killers" is exactly right. Many Hmong were very fine pilots who, in addition to flying combat missions, also rescued downed American flight crews, carried supplies, and ferried other soldiers by air.

Dave F. said...I know a mom, very devoted to her children who had three boys and the fourth was her much desired for daughter and was born with a severe mental handicap. It was tragic to watch. I had the same feelings when I read this.

Evil Editor said...Lia is still alive at the end of the book right? What's happened since then?

Anne Fadiman said...Lia is still alive, still in a persistent vegetative state, and still living at home, lovingly cared for by her mother and sisters.

sylvia said...I had assumed that Lia had died after the final epileptic fit. I was somewhere around page 200, thinking the rest of the book was going to be focused on the general cultural issues and then when we went back to the Lee family I almost dropped the book I was so surprised. I definitely made the presumption that of course the doctors were right.

Evil Editor said...I wondered why more of the kids didn't act as translators, as they are excellent students. Is Lia's family typical? Is communication easier with many Hmong families?

AF said...First of all, the events in this book took place in the early 80s, and there have been huge changes in Hmong-American culture since then. Less translation is needed, since in most families only the elders are still monolingually Hmong. Second, although it's true that Hmong students do well on average, it's important not to stereotype--especially because they're so much more heterogeneous than they were twenty-five years ago. There are some excellent students (and, among slightly older Hmong, there are doctors, lawyers, professors . . .). There are also Hmong gangs. In other words, a mix.

Dave F. said...Foua had so many children. Not that the culture didn't honor and love children but the sheer number who must have died at a young age is just breathtaking.
It's heartbreaking in so many ways.

sylvia said...Are you still in touch with the families you met while doing the interviews?

A.F. said...Yes, I'm in touch with the Lees, and also with most of their doctors, and with my interpreter and cultural broker, May Ying Xiong Ly. They're all very important to me.

Evil Editor said...Do all Hmong children learn the Hmong language, or do some just learn English now?

AF said...EE: Most young Hmong today are bilingual and bi-cultural. Many know English better than they know Hmong, but most can easily converse in both.

Dave F. said...When I read of the "spirits" of the house (even a mud floored house) and how they sanctified it, I thought about them being a forest culture with no real organized religion (like Christianity, Judaism or the polytheistic Greek and Rome pantheon) and it made sense. There were spirits around doing good and evil and they could be "talked" to and "bribed" ...

AF said...It's true that the Hmong didn't have a conventional "organized" religion, but animism is a pretty powerful cultural force. Spirituality played a far larger role in traditional Hmong culture than any religion does in our own culture.

sylvia said...I was very intrigued by the argument that the doctors weren't treating the soul, that made a lot of sense once phrased that way.

AF said..."Treating the soul": Yes, that was a crucial issue. If you believe that an illness has been caused by soul loss, then ignoring the soul means you're ignoring the most essential aspect.

Evil Editor said...Sad as Lia's case is, the saddest part for me was when the Hmong trekking to Thailand passed an abandoned baby and left it there. That takes true desperation.

AF said...That was emblematic of tragedies we can only begin to imagine. I remember when Dang Moua told me about that baby. He'd never gotten over it. However, he couldn't have taken it. He couldn't have fed or carried it.

sylvia said...I emailed my mother who said to tell you that she loved your book. I asked her for recollections, here is what she sent me:

We field tested a slide show on TB one time with different refugee
groups. The university who created the content had included info on
the history of TB (what?) and had several slides with explanations of
germs using clouds with faces to explain how germs travel. Refugee
clients who were part of the field test did worse on the post-test
than on the pre-test ... meaning they were much more confused after they
heard the information than before ( the information packet was
developed by doctors specifically for refugees).

I loved working with the families - they just soldiered on trying to
make sense of a totally new world

Do you remember the story of Moa one of my translators who was working
on a translation and asked if americnas really ate "flesh"? I thought
she meant meat but she said no she meant human flesh - I said
cannibalism? and explained what that meant and she said YES

I asked about the piece she was translating and it turned out that it was a
warning against eating mussels. She knew the word muscles from her
work in the health department which in Hmong was translated as flesh
and hence the confusion.

AF said...Sylvia: Please thank your mother for those fascinating recollections. The bottom line seems to be that the Hmong were actually being quite reasonable (for instance, confusing the homonyms muscles/mussels), and that their American "educators" hadn't yet figured out how to communicate effectively with them (hence the greater confusion after than before the TB slide show).

Dave F. said...I helped a Chinese Scientist translate papers on gasification of coal into English and there were all sorts of strange mistranslations. His government gave him the 6 week quicky Berlitz course in English and WOW, he did so much better than I would have done with Chinese. Colloquialisms were everywhere and ragingly awful to translate. Am I wrong in saying that the Hmong honor their children?

AF said...Dave: The Hmong do indeed love their children very much. However, on the whole it's riskier to make blanket statements today that begin "The Hmong do X . . ." than it was when they first arrived from Thai refugee camps in the late 70s and early 80s. As I mentioned earlier, they were much more homogeneous. Some Hmong have expressed understandable frustration that some Anglo readers assume nothing has changed since the period this book describes, even though 25 years have passed. The book isn't about the Hmong now.

Dave F. said...Yes, I understand the point. It was 25 years ago and we all change (and hopefully learn). One of the oddest things that I learned from the Chinese scientist was that he never drove a car, didn't have the desire to drive a car and didn't care -- mass transit, bikes and walking was good enough. I think we vaccinate our male babies at birth in the love of red, fast sporty convertibles with powerful engines.

Evil Editor said...Out of curiosity:
Do Hmong who've become doctors tend to work in Hmong communities?
Do members of Hmong gangs still sacrifice animals etc. ? We don't think of American gang members as religious/spiritual, but maybe Hmong are?

AF said...EE: I would guess that some Hmong doctors work in Hmong communities and some don't. (You see a pattern here: it's simply harder to generalize today about anything in Hmong-American culture than it was twenty or thirty years ago.) But I don't know, since my connection with the Hmong community is purely amateur these days. I'm in contact with my Hmong friends, but I'm not reporting on this topic any more.
Hmong gangs: I have no idea. There's certainly some animal sacrifice still going on among traditional Hmong animists, generally for healing purposes or at important life milestones (naming ceremonies, weddings, funerals). The animals all get eaten, so I'm not sure this should be seen as vastly weirder than buying burger meat at the Safeway.

Dave F. said...Round about 1995, I had the owner of a Chinese Restaurant that I knew very well and ate at twenty times a month tell me that his "old" clientele wanted the exotic foods -- that included dog and cat and other things we never eat in this country. That's not too long ago. the old are set in their ways.

Evil Editor said...They all taste like chicken drowned in soy sauce.

Dave F. said...HAHA - stuff like that does not pass my lips.

AF said...Just a reminder: The Hmong don't eat dogs.

sylvia said...I thought you did a really good job dealing with the economic issues in Merced, dealing with the issues from all different perspectives. That seems like it must have been a bit of a tightrope act to write.

AF said...Thanks. It didn't feel like a tightrope. I just wanted to be as accurate as I could. My role wasn't to defend one side or the other, just to enable the reader to understand both.

Evil Editor said...And a good job not making the doctors or the Hmong the good guys or the villains.

AF said...I was fortunate that both Lia's parents and her doctors were honorable, well-intentioned, and intelligent people. Believe me, if her parents had been abusive or her doctors had been racist, I would have put that in the book! But they weren't. In other words, reality rather than any sort of skilled juggling act provided the balance.

sylvia said...I loved how they were cheating on the driving test using cross stitch :)
Re: Doctors vs Hmong. Yes, that's another great example of balancing the different perspectives. Even though it was horrible that they took Lia away from her parents, I could understand the doctor's frustration that they were refusing to give the child her medication, "knowing" that they were risking brain damage when he was trying like crazy to treat her.

AF said...I have to say good-bye in five or ten minutes (which doesn't mean this chat needs to stop). Just wanted to let you all know that in case you're holding brilliant questions in reserve for the last moment!

Evil Editor said...I see you have a book of essays available, Anne; are you working on a book right now? Is book writing not your main thing?

AF said...Well, let's see. I've written a couple of books of essays since Spirit, and edited a couple of others. So essays have been my primary genre in recent years. I'm not working on a book at the moment because I'm teaching full-time at Yale while my writer husband works on a book. (We alternate.) I love the teaching, so this is anything but a hardship.

Evil Editor said...Yale. That was Evil Jr.'s safety school. Have you considered a book delving this deeply into some other culture?

AF said...I doubt I'd ever write another crosscultural book. I like new challenges, and I've already said pretty much everything I have to say on the subject. But I may do more writing on medical subjects. I've been brewing a couple of ideas in that realm.

Dave F. said...Like I said, I enjoyed the book and I enjoyed reading your comments.

AF said...Thanks so much, Dave. I'll hang on for a few more minutes in case anyone has a last question.

sylvia said...You may have mentioned this but what actually made you look into this in the first place? That is, what started the ball rolling?

AF said...An old college friend was the chief resident in family practice at the county hospital in Merced, CA. Bill told me about some of the conflicts between Hmong and their doctors once when we were catching up on the phone, as we did every few months. He didn't mention Lia, just the general idea of crosscultural communication problems. This was one of several story ideas I proposed to The New Yorker--in fact, probably the one about which I knew the least--and it was just a matter of chance that the editor chose it rather than another. It's amazing how completely one's life can be changed by such small, random events.

Evil Editor said...Thanks so much for coming. These chats are always more fun with the author.

sylvia said...Yes, thank you! The book was fascinating and it was great to be able to ask direct questions and hear more about your experiences.

AF said...To all: This was such a pleasure! Thanks for your thoughtful questions. When I was working on this book--an eight-year marathon--I thought about 17 people would read it, and in a couple of years it would be completely forgotten. So it's very cheering to converse with all of you. You've obviously read it carefully, and that's what every author dreams of.

Face-Lift 758


Guess the Plot

Voices


1. They don't stop. They drone on and on. They nitpick and complain and harangue and argue and drive Simone bonkers. Oddly enough, she's deaf. Also, a hot otologist.

2. With his homeland in chaos and the Inquisition on his tail, Ethan turns to his only weapon: his own voice as he reads his captivating poetry. As he says, A broadsword will quite often kill, but nothing's worse than listening to verse.

3. Telephone operator Doris Spellman is put out of work by a computer. When her son sends her a laptop for her fifty-eighth birthday, Doris vents her frustration on the laptop, which coughs up information on the machines' plot to destroy mankind. Can Doris save us all or will she be sent to a mental institution for hearing . . . Voices?

4. Uber-wealthy oil heiress Stephanie Barron has been deaf since infancy. But when the brilliant and handsome surgeon Karl Weidman says he'll restore her hearing if she'll marry him, she says yes... and discovers, post-surgery, that her new husband sounds like PeeWee Herman on helium.

5. A collection of essays taken from interviews with whoever would give the author the time of day.

6. Annoyed by arguments in the apartment above her, Deb Winkler investigates, only to find the loft deserted. One night she hears a violent fight break out and cowers in her apartment . . . until she hears cries for help coming from above—in her own voice.



Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Ethan is a poet with a rare gift. His poetry [actually rhymes.] can do more than captivate audiences: it can command thoughts, or even alter reality itself. As Ethan struggles to control his new abilities, he stumbles upon the grisly slaying of an Inquisition Operative. [We need to know what the Inquisition is, or else we're gonna think Spanish Inquisition. (If it is the Spanish Inquisition, change "operative" to God's Torture Squad.)] Sent to retrieve a dangerous artifact from a hidden shrine, the murdered agent was betrayed by his partner, and now the artifact is missing. [Actually, I'm pretty sure the partner has it, so it's not exactly "missing."] Without the artifact, Ethan's home, once a safe haven from the bustle and pollution of the city, is suddenly filled with misfortune and chaos. [Ethan's home was always without the artifact. It was in the shrine. Perhaps you mean Ethan's village or homeland. If you name his home it'll be easier to talk about it.] [Similarly, if you'd tell us what the artifact is, you wouldn't have to keep using the word "artifact." All I think of when I hear "artifact" is an old thing. Try reading the previous two sentences substituting "old thing" for "artifact": Sent to retrieve a dangerous old thing from a hidden shrine, yada yada, and now the old thing is missing. Without the old thing . . . See, it gets annoying.] At first trying to avoid trouble and stay out of the hands of the Inquisition, Ethan seeks only to further his poetry career. [You can make a career out of poetry? What kind of twisted world is this?] But with his friends kidnapped by a deranged criminal and Ethan pursued by the Inquisition, he can no longer remain uninvolved. [This seems to contradict the previous sentence to a degree. Trying to stay out of the Inquisition's hands, he focuses on poetry. But pursued by the Inquisition he can't stay uninvolved. In both cases the Inquisition is after him, so what changed?] Forced to confront his own cowardice Ethan must make a choice: continue to hide in coffee shops and gin dens, or learn to control his gift and find the stolen artifact before the home he loves is torn apart. [If you're hanging out in coffee shops, are you technically "hiding"?] [He was already struggling to control his abilities back in sentence 3, so how can you imply that only now must he decide whether to learn to control his gift?]

My novel VOICES, is a 100,000-word SteamPunk-Fantasy that will appeal to readers of both China Mielville [If you're gonna mention him, may as well spell his name right.] and Bruce Sterling.

Thank you considering my submission, the manuscript is available upon request.

Sincerely,


Notes

Your story starts when Ethan decides he must spring into action. But we get nothing about what happens after that. Less setup, more plot.

Recovering the artifact would be a bigger challenge if it were in the possession of the Inquisition rather than one guy.

Why is the Inquisition chasing a poet instead of their traitorous member? Do they think Ethan has the artifact?

It's not clear what you mean by his poetry can command thoughts and alter reality. What, exactly, can he do? Change history? Make every member of the Inquisition think, I must commit suicide immediately? How does he know his poetry has these powers?

We don't need the friends who've been kidnapped, as they're not mentioned anywhere else.

Paragraphing would help. After the 2nd sentence and after "chaos."

Maybe you should start from scratch: When the Jade Scarab is stolen from Numbville's sacred shrine, the village plunges into chaos, and only cowardly poet Ethan Milktoast can halt the descent. To do so means taking on the Inquisition, an organization dedicated to the eradication of rhyme.

Ethan's poetry can command thoughts, or even alter reality itself. But before he can use it to take down the diabolical Inquisition, he must learn to control it. He must learn when to attack with blank verse and when to defend with a rhyming couplet. He must learn the risks of reciting a Haiku and accidentally using the wrong number of syllables. And that no matter how perilous his situation, he must never, never attack with a Limerick.


That pretty much covers your setup, and still leaves room to tell us about the climactic poetry slam.

Photoplay Challenge Results

The task was to write a dialogue scene using any or all of six provided photographs. I chose the submission below to display with speech bubbles. The other two submissions are in the comments. This one is by Whirlochre:












Cartoon 623

Caption: Angie

Your caption on the next cartoon! Link in sidebar.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Fake Query 5

Face-Lift 454: Stellar


Dear Editor,

The iguana says your breath stinks, but I don’t like the iguana and so I thought it’d be a good idea to query you with my 300,000 word autobiography about Aunt Marge’s alien abduction.

I think the iguana is really an alien, but I don’t know for sure. It’s a really good liar. We always thought Aunt Marge was the liar, always cracking these jokes about a talking lizard in her backyard and a spaceship in her barn. It turns out she kept a straight face because she wasn’t joking.

When she disappeared, I flew out to Orlando to see if I could find anything. I’ve always been good about finding things, but finding Aunt Marge has been hard. I haven’t found her yet, but I figured I’d write this all down better if I did it right away. So there’ll be a sequel once I find her.

It could be the aliens who her, because of the spaceship in her barn and the oil stains on the grass. But the iguana says it wasn’t the aliens. I think either the aliens that left the spaceship got her or the iguana ate her. So, when you call me up with an offer, I’d like some advice: if I eat the iguana, is it cannibalism?

Sincerely,

Todd

--_*rachel*_

Fake Query 4

Face-Lift 366: Mysteries and Cemeteries


When ace homicide detective Bob Bungle discovers that everyone in the Eternal Rest cemetery is dead, he knows two things: there must be a crazed serial killer on the loose, and he won't need to stop at the florist shop to bring his wife flowers tonight. Bungle has one clue: the killer is an anal organization freak, having taken the trouble of labeling each corpse, putting their names and dates of death on stone tablets like butterflies in a display box.

In an obvious effort to taunt Bungle, the killer also buried each of his victims under several feet of earth. Bungle hires a night work crew to dig up the bodies and bust open the boxes in which the killer concealed them. Unfortunately, most of the victims have been dead several decades, leaving behind little or no forensic evidence, like when a body is burned and the ashes are thrown into sulfuric acid, but not that bad.

Bob Bungle specializes in digging into cold cases, and this one's spent ages buried in the homicide vaults like pirate booty. But when Bungle discovers that Eternal Rest isn't the only killing field, that they're spread all over town like Starbucks but without WiFi, he realizes he may finally be in over his head.

Mysteries and Cemeteries is the fifth in a series of unpublished Bob Bungle mysteries. Thank you.

--Evil Editor

Fake Query 3

Face Lift 168: Over Their Heads


OVER THEIR HEADS is a 100K novel about a couple searching for acceptance in a cold, cruel dystopia that rejects its past as politically incorrect.

Hearkening back to big game hunters of the Nineteenth century Carol and Tim invite their friends to share in the bounty of the beasts they've killed in an ambience worthy of the great hunters; Tarzan, Mandingo, Wily Coyote and Zulu. As Tim says; me like game, me like big gun: boom-boom, bang-bang. But there is a catch, while most people bury their dead relatives in the cemetery or keep the ashes in urns on mantles, Carol and Tim shrink and mount their dead relative's heads to display in the dining room for the admiration of their guests. As Carol says -- aren't our relatives as exciting as your stamp collection, or a fine piece of art, or bronzed baby shoes, or prized bull semen.

When Carol and Ted unveil their B&B in the bucolic community of Deadhorse, Alaska, they struggle with their friends, their neighbors, the local police, the FBI, the CIA, Interpol. They have that hopey-changey thing going and they can see Grandpa Horace from their porch, but can they convince their dinner guests that deceased relatives deserve a place of honor? Or will they be doomed to eat alone in dark, dank prison cells? Will this query pass muster with EE or will it die in giggling terror; mocked, escoffiered, scorned and defenestrated? Inquiring minds want to know.

Thank you,

Bob and Alice

--Dave F.

Fake Query 2

Facelift 14: Trevor's Song


What happens when a boy who is as awkward as a drunken giraffe on roller skates accidentally sets the heart of a lonely lady on fire?

Trevor is 12, socially inept, pimply, and basically failing his way through 7th grade. Not academically failing, mind you--just failing in every way that society deems worse than falling off the Empire State Building with a bag of pianos. Girls ignore him, jocks stomp him, and his only friend is his dog. And even she bites sometimes.

But beneath his thick glasses & nerd clothes the heart of a poet beats true. He crafts a sonnet, a paean to passion, and like a true hero in an internet novella he spams it to the world. Maybe, he hopes, someone won't kick in his door and beat him like a baby seal.

Cora is a lonely, plump, forty-three year old secretary who has never known the joy of love. Oh, she's had flings, but those ended faster than a bad tweet. Something about all her cats. Anyway, one fateful day as she dispiritedly opens her increasingly pointless email, she discovers Trevor's sonnet.

Someone Cares. And that someone knows her well enough to tell her story in verse, painting a loving picture of the woman she is inside.

Can Cora and Trevor ever meet? Will it all collapse into a domino pile of misunderstanding, pain and heartache? Will she be arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor? Or can these two crazy outcasts find true, real love in an increasingly cynical and soulless world?

Trevor's Song is complete at 256,879 words. I am a journalism major at West Des Moines College of the Woods at Raccoon River. I look forward to hearing from you.

--Khazar-khum