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I've been trying to apply Nicki's wisdom to the query letter, and it gets more and more like a synopsis. Fooey. I guess it'll have a bunch of synopsis in it.
Mostly though it's been a lost weekend so far. I've been eating too much and veging. But I read Spirits in the Wires by Charles de Lint and re-read Seven-Day Magic by Edward Eager.
I don't quite have a handle on Charles de Lint. He's got great ideas, and he appears to be intending to write down there where I like stories to be, but everything and everybody in his books are so precious. Nobody ever eats macaroni or chow mein -- everybody eats tomato-basil-feta salad. They drink chai and espresso. But all the time. Everybody has a cute name. Half the population of the town is a cute supernatural. I mean a cute supernatural. And everybody's either in their twenties or ancient beyond reckoning. And they're all artists and writers and musicians -- the most prosaic is a book editor for the newspaper. No, the most prosaic is a super hacker computer nerd at the newspaper. And he romanticizes street people. I think he's intending not to, but he does. I hope The Conduit doesn't seem like that. I mean, I have some of the same elements: supernatural character, a musician and an artist somewhere around the story, some chic food, homeless people. But well. I hope not precious.
What's a vegetable dish that people eat for Easter? My inlaws always do ham and stuff and I'm supposed to do vegetables and this year I'd like it to be something traditional.
Meanwhile, the nice fellow and Frank are marvelling at the milk I bought at Trader Joe's, which does not appear to have been homogenized.
And we didn't go to Point Reyes because of the rain, but now we're thinking to go to Death Valley right after I have a couple of teeth pulled next week so we can see the wildflowers.
Mostly though it's been a lost weekend so far. I've been eating too much and veging. But I read Spirits in the Wires by Charles de Lint and re-read Seven-Day Magic by Edward Eager.
I don't quite have a handle on Charles de Lint. He's got great ideas, and he appears to be intending to write down there where I like stories to be, but everything and everybody in his books are so precious. Nobody ever eats macaroni or chow mein -- everybody eats tomato-basil-feta salad. They drink chai and espresso. But all the time. Everybody has a cute name. Half the population of the town is a cute supernatural. I mean a cute supernatural. And everybody's either in their twenties or ancient beyond reckoning. And they're all artists and writers and musicians -- the most prosaic is a book editor for the newspaper. No, the most prosaic is a super hacker computer nerd at the newspaper. And he romanticizes street people. I think he's intending not to, but he does. I hope The Conduit doesn't seem like that. I mean, I have some of the same elements: supernatural character, a musician and an artist somewhere around the story, some chic food, homeless people. But well. I hope not precious.
What's a vegetable dish that people eat for Easter? My inlaws always do ham and stuff and I'm supposed to do vegetables and this year I'd like it to be something traditional.
Meanwhile, the nice fellow and Frank are marvelling at the milk I bought at Trader Joe's, which does not appear to have been homogenized.
And we didn't go to Point Reyes because of the rain, but now we're thinking to go to Death Valley right after I have a couple of teeth pulled next week so we can see the wildflowers.