Poor, Poor, Cynical Me

After writing a snubnopsis – a typo that caught me off guard. Freudian slip? My dark side asserted its opinion about having an agent read it and react positively? Don’t know.

Okay, to begin again, after writing the synopsis and submitting twenty queries, I was alternatively discouraged and excited. I’m told that all writers endure these cycles. I endure mine in edgy desperation, not sharing it with anyone outside of my posts. Not asking for a shoulder, mind you, just stating facts.

I’m always disappointed in the submission process. One, some agents are so nebulous and wishy-washy about what they’re looking for, offering scant evidence of what’ll attract them. Many fall back on that old expression, “good writing”. They know it when they read it.

Two, some of them offer a huge buffet of wants. They want it all. Send it all to them! Hurry.

Anyway, though, that done, the writing mind struck out on a hunt for a new story. I’m due to write a third book in a series, after e-publishing the first two. The problem that I face is that I’ve outlined the third book, so it feels like it’s already written, or something. Muses are sirens with other ideas. That’s why I’ve eschewed outlining. I prefer pantsing. It feels like the territory is always new and fresh when I follow an unplotted, organic trail.

Oh, boy. What I know, though, is that I want and need to write, to begin again, to follow the muses, find a story, and write it. I dislike the downtown. I’m addicted to drifting through the day, imagining characters and their situations. As usual, after careful consideration, I’ll do something impulsive. Then I’ll start writing like crazy.

Flight is boarding now. Later, gators.