SILENT MAN'S SILENCE IS TROUBLING

It looks black when nothing inspires me.......

I'm sorry I've neglected this blog for so many days, but a couple of days I was in Spokane watching my youngest son, Patrick, perform with his improv group at the Bartlett. Sold out, lots of laughter. The Bartlett is an interesting venue. A bar, an espresso joint and a performance room in the back are interconnected. Later we walked Spokane's downtown streets, and it is a jumping place nowadays, people spilling out on the sidewalks. We couldn't find a quiet bar where we could talk so we ended up at the Onion where I got myself a bowl of their forever great onion soup. So delicious. My oldest son Sean and my daughter-in-law Sheila are coming over to visit, and Mertie and I are looking forward to visiting and maybe playing some board games.
 
On the other hand, many days these days, doldrums set in and nothing creative goes on in my head—"NOTHING," he shouts—and it's scary. These days I have to have a particularly sharp day in order to work at something. My inspiration is weak and faltering. I ask myself if it will completely disappear someday soon. 

On yet a third hand, I do sit down and submit poetry, short stories to magazines and queries to agents for the novel. Working at that does give me a sense of accomplishment. Currently, I have between 15 and 20 submissions out.

FOURBYTWO ON BOARD THE GOOD SHIP BOOMERBEATNIK

Ten days between entries here. Sorry. Last night and this morning, this old writer got to work and submitted five short stories for consideration at five literary magazines. Also sent two more queries about my novel, Programming Frank Singletary. Feels productive. My reading at this time is the anthology, Cutbank 83, which I received as part of my unsuccessful entry into its recent short story competition. Some of the work within its pages fascinates me. A style I don't yet understand, but I'm willing to understand, at least as willing as Copperfield's Barkis ever was. I believe some young writers might be trying to write stories as robots might write them or by revealing their tales through the eyes of a person without free will. Not sure. Just a guess. I'd like it to be true as it's about time writers align ourselves with the facts. I may be too old to catch up or on.

Also, the most recent FourByTwo is in my hungry clutches. As usual, the look of the little magazine is classy and the poetry sassy. That word choice and rhyme are almost so awful they ought not be connected to the fine thing that FourByTwo is. I'm showing you a couple of poems that are by klipschutz. The other poet is Michael Earl Craig. Craig, by the way, hails from Dayton, Ohio, my own birthplace. Most of the time, I select for sample the poet who is not klipschutz, but this time I went the other way. This is not a comment on Craig's work. It's just that I thought klipschutz ought to have a turn in this blog. Money is becoming an issue for them. Doesn't it always?

REJECTION, SUBMISSION...AN OLD FAMILIAR SONG

Yesterday, agent Molly Jaffa replied to my query email for my novel, Angie's Choice. She parried my query with an amicable and brief rejection email thrust.

Dear Mr. Thomas,

Thank you for thinking of me for this. Though I truly appreciate the chance to consider your work, I don't quite feel that I've connected with your material enough to be the best possible agent for it. Please know that this business is highly subjective, and that what doesn't work for one agent may work perfectly for another. I wish you the best of luck as you move forward with your writing career.

Best,

Molly Jaffa
Folio Literary Management

Photo from Writer's Digest article.

So much for my thinking I sensed a like mind for that novel. The lonely business of spreading one's queries over the shrinking field of literary agents continues. Will one bloom every appear in that poisoned field again? Despair is never far away when one embarks on the nearly hopeless task of seeking an agent.

My sights are now zeroed in on Mr. Paul Lucas with Janklow and Nesbit Associates, another young face in an old agency. So many agents are young faces nowadays. Endless photos of unwrinkled, unworried faces. Does this mean that agencies are hiring younger agents to tell them what's what when it comes to younger readers? That would be the smart thing to do...a changing of the guard...which makes this old, weak in the haunches, 75 year old's task appear even harder. However, Mr. Lucas has got a nice, intelligent face, doesn't he, and good luck to him.

Meanwhile, I continue the rewrite for my novel, Delinquent Lives, with input from the meet up group Write To Publish, and I'm hoping to see one or two poems appear in a local anthology. More on that later.