Adventures in Fiction Writing! Part Ten: Querying Your Frickin' Heart Out

You read my pathetic attempt at a first draft for my Query. And you didn't laugh TOO hard, which I totally appreciate. I wish that was all I had to do, but unfortunately it's not. That was just the beginning. Now I have to trim it down and tighten it up. And I'm going to share that process with you! (Feeling lucky?)

Edits in red. Text that is strike-through indicates I'm considering removing it.
Here goes: 

Second Draft

All hope is never lost. Not even in Nowhere. Good line. That stays. 

Cerulean and Amarillo Saffron are sisters separated by guilt, regret, and a secret the Ardor Laboratory Corporation will go to any lengths to protect. Only hope can reunite them and save the Lost Children of Nowhere. Amarillo hasn't seen her baby sister since the day she disappeared from their family home nine years ago. The older sister is plagued by guilt: if she hadn't left home, if she hadn't sought an exciting life in Somewhere, maybe she could have saved Cerulean. A chance assignment given to her by her boss, Mayor Naples Orange of Somewhere, proves to Amarillo that there was nothing she could have done all those years ago to protect Cerulean. It also gives the spunky young woman something else she sorely needs--hope that it is still possible to save her sister, and all the other Lost Children who are trapped in the neighboring city of Nowhere.

All Amarillo has to do is find a way to get inside Nowhere Rewrite! To save the Lost Children, Amarillo has to get inside Nowhere. That is no small feat. No one in Somewhere can remember anyone ever being able to get in or out of their sister city, except maybe Nowhere's mayor, the boogeyman Mayor Blue. But Amarillo knows she can do it, even if she has to do it alone. Mayor Orange is busy with his pet road project, the Roy G. Biv highway that will connect Somewhere and Nowhere and hopefully spur economic growth. Also there is the issue of the continued hope theft from the emotion recycling plant. At first Amarillo thinks she may be able to turn to Deputy Mayor Scarlet for help, but when she spots him inside Nowhere--on the other side of the seemingly impenetrable force field that seals that city off from the rest of the world--with an armload of stolen emotion actuators, she knows he is up to no good.

What is Somewhere's deputy mayor doing? Maybe it has something to do with The Outlawz, the elusive gang of saboteurs who have been attacking the road construction from the very beginning. Both Mayor Orange and the Somewhere Times have surmised that The Outlawz are probably a youth gang comprised of Lost Children. No one has any suggestions about what the saboteurs' motives might be, but when Amarillo sees Deputy Scarlet inside Nowhere with the pilfered hope, she gets an idea.

The more Amarillo digs into the problem of the Lost Children, the more she realizes it's not just a Nowhere issue. It's a Somewhere issue. The histories of Nowhere and Somewhere are inextricably connected, and they are tied to the secret that the Ardor Labs Corporation--the largest employer in Somewhere and the biggest supporter of the Roy G. Biv highway--will do anything to keep buried. Amarillo finds an ally in Somewhere Times reporter Fern Viridian, and together, they--along with Mayor Orange--fight to unravel that secret and free the Lost Children.

What Amarillo doesn't know is that the Lost Children have not been sitting passively by, waiting to be rescued. Led by her intrepid little sister Cerulean and former Outlawz members Azure and Denim, they have been fighting: against the other Outlawz, against Deputy Mayor Scarlet, and even against the evil Mayor Blue. When the battle finally unites the forces from Somewhere and the forces from Nowhere, they are ready to stand together and vanquish their foes with their strength and their hope restored.

ROAD TO NOWHERE, a young adult urban fantasy novel, is complete at just over 77,000 words.

Well...it's a start? I'm submitting this slightly-revised second draft to The Saturday Slash query critique because I really super-duper need help in knowing how to trim this sucker down.

Don't Diss the DREW! What Nancy Drew Did Right

What this post IS: A countdown of the Top Five things that the original Nancy Drew series did WELL in relation to presenting a woman-centered book series aimed at a young female audience.

What this post ISN'T: A space to air our (well-founded) grievances about the numerous ways in which the series fell short of its goal. Because we all know it did. We all know that the Nancy Drew mysteries were, in many ways, cheesy and paternalistic and sometimes surprisingly racist. But I don't want to get caught up in that, because to do so would be to ignore the HUGELY positive impact this book series and this feminist icon has had on generations of women. Besides, I intend to write up that post another day.

This summer I've made it a point to dive back into my large and growing collection of Nancy Drew mysteries. I have now acquired nearly ALL of the Yellow Cover hardbacks. Alas I've only found a couple of the original-original editions. I've also started to slowly gather some of the later, revamped Nancy Drew mysteries.

Titles I've Read This Summer

Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys Super Mystery: Terror on Tour*

The Ghost of Blackwood Hall

False Notes*

I'm nearly finished reading The Moonstone Castle Mystery

Next I'll read The Hidden Window Mystery

*Denotes a book from the later, revamped and modernized series of books.

I love Nancy Drew. Here are five reasons why.

What Nancy Drew Did Right

(5) Nancy knew how to prioritize. When Nancy worked a mystery she always stayed on top of it, and she never let her guard down. Yes, she was an amateur sleuth but she didn't behave like an amateur. On the other hand, she also didn't let the case completely overtake her life. Unlike many of her modern-day mystery-solving counterparts--I'm looking at you, Adrian Monk--Nancy Drew knew when it was time to take the afternoon or the evening off for a bit of relaxation. If Ned and his friends threw a soiree at their frat house, Nancy, Bess and George would never turn down their invitation. And frequently the change in scenery helped clear Nancy's head enough to allow her to see the mystery from a new angle.

(4) Nancy was always prepared. The Boy Scouts ain't got shit on Nancy Drew. Wherever her mysteries took the sleuth, Nancy always correctly predicted what tools she would need, and she never failed to bring them. In The Moonstone Castle Mystery, Ned joked that it was because of his girlfriend Nancy that he always carried a flashlight on him. Because you just never know when you'll need it.

(3) Nancy worked WITH the authorities, not AGAINST them. Again, I realize that Nancy Drew was just an amateur detective, but unlike many of her contemporaries in fiction and on TV, she never squared off against the local police or engaged in any type of one-ups-manship. Nancy's aim was always to get to the bottom of the mystery and bring whatever baddie she was chasing to justice, and whenever it seemed the best course of action was to either enlist the aid of the authorities or to turn a portion of the case over to them, she did just that. Nancy didn't have a fragile ego. It didn't hurt her to ask for help.

(2) Nancy was a consummate professional. Nancy was the picture of poise. She could handle herself in nearly any setting, and with nearly any adversary. She was polished, articulate, and tactful--but she was also firm and resolute. Nancy knew how to ask questions to get answers. BUT! She also knew when to shut up, and when to walk away. She was equally at home querying elderly spinsters, road-hardened thugs, and bank presidents.

AND! The NUMBER ONE thing Nancy Drew did right...

(1) Nancy Drew never sent a man to do a woman's job. Probably the thing that kept (and keeps) generations of young girls reading Nancy Drew is that, while she was grateful to have a well-connected father and a strong, understanding boyfriend, Nancy Drew was no wilting daisy. She recruited Carson Drew and Ned to help when she needed it, because she wasn't stupid, but she never ever ever felt the need to turn the dangerous jobs over to the men, even when her cousin Bess asked her to. Nancy was strong, fearless, and responsible. When she took on a mystery SHE meant to solve it. Herself. Whatever her detractors might say, Nancy Drew was a feminist.

I've reviewed a couple of Nancy Drew titles in more depth. You can read about them here and here. 

Adventures in Fiction Writing! Part Nine: Query Writing the Hard Way

I was going to subtitle this post Query Writing for Dummies, because I'm a dummy and I'm embarking on the first draft of the query letter for my MS (that's manuscript for you non-writing types), but I was afraid that y'all would assume that I'm calling YOU dummies. Then I got all flustered and turned around and was all: what am I going to call this post, then? And I chased those anxieties down the rabbit hole for a bit. Eventually I made it out and remembered what I'm supposed to be doing here:

Writing the goddamned first draft of my goddamned query letter.

So let's get the fuck on with it!

The very best piece of advice I ever received concerning query writing comes from a query-writing help book my amazing and super supportive boyfriend Brandon bought me. It's called Make it Catchy: The Quintessential Guide to Writing Query Letters by Marta Acosta. It's available as an ebook and you can buy it here.

Acosta says:

I suggest that you write a first draft without worrying about the word count. Then revise your letter to make it as tight and as intriguing as possible.

If you're like me, you read that line and breathed a sigh of relief. Because I've been pretty much paralyzed by the thought of having to summarize my book in a catchy, unique way--while following all the rules of convention and without getting TOO unique--all in 750 words or less. But I think I can give it a pretty good go without being shackled by the word count.

Here it is, in all its lengthy glory:

Query Letter: First Draft

All hope is never lost. Not even in Nowhere.

Cerulean and Amarillo Saffron are sisters separated by guilt, regret, and a secret the Ardor Laboratory Corporation will go to any lengths to protect. Only hope can reunite them and save the Lost Children of Nowhere. Amarillo hasn't seen her baby sister since the day she disappeared from their family home nine years ago. The older sister is plagued by guilt: if she hadn't left home, if she hadn't sought an exciting life in Somewhere, maybe she could have saved Cerulean. A chance assignment given to her by her boss, Mayor Naples Orange of Somewhere, proves to Amarillo that there was nothing she could have done all those years ago to protect Cerulean. It also gives the spunky young woman something else she sorely needs--hope that it is still possible to save her sister, and all the other Lost Children who are trapped in the neighboring city of Nowhere.

All Amarillo has to do is find a way to get inside Nowhere, which is no small feat as no one in Somewhere can remember anyone ever being able to get in or out of their sister city, except maybe Nowhere's mayor, the boogeyman Mayor Blue. But Amarillo knows she can do it, even if she has to do it alone. Mayor Orange is busy with his pet road project, the Roy G. Biv highway that will connect Somewhere and Nowhere and hopefully spur economic growth. Also there is the issue of the continued hope theft from the emotion recycling plant. At first Amarillo thinks she may be able to turn to Deputy Mayor Scarlet for help, but when she spots him inside Nowhere--on the other side of the seemingly impenetrable force field that seals that city off from the rest of the world--with an armload of stolen emotion actuators, she knows he is up to no good.

But what, exactly, is Somewhere's deputy mayor doing? Maybe it has something to do with The Outlawz, the elusive gang of saboteurs who have been attacking the road construction from the very beginning. Both Mayor Orange and the Somewhere Times have surmised that The Outlawz are probably a youth gang comprised of Lost Children. No one has any suggestions about what the saboteurs' motives might be, but when Amarillo sees Deputy Scarlet inside Nowhere with the pilfered hope, she gets an idea.

The more Amarillo digs into the problem of the Lost Children, the more she realizes it's not just a Nowhere issue. It's a Somewhere issue. The histories of Nowhere and Somewhere are inextricably connected, and they are tied to the secret that the Ardor Labs Corporation--the largest employer in Somewhere and the biggest supporter of the Roy G. Biv highway--will do anything to keep buried. Amarillo finds an ally in Somewhere Times reporter Fern Viridian, and together, they--along with Mayor Orange--fight to unravel that secret and free the Lost Children.

What Amarillo doesn't know is that the Lost Children have not been sitting passively by, waiting to be rescued. Led by her intrepid little sister Cerulean and former Outlawz members Azure and Denim, they have been fighting: against the other Outlawz, against Deputy Mayor Scarlet, and even against the evil Mayor Blue. When the battle finally unites the forces from Somewhere and the forces from Nowhere, they are ready to stand together and vanquish their foes with their strength and their hope restored.

ROAD TO NOWHERE, a young adult urban fantasy novel, is complete at just over 77,000 words.

This is obviously waaaaaay too long. Also, it's very rough. But it's a start. Now I NEED your help. I am completely out of my element with this query writing business. I've read helpful books and helpful blogs on the subject, but what I really need is feedback. PLEASE LEAVE ME COMMENTS. Tell me, if anything, in this first draft works, and what doesn't. What should I cut? Should I add anything?

HELP ME!!

Once Upon Another Lifetime...

Let me tell you a story...

This story begins eighteen years ago. It was 1996, 2 years after I graduated from the streets. I was a new mom. My daughter Meredith was just three or four months old. Her dad and I were young--I was 20 and he was 22--and we were poor and had no idea what we were doing. And we'd just moved back in with his parents. I had half an inkling that maybe I should get my GED, because high-school drop-outs accomplish nothing. Of course I had no idea what I might want to accomplish. Just...something. Anything more than nothing.

1996: the year Alanis Morissette showed the world that she doesn't know the meaning of the word "ironic."
1996: the year all of America was doing the Macarena.

1996: the year my dreams started.

I had my first dream on a week night. Back then me and Meredith's dad didn't sleep in a bed. I mean, we had a bed but we didn't use it. One of us had read something somewhere about how sleeping on a hard surface is better for you or something so every night we laid blankets and sheets down on the carpet in front of the couch and slept there. Merely thinking about this makes my 38-year-old bones ache, but we were young and it really did seem to help my sore post-childbirth muscles.

(My ex's parent's bedroom was right beneath ours. His mom used to complain that she could hear me snoring through the floor.)

I was exhausted when I went to bed that night because I was exhausted twenty-four-hours-a-day back then because I was the mom of an infant who seemed to be incapable of sleeping more than two hours in a row. So, as was normal for me at the time, I fell into REM sleep almost immediately after I closed my eyes. Then: BOOM! The dream started.

 The Dream

I'm going to spend some time describing THE DREAM to you now, because I'm going to be referring to it for the entirety of this story, and I want you to have a clear picture of it in your head. 

I was in a large old-fashioned house. It was a four-story rectangular building. In the middle of the structure there was a large open space filled with ornate Victorian furniture and so many trees, flowers, and potted plants that it gave you the illusion of being outside. The open space stretched up all the way to the roof. Each of the floors wrapped around it, so that if you were standing in the middle of the first floor and looking up, you would see three nearly identical floors above you bordered by an intricate railing that looked to be wrought iron. I couldn't see the ceiling in my dream, but I imagined there to be a skylight or something like it up there because of the large amount of sunlight that shone down. 

There were many, many bedrooms in this old house. They lined the walls that wrapped around the open space on each of the four floors. I had a sense that there was more--perhaps a lot more--to the house than that, even, but I didn't stray far from the middle of the house in that first dream, and rarely did in the years that followed. 

I need to stress that in all my dreams before this one--before THE DREAM--I almost never dreamed in full color. It's not that I dreamed in black and white, but colors in my dreams tend to be muted and the images are sort of fuzzy. In my dreams it's as if I'm looking at the world with my glasses off while half-asleep and also hungover. 

THE DREAM, however, was in full-on technicolor. Dreaming THE DREAM was like being Dorothy and making the transition from black-and-white Kansas to beautiful, gorgeous, colorful, acid-induced Oz. I saw every pink and red and yellow flower. I made out the gold accents in the wallpaper. I could practically see my reflection in the polished wood desks and tables that seemed to be everywhere. The sheer beauty of the place was overwhelming.  

My ex was with me in the house. I seemed to be showing him around, sort of like a tour guide. I took him to a bedroom that was on (I think) the first floor. There was a canopy bed inside. I did something to the wall and it opened up, revealing a darkened passage. 

"This is the secret passage," I said.

Then I was filled with the purest terror and the strongest sense of deja vu that I had ever felt in my entire life. I woke drenched in sweat. My heart was racing and I was out of breath. It took me hours to get back to sleep, but I never fully got over the emotion of that dream.

Over the next few days I told everyone about THE DREAM. I told my ex and my coworkers, my sisters and even my mom (she and I were on speaking terms then). And when I told everyone about THE DREAM, I prefaced the story by asking them if I had ever said anything to them before about having lived in a house with a secret passage. 

Now let me say something before you get all judgemental and call me nuts and ask how could anyone ever have lived in a large old-fashioned house with a secret passage and then forget about it? Because that's not normal, right? But you have to know something about me: I'm not normal. 

I've lived in a ridiculous number of places with a ridiculous number of people. When I had THE DREAM for the first time, me and my ex and our daughter were living in Ohio. Before then, he and I briefly lived in Pennsylvania, and before then I lived in California. Thats where I was born and raised. I was born in Azusa (that's in LA County), but moved twice before I started kindergarten. I went to 9 schools before I started high school, and then I attended upwards of 20 more before I finally dropped out in my senior year. I've had more foster parents and siblings than I can name. I've lived in apartments, group homes, foster homes, institutions, and under bridges. So if there's anybody on this planet who is capable of having lived in a four-story victorian mansion with a secret passage and then forgotten about it, it's me. 

Part of me didn't really believe I could have lived in that house in real life, but another part of me insisted on thinking it was entirely possible. Why? Because that sense of deja vu was just so strong. I had been there! I had to have been. But no one I talked to had ever heard of any place like it, and all of them said that I had never mentioned it before. So if I hadn't been there in this life, did that mean I'd been there in a different life?

But that's just stupid. Right?

After The Dream

Here's the kicker: it didn't end there. I kept having THE DREAM, and dreams like it, for the next several years. At first they came frequently, like, 2 to 3 times per week. Then, over a period of six to eight months, they slowed. I had THE DREAM a few times per month. Then they slowed even more, to just a handful of times per year. Then, inexplicably, they stopped. The dreams were never identical, but there was definitely a pattern. I woke in the middle of either the first or second floor. If I was on the first floor I was in the middle of the open space. If I was on the second floor, I was on the balcony overlooking it. And I was never alone. There was always one other person with me that I knew in my waking life and I was always showing him/her around. And we always wound up at one or the other opening to the secret passage. Then came the terror, and then I woke up. 

At first, when the dreams were still happening with astonishing frequency, I became sort of obsessed with them and with the house itself. Where was that house? Why did I keep dreaming about it? Why did I feel like I knew it--I mean knew it, the way a drunk knows his favorite beer or a new mom knows her baby's giggles? What was the secret passage about? And why did I get so scared whenever I was near it? Was THE DREAM a memory of a past life? Had I lived there? Had I died there?

Eventually, however, THE DREAM stopped dominating my waking thoughts. If I had had something to go on, some tiny piece of evidence or some fact that I could build on, then undoubtedly I would have kept it up. But all I had was THE DREAM, and the terror that accompanied it. There was no research to be done. And then the dreams just stopped coming, and life went on. I did get my GED. Me, my ex and our daughter moved to Tennessee. I earned an associates degree, then a bachelor's degree, then a master's. I left my ex. I met Brandon. Meredith and I moved to Austin.

Then, this summer, Brandon and I decided to take a little weekend getaway. We didn't want to do anything major because we didn't have a lot of time or money. Basically, we wanted to be alone and away from work and life stress for a few days. We decided on San Antonio. It's close and although I've lived in Austin for nearly 2 years now, I had never seen the Alamo or the river walk. I even found a haunted hotel to stay in that was in our budget and located right in the middle of everything we wanted to see: the famous Menger Hotel! We were so excited. Especially me. I told everyone I work with that if we didn't see any ghosts I'd just make up some stories to tell them. 

Weekend Getaway in Haunted San Antonio

Brandon and I planned our weekend getaway for the Fourth of July weekend. Who doesn't want hot, crowded, drunken fun? We arrived at the Menger Hotel, put our stuff away, then set out for a little look-see. We were staying in room 2085, on the second--and, as it turns out, most haunted--floor, right down the hallway from the infamous King Ranch Suite. Richard King, the famous Texas cattle baron, died in the bed they still keep in that suite. They say he haunts it to this day.

The King Ranch Suite is also right off the mezzanine: the balcony area on the second floor that overlooks the hotel's old Victorian lobby. The Menger Hotel has two lobbies, or really just one large lobby. The area that is referred to as the old Victorian lobby no longer functions as a lobby. It's just a beautiful open area that feeds into the part of the hotel that now serves as the hotel lobby. The ceiling of the Victorian lobby is a gorgeous skylight. Here are a couple of my pictures:

As you can see from these pictures, the Menger Hotel still retains much of its Victorian splendor. Most of the furniture in the common areas is original or refurbished. Everything: from the wallpaper, to the paintings and photographs on the walls to the carpeting and the drapes and the columns is traditional. You feel like you stepped back in time. 

The second we came upon the old Victorian lobby I felt dizzy. I didn't think anything of it, except that I was excited and looking for a dangerous thrill. Then we saw a framed photo on the wall taken from the mezzanine before a series of large structural improvements were made to the hotel around the turn of the century.

I saw that and my knees buckled. I said "Oh, my God," and stumbled over to a love seat. Brandon asked "Are you all right?" And I nodded but I just kept mumbling "Oh, my God," over and over again. Because suddenly I knew. It has been a good seven years since the last time that I had THE DREAM, and at least half that time since I last thought about it, but standing on that mezzanine, looking at that photograph, I knew. 

THE DREAM had never been about a house. It had been about The Menger Hotel. The Menger Hotel was the setting of my dream. 

(Here's another old-time photograph of the balcony. I found this one online.)

Get your laughs out of the way now.

I know this sounds crazy. If I were in your shoes, dear reader, I would likely be laughing too. Why in the hell should you believe me? It makes way more sense to take the perspective that my daughter Meredith has taken. At nearly 18, and a self-professed cynic, she believes that what really happened is I checked into the Menger Hotel expecting to have some sort of paranormal experience, and that this is the experience that I got. 

I love Meredith, but that's just a bunch of skeptical nonsense. I checked into the Menger Hotel hoping to see some ghosts, but not expecting to see or experience anything other than a cool weekend getaway. I expected to toast Teddy Roosevelt in the Menger Bar, where he recruited his famous Rough Riders (and I did).

I expected to feel a delightful fluttering in my chest during our ghost tour (and I did).

I hoped to hear unaccounted-for footsteps or to feel a sudden chill in a darkened hallway. I hoped to see the ghost of Sallie White carrying clean bedsheets in the hall in the middle of the night. But I didn't hope or expect to find a connection between this historic hotel and a recurring dream that I'd stopped having years ago. No way.

But I could not and can not escape the Truth that I discovered. And I spell the Truth with a capital T on purpose. I've always known that I had had THE DREAM for a reason. Even years after they stopped coming, I knew they weren't random. I had just stopped looking for an explanation. Then, all of a sudden and years after the fact, an explanation--the Truth--landed in my lap on July Fourth weekend. 

So now I'm back to my original obsession and my original questions: what does this mean? How am I connected with the Menger Hotel? Is THE DREAM a memory of a past life? Did I work there? Stay there? Die there? And how weird is it that I picked that hotel to stay at for our weekend getaway! Was that a coincidence? Or fate?

I'm super uncomfortable with the idea of fate.

But there it is: the Menger Hotel is, in every sense that I have seen and felt, the setting of my DREAM. The only potential divergence between the two is, interestingly, potentially the most important: the secret passage. I didn't find any evidence of a secret passage while we were there, but then how could I? Such things are supposed to be secret, right? Since Brandon and I have returned home I've begun to research the hotel. I bought The History and Mystery of the Menger Hotel by Docia Schultz Williams and read it cover to cover. I've Googled until my fingers were numb. The only mention anywhere that I have found about the possibility of a secret passage in the Menger Hotel was a comment made on the Facebook page of an Austin country radio station.

See comment here!

But I'm not done with this. I'm going to keep researching the Menger Hotel. I'm going to uncover the answers to my questions. I'm going to find out why I had THE DREAM and what it means. Was I there in a past life? Or was the DREAM a message sent to me from someone else? Some restless spirit who had a message?

Brandon and I came across a book at Half Price Books in San Marcos on our way home: Haunted Texas Vacations: The Complete Ghostly Guide by Lisa Farwell. I didn't buy it but I did glance through it and I made a few notes. The author mentions some things that were told to her by Ernesto Malacra, director of public relations for the Menger Hotel. One of the things Mr. Malacra told her is that there had been increased spiritual/psychic activity in the hotel in 1996. 

1996? The year I began to have THE DREAM??

I read that and nearly fell off my chair. 

(By the way, Mr. Malacra, if you read this before I have a chance to contact you PLEASE get in touch with me. I need to pick your brain!)

So, what now? I'm uncomfortable with fate but I can not deny that something or someone else has been trying to tell me something for quite some time. How did I wind up at the Menger Hotel over July Fourth weekend? Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was design. In the end it doesn't matter, because either way I'm taking the reigns now. I'm going to solve this mystery. 

Call me Nancy Drew.