Happy Hedgehog Day

Earlier today, I did a little blog post about brainstorming. But what I didn't tell you in that post, is that I'm also in the beginning stages of working on a little story that I kind-of love.

It all started a few months ago, when I was reading a very interesting blog post about hedgehogs. Long story short. Apparently, we Americans, have had it all wrong when it comes to weather predicting animals. In ancient Rome, the hedgehog was actually the reigning super weather predictor. And when immigrants settled in the Americas, they replaced these spiney, little meteorologists with the most hedgehog-looking creature that they could find in America, the local groundhog.

So all these years, we've been consulting the wrong animal for weather advice.

Well, to be honest, I thought that this historical fact was hilarious, and too great to pass up. So lately, I've been working on a little story involving the two, groundhogs and hedgehogs. And in the end, a very rough draft of 'Happy Hedgehog Day' was born.

'Happy Hedgehog Day' is a funny picturebook manuscript about a groundhog that's afraid of her own shadow(quite literally), and crotchity old hedgehog who comes to the rescue. So stay tuned for details about that:)

And in the meantime, check out the article for yourself. You may just find the article amusing, too.
http://voices.washingtonpost.com/blog-post/2011/02/groundhog_day_2011_is_punxsuta.html

What's New In Writerland?

I think this song pretty much sums it up. Feel free to imagine me singing this song whilst I brainstorm new picturebook ideas.




But in actuality, I'm probably listening to this song whilst I brainstorm.



I'd like to think of myself as a hip mom and writer. And the fact that I just said 'hip', just goes to show you how unhip I actually am;)

You're probably picturing the lady in mom jeans who still wants to be cool, so she listens to all the latest bands and keeps up on all the trends. And if you are......you'd be right-o.

Waiting and Heartache

This week, I finally did it. I finally sent out my story 'The Barnyard Exercise'.After much debate and advice my from awesome critique group and writers on Writeoncon, I finally deemed it ready for the eyes of literary agents throughout the word-well, mostly New York, anyway.

'And how's that going?' you ask.

Well, not so good.

The day after I submitted my story, I got a bite. Yippee! Hooray! I'm on my way! A literary agent liked my query, so I sent in my 150 word manuscript to the agent with all the hope that a heart could hope.

And.... he didn't like it. Wah! Wah! Wah! Heartache!

He did have some very positive things to say about the manuscript, however. So I'm not going to consider it a complete wash.

So now what?

Well, I wait and hope some more. Maybe others will like my little ms. After all, 'Carrie' received like 30 rejections before someone decided to publish that work of genius. And 'Gone with the Wind', received 38 rejections. And that is a classic, my friends.

Not that I'm saying 'Barnyard Exercise' is the same league as either of those books. That would be laughable.

But am I saying, that one rejection isn't going to cause me to cower beneath the covers, or shake beneath the sheets. I will hold onto hope until the very last rejection comes back. And even then, I will search for even the smallest hint of advice, and use it to make my story better. Because my little story is cute and original, I tell ya. And I believe it could be successful.

So my questions to you guys and gals are these: Have you ever had an experience like this? Did your story get picked up eventually, or did you give up? What advice do you have for other writers ont this particular subject?
=

Kids Say the Darndest Things

So today, I was huddled in my computer room, sending out query-after-query, when my four year old happened into the room.

"Whatcha doing, mommy?" he asks, as he removes his saliva soaked thumb from his mouth.

"Well, buddy," I start to answer, as if he'll know what I'm talking about. "Mommy is sending out her story today. You see, if mommy ever wants to see her story become a book, I have to send it to people who can make that happen."

Suddenly, Josh shrieks. "No, mom, I wanna hear your story every day! If you send it out, I will never get to hear it!"

To which I reply, "It's okay, buddy. I have a copy. And when it gets published, I promise that you'll be the first person to get a signed copy."

Josh looks at me with a raised brow. " What's that?" he asks, innocently.

To which I respond with a hug, "Nevermind, I guess you have to be five to appreciate that!" and chuckle.

Then, of course, I retell my picturebook, from memory.

And Josh, says all the words with me:)

God, I love my kids!

Add A Little Extra

Want to add a little something extra to your blog?

Try adding a custom signature. Follow the link, and give it a try.

http://shabbyblogsblog.blogspot.com/2009/05/tutorial-how-to-add-custom-signature-to.html

Hotbed Of Out-Of-Control Behavior

Today my household is a hotbed of out-of-control behavior. Little boys are zooming through the house, like tasmian devils on a sugar highs. Little boys are are jumping from couch-to-couch, like mischievous monkeys. And little boys are eating a buffet of semi-sugary treats and drinks that would cause a full-grown adult to go into a sugar coma.

'Why in the world am I allowing this anarchy to continue?' you ask.

Research.

Today is all about perusing the internet for the agents, and finding the perfect super-group of agents to send my story to.

For the past year and half, I have worked on my craft. I have read books, articles, and blogs. I have participated in online critique groups and attended online conferences. I have even submitted one picturebook story to about 3 agents...total.

But today, is all about up-ing my game. I've talked the big talk, and now I'll walk the big walk. And in order to do that, I need to take it to the next level.

So what is the next level?

The next level, is researching pb agents until my eyes bleed, apparently. It's looking at submission guidelines-so long and so hard-that I walk away with away with a small group of feint black dots swirling around in front of my eyes, and a migraine that would bring a horse to his knees.

But, surprisingly, I'm enjoying it. The kids are playing semi-nicely. I haven't had to intercede....yet, anyway. And I'm appreciating the VERY lengthy guidelines and agents descriptions.

Because,hey, I don't want to wast my time and money either.


So, I'll continue researching until my eyes bleed. And I'll allow the anarchy to continue in my household-at least, until it seems like my children have had way too many sugary treats, and I simply must intercede with an apple or some grapes.

And I won't feel the least bit guilty. Because, hey, I am living my dream. And a good mother shows her children balance. And a good mother plays with her children and still shoots for the stars. And a good mother can do it all.

Right?

Ok. So maybe I'm feeling a little bit guilty about trying to do it all. But a good mother always worries, right?

RIGHT?

The Song of the City

Warning: This poem was written for the sheer fun of it. I have not checked it for meter or syllable count. Nor have I have lost any sleep over it-mostly because I wrote it an hour ago.

Sometimes you just have to write what's in your heart, without any intention of it being published traditionally. And on this day, in particular, I was just thinking about the background noise of the world, and how its like lullaby of sorts.

The Song of the City
As I lay in bed, with my eyes shut tight,
The glow of the street lamps light up the night.
With a zip and a zat, they click on like that.
And I hear the song of the city.

As the planes fly by, like a flash in the sky,
The sounds of their engines soar upon high.
With a woosh and a creek, tiny flaps start to squeak.
And I hear the song of the city.

As the cabs speed past, with their fares in tow.
They race through the night in the streets below.
With a honk and a beep, as I try to sleep.
And I hear the song of the city.

As the train chugs on, like a sad soft song,
With a haunting refrain, that I must sing along.
With a choo and a choo, I feel like a snooze,
As I hear the song of the city.

As my eyes flip flap, like the wings of a dove.
And the stars blink high, in the sky above.
With a ZZZZZZ like a roar, I begin to snore.
And I add to the song of the city.