Oops!

Remember that 'No' yesterday about the contest where I didn't make it to Round 3? Yeah...well...scratch that. I did. Found out late last night and didn't get to sleep until 4 a.m.

Round 3 is where agents read the entries and determine if they would like to request the manuscript, or at least a query. The better you do, the better your chances of getting your work in front of someone you want to see it.

The trick is, tonight's the deadline for the revisions. Yikes!

So I've been working on them all day and then, right when the input is rolling in and I'm getting in a flow...Comcast goes out. It came back, but experience teaches that it will go out again. So, I went with what I hand and crossed my fingers. You'll find my heavily revised entry below.

However, something I thought I would be mentioning today as another 'No' is still in the 'Maybe' category, so I missed that one, too.

Okay, without me blabbering further:

Query

When Nick Angriff’s family is slaughtered in a terrorist attack, leaving no loved ones to miss or mourn him, he agrees to command Operation Overtime, an elite military unit stored in suspended animation against the possibility of national collapse.

He awakens sixty years later to find the United States government destroyed and a bizarre religious sect enslaving the survivors. He commands an elite and diverse military unit stored in suspended animation, and resurrecting America becomes Angriff’s sacred duty.

To save others, however, he must first stay alive. Angriff discovers two extremist factions of the dead U.S.A. infesting his brigade, and he’s in the crosshairs of both.

His choice is stark: dig out threats within Operation Overtime first, risking the death of innocents, or face assassination to fulfill his mission and end the slavery and slaughter. 

First 250 words (from The Prologue)

Lake Tahoe sparkled under a high sun in a cloudless sky. From the warmth of the tour boat’s passenger lounge, Mary Buffer watched her chubby husband, Winslow, brace against the railings and turn his face into the wind. So far, day one of their first vacation ever with Emily had been magical. The red-haired toddler stood on tiptoes and waved at her father, then knocked on the window to get his attention. Her warm breath frosted the glass. Winslow grinned at her, despite the cold spray, and waved back.

Out of the chill and sipping hot chocolate from a foam cup, Mary giggled watching Winslow strike a captain’s pose, feet apart, head titled back. He often shared his fantasy of sailing the sapphire waves of the Caribbean, warm breezes tossing his sparse hair, as he stood at the helm of his sailing sloop. He painted that image for their retirement, and Mary loved the idea. She liked seeing him happy more, though. Starting a solo practice as a new CPA required long, hard hours, and he deserved time to dream and play.

The muffled buzz of a speedboat, growing louder as it drew near, caught Mary's attention and she glanced left. Milling people blocked her view as the smaller boat throttled down near the port bow. She glanced back at Winslow as something metallic hit the deck and bounced, stopping between his feet. The object seemed vaguely familiar, but she did not recognize it before the blast of the grenade ripped him apart.

  

Racing on

Not literally. Sinus infections are the worst, and the one I've got right now seems worse than the worst. Heading to the doctor soon and then somewhere to pass out. But first...

At least 3 new NOs yesterday to tell you about. I'm not doing this because I'm masochistic, by the way, but I'm trying to give insight into the life of a non-fiction writer transitioning back to his first love, fiction. I finished Book One of The Last Brigade about 4 months ago now and have spent the intervening time editing, marketing, querying, etc.

And of course my foggy brain is wandering all over the place right now. I feel the need to explain those terms and what they actually mean...tell you what, I'll put that on the schedule for a future blog entry.

On the road to 200 NOs, yesterday pushed me down the road by at least 3, and maybe 4, more.

First, the time limit for an agent to respond (2 weeks!) passed with no notice, which means 'no'. That's perhaps the most frustrating thing about all of this. Most agents don't even respond to you if they don't want your MS, you just have to assume it's a 'no'. And for those that do, it's a form rejection in most cases. Rarely do you get actual input. The process can be dispiriting, if you let it.

The second 'no' was a twitter contest I entered, #sonofapitch. I did get a vote (it only took two to advance to the next round), so I wasn't shut out. When entering these you have to remember that all judges have different genres they like. Military SF is not usually among them. HOWEVER, the critiques I got made both my query and my first 250 words drastically better. And I do mean drastically. That makes it worth it.

NO #3 was a publisher. Those hurt the worst, because they have the ability to say 'yes' and voila! You're in print. From the very beginning, though, this publisher was a long shot. The book would have been shoe-horned into their catalog and would have required massive editing to fit their requirements. I'm just glad they asked for a look.

So now we're at 20 NOs, and perhaps 21. There is another matter I still can't talk about that is probably not going to work out, but it's not official yet.

All for now, folks, thanks for reading.

The race to 200 'No's'

THIS IS NOT A NEGATIVE ENTRY! There's plenty of negativity floating in the cyber universe without me adding to it.

What this IS about, is the journey to publication of my latest novel, currently titled Standing The Final Watch: Book One of The Last Brigade.

I'm going to be brutally honest during this writing. Some will probably tell me that's a bad idea...oh well. If you want what others have, you must do what others won't.

A mentor of mine, best-selling author Matt Morris, The Unemployed Millionaire, preaches that whatever it is that you are involved in, there will be a certain percentage of positive and negative responses. What you have to do is prepare yourself to push through the negatives until you reach the positives.

Once I finished STFW, I put a business plan in place. It will either be published, contracted for, or agented, by X date (this year). Simple as that. The only deviation is if I reach 200 'no's', in which case I proceed to Step Two of the business plan.

In the meantime, Step One is to use every outlet available to either achieve publication or sign with an agent. This includes various types of attempts, from query letters to contests. During this process, I'll be revising the heck out of my query letter and editing the book yet again to improve it.

At the moment my 'No's' stand at 17. For non-writers, the way this works is that a lot of the time when you send either query letters or requested manuscripts, you simply never hear back. It is up to you to track these submissions, and after a certain period of time to assume they are a 'no.' And just in the interest of full disclosure, one of those 'no's' was temporarily a 'yes', when an agent requested the full manuscript. He first read Chapter 1-3, then asked for all of it. (Poor guy, he decided to pass after reading it all, although he was very complimentary). His loss.

But that's what writing is, a long journey through an endless line of people hitting you with a figurative hammer. When you lose a contest, as I did just today, you can't let it bother you. My query letter and first 250 words are much better from just having entered, and you meet some awesome people along the way.

So once the official 'you didn't win' notice hits I'll be at 18 no's. C'est l'vie. Edit: it's official No #18, with 19 almost certain come today also.

Oh, yeah, I forgot. The MS is currently in the hands of 4 publishers, 3 who have the full MS and one with a partial. There is a story attached to one of them that I should be able to tell soon, it's a feel good story that could become a really feel good story, but either way I want to tell everyone about an incredible publisher.

So, wish me luck! That means either a signed contract, representation, or a whole bunch of fast 'no's.'

Son of a Pitch

Standing The Final Watch
Adult
SF / Thriller
89,000 words

15 February, 2016

Dear Agent ,

Innocents abroad in post-Collapse America face slavery and death, until Nick Angriff and the Seventh Cavalry ride to the rescue.

The terrorists who slaughtered General Nick Angriff’s wife and daughter fulfilled their leader’s purpose, by leaving him one mission in life: to kill the killers.

Obsessed with revenge, Angriff needs a new reason for living before anger eats him alive. Miraculously, a higher duty calls, except nothing about it is divine.

With no loved ones to miss or mourn him, he agrees to command Operation Overtime, an elite military unit stored in suspended animation against the possibility of national collapse.

He awakens after sixty years to find the United States government destroyed, with a bizarre religious sect dominating the wreckage and enslaving the survivors. Resurrecting America becomes Angriff’s sacred duty.

Before he can save others, however, he must first stay alive. Angriff quickly discovers opposing plots within his brigade, including one to assassinate him. They are remnants of the extremist politics of the dead U.S.A., still fighting old battles, and he’s a target for both sides.

Without knowing friend from foe, Angriff leads the last Americans into the wasteland of North America, armed only with their guts, their wits and a determination to rebuild the United States.

STANDING THE FINAL WATCH, complete at 89,000 words, is a stand-alone science fiction thriller that can also be the first in a series, with book two already completed. This novel should appeal to fans of John Ringo’s Ghost series, David Drake’s Hammer’s Slammers and Dan Abnett’s Warhammer 40,000.

 Chapter 1

October 12th

Lake Tahoe sparkled under a high sun in a cloudless sky. Somehow, the vultures wheeling high above the water knew Winslow Buffer was about to die. Mary Buffer, however, did not. From the warmth of the tour boat’s passenger lounge, she was delighted to watch her chubby CPA husband enjoying himself on their first vacation since Emily was born. The red-haired toddler stood on tiptoes and waved at her father. Her breathed frosted the glass. Winslow stood at the bow rail, despite the cold spray, and waved back.

Out of the chill, Mary was content just to watch Winslow act like a little boy. He often told her about his fantasy of feeling wind over the deck of a sailing ship cutting the clear waters of the Caribbean, and she assumed that’s what he was doing now. She certainly hoped so; her husband was a workaholic and deserved a few hours to dream and play.

Mary heard the muffled buzz of a speedboat closing on the port side of the tour boat, and glanced to her left, but there were people in the way. It was no big deal, Tahoe was covered with all kinds of boats. She looked back at Winslow in time to see something metal hit the deck and bounce toward him, stopping near his feet. It seemed vaguely familiar, but her mind did not recognize it before the blast of the grenade ripped him apart.