Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Critiques and edits

I am going to take an editor for a test run on Black Saturday.

Before I hire them for a full review, I am giving their general critique services a try. This is the getting to know you, first date stage. It will help me determine their editorial proficiency and whether I want to work long-term with them.

To clear up any confusion, this is not one of the editors from the publishing houses who requested my novel. This is an editor hired to help improve the novel before it is submitted to the publishing houses.

Editor "A" helps clear up plotting, prose, etc. before you send the work to the publishing house.

After a good polishing from Editor "A", you get an agent lined up to represent your work to Editor "B" at the publishing house.

Though several acquisitions editors requested a read, Black Saturday must first be prepared for professional consumption.

Got all that? :-)

I know it sounds confusing but this helps avoid having egg on my face when I submit my work.

Because you know how I am about typos.

This means I will be out of the loop for a while...again.

BUT I think I might throw party in early November. Be hungry.

Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away