I sent out about 12 letters to different agents today.
For now, i'm sticking to those ones who accept email submissions: i don't find the whole regular mail thing, in the least convenient. And no, it's not just about the cost of postage!
So, i have sent out 12 and 2 have replied on Day 1. Not bad huh?
One says "send us the first 3 chapters of your book" the other says "sorry, but..."
Let me tell you that this waiting thing is not going to be easy. Why do i say that?
Well, after i punched the last send email, i almost started to panic; what if i have made a lot of grammatical blunders in the initial letters and then the agents see through me that i am just a wannabe? What if all these months i have been living in la-la land, making a fool of myself and my wife- who has read the manuscript-has been too loving to hurt my feelings?
What if?
I have evn thought of making more adjustments to the book and had come back on to the computer when i saw the first email; Dear Elias...That was the good of the two. I would have probably flipped if i had gotten the second one first!
Lest i forget; the interest has come from one of the agents whose letter had a typo in it!
So, there may still be hope for us writers who aint yet mastered the basics of grammer. And as the days run into weeks and the weeks give birth to months, maybe i will yet come into the rest which is the hope of every first-time author...
Thursday, 3 January 2008
The journey to getting published
Okay so the material is finally ready!
It's taken me about 5months to get it to the standard i want but even then it's still not perfect.
I am now at the next stage: to get published.
I don't know how many drafts i have written of this novel. The draft here is no way near the last and since i have gone offline, even the prologue of the novel has changed! I noticed that the end of this story re-shaped its beginning. Strange huh?
Well, that's done now and i have started to look for literary agents.
The first thing i have done was to google literary agents in London and over a hundred have turned up! So, i have had to go through them like with a toothcomb, trying to find what kind of books they're interested in.
One thing that's come out so far and which seems to be the same everywhere is that to get published you need to have the following four things ready:
1. The covering letter. This has to be business-like and straight to the point. I suppose here's the point where they startt to judge you. I have checked a letter, which i have already sent to 2 agenst and discover that there was a typographical error in it!
2. A good synopsis. This also has to be business-like and catching enough to want to make the agent to read on.
3. A good CV. Well i could have sent them the one i have prepared for my jobs in the NHS but i'm thinking that might not be quite relevant, so i ahve had to draft another one.
4. Sample chapters. Most ask for the first three, others say they want something in the range of the first 50-100 pages. I have had to review my first three chapters and have gone through them atleast 10times, each time finding something the delete or to add...I am now scared of the work i need to do on the remaining work. You see my first 3 chapters is just about 16,000 words. Means that i have another 50-55,000 to look through!
I will continue my search for the elusive agent. Who knows i may be the next great thing that happens in the literary world-that's if my letters don't all end up in the rubbish bin!
I'll keep you all posted.
It's taken me about 5months to get it to the standard i want but even then it's still not perfect.
I am now at the next stage: to get published.
I don't know how many drafts i have written of this novel. The draft here is no way near the last and since i have gone offline, even the prologue of the novel has changed! I noticed that the end of this story re-shaped its beginning. Strange huh?
Well, that's done now and i have started to look for literary agents.
The first thing i have done was to google literary agents in London and over a hundred have turned up! So, i have had to go through them like with a toothcomb, trying to find what kind of books they're interested in.
One thing that's come out so far and which seems to be the same everywhere is that to get published you need to have the following four things ready:
1. The covering letter. This has to be business-like and straight to the point. I suppose here's the point where they startt to judge you. I have checked a letter, which i have already sent to 2 agenst and discover that there was a typographical error in it!
2. A good synopsis. This also has to be business-like and catching enough to want to make the agent to read on.
3. A good CV. Well i could have sent them the one i have prepared for my jobs in the NHS but i'm thinking that might not be quite relevant, so i ahve had to draft another one.
4. Sample chapters. Most ask for the first three, others say they want something in the range of the first 50-100 pages. I have had to review my first three chapters and have gone through them atleast 10times, each time finding something the delete or to add...I am now scared of the work i need to do on the remaining work. You see my first 3 chapters is just about 16,000 words. Means that i have another 50-55,000 to look through!
I will continue my search for the elusive agent. Who knows i may be the next great thing that happens in the literary world-that's if my letters don't all end up in the rubbish bin!
I'll keep you all posted.
Monday, 17 December 2007
The reflection of oneself
All who aspire to create works of art are really on a mission to recreate their images in the objective world.Think about that.
I was thinking about that craving to recreate my image on my way home from work yesterday. I was pondering on what I need to do in order to put the finishing touches to my book in such a way that it would truly reflect my essence. And as I thought of it, I saw images of a potter meticulously crafting his work of art until it achieves the perfection that he craves.
Then I thought of the creation story. Perfection was not achieved until God had recreated his essence in the physical world in the form of the Adam. And only then did he rest.
There’s a restlessness that haunt me as I chisel away on the words that I have created- as I trim the edges and throw away whole sentences; whole paragraphs-searching for the expression that completely expresses me. I cannot rest until I see my self reflected in my work.And then I think: is it not the calling of all of us to create? Because even biological procreation is really a primeval craving to recreate ones image so that the procreator can peer at the reflection of himself as he beholds his offspring’s…
We are all-those of us who dare to be creators of art and those who dare to reproduce themselves-then gods. For it is in that pursuit to behold our image outside of ourselves that the admonition from the voice of the one who is called the Christ rings true: “Know you not that ye are gods?”
And there lies the true calling of man-to be like gods…
Monday, 3 December 2007
Wait for the Book
I have had to continue with the story offline in order not to spoil the fun for those of you who will be interested in reading the story once it's been edited and out in the market.
This online version gives the reader an idea of the story, but the final version will be different from the story on this blog. I do appreciate the comments posted on this blog and those that have been made on other sites that i have posted excerpts in. Thanks y'all for the encouragement!
I will be updating this blog with the developements in the making of the book and once it's published you will be able to access it from here.
The book should be out by the second quarter of next year.
Beneli.
This online version gives the reader an idea of the story, but the final version will be different from the story on this blog. I do appreciate the comments posted on this blog and those that have been made on other sites that i have posted excerpts in. Thanks y'all for the encouragement!
I will be updating this blog with the developements in the making of the book and once it's published you will be able to access it from here.
The book should be out by the second quarter of next year.
Beneli.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
The last days of Spring/9
I have arrived at the hospital. But I have been refused to go in because it is well past their visiting hours so I am now walking towards the bus stop where I will pick a bus headed towards Engel’s street. I have gotten to the bus stop and while I stand watching the cars speed past, I am reflecting on the whole mess of love, which is unfolding around me.
I am angry with Tanya. I am angry with her for trying to kill herself over me; how does she think that dying will solve her problems? Or does she think that by trying to kill herself that I will now love her? Does she not know that instead of sympathy I will begin to feel resentment towards her? I cannot be blackmailed into loving her, how can she be so foolish as to think otherwise?
Yet in my anger I still feel a bit of sympathy and a bit of fear and I wonder how comes love can become so self-destructive? And as I reflect on what she has done and I try to understand her motives, I am beginning to see that I am not that different from her; I begin to see that it is the same thing that I feel for Adelaide, which is now making Tanya to think that I am indispensable to her and I begin to understand that I really do not have that right to feel anger towards her.
I do not also have that right to judge her because in judging her I am really judging myself; when she says that she cannot live without me, she is echoing the same way that I feel about Adelaide. And I am beginning to see that her attempt to kill herself is just the same thing as my own self-destructive journey into drinking and whoring.
We are essentially the same. Tanya and I are just the same; she is the bolder one, who is willing to be rid of her anguish at once-to violently be separated from the thing that distresses her, while I-the coward-choose the protracted route of self-indulgence, clinging on to the thing, which I detest. The thing which I detest…?
Can this be the same love that poets write about and romantic movies are made of? Can this be the same or have we both, without our knowing it, fallen victims to something else-a lot more disturbing? Something I detest?
I am now confused; It is beginning to dawn on me that the reason why all along I have not been able to “take things easy and enjoy myself” is because this is really about me.
I need to talk with Tanya and let her know what I am beginning to understand about us…about myself; I need to help her to begin to understand that maybe it is not me that she loves…I am beginning to understand that all this has to do with the way she sees herself and that for her to be able to get home…to Africa…I may not be the one whom she needs.
I will go to her tomorrow and I will talk with her before she tries to hurt herself again.
I am angry with Tanya. I am angry with her for trying to kill herself over me; how does she think that dying will solve her problems? Or does she think that by trying to kill herself that I will now love her? Does she not know that instead of sympathy I will begin to feel resentment towards her? I cannot be blackmailed into loving her, how can she be so foolish as to think otherwise?
Yet in my anger I still feel a bit of sympathy and a bit of fear and I wonder how comes love can become so self-destructive? And as I reflect on what she has done and I try to understand her motives, I am beginning to see that I am not that different from her; I begin to see that it is the same thing that I feel for Adelaide, which is now making Tanya to think that I am indispensable to her and I begin to understand that I really do not have that right to feel anger towards her.
I do not also have that right to judge her because in judging her I am really judging myself; when she says that she cannot live without me, she is echoing the same way that I feel about Adelaide. And I am beginning to see that her attempt to kill herself is just the same thing as my own self-destructive journey into drinking and whoring.
We are essentially the same. Tanya and I are just the same; she is the bolder one, who is willing to be rid of her anguish at once-to violently be separated from the thing that distresses her, while I-the coward-choose the protracted route of self-indulgence, clinging on to the thing, which I detest. The thing which I detest…?
Can this be the same love that poets write about and romantic movies are made of? Can this be the same or have we both, without our knowing it, fallen victims to something else-a lot more disturbing? Something I detest?
I am now confused; It is beginning to dawn on me that the reason why all along I have not been able to “take things easy and enjoy myself” is because this is really about me.
I need to talk with Tanya and let her know what I am beginning to understand about us…about myself; I need to help her to begin to understand that maybe it is not me that she loves…I am beginning to understand that all this has to do with the way she sees herself and that for her to be able to get home…to Africa…I may not be the one whom she needs.
I will go to her tomorrow and I will talk with her before she tries to hurt herself again.
The last days of Spring/8
A few hours later, I am sitting in my room and watching Ade. He is staring at a letter, which he just received from home and has just finished reading. He is not saying anything.
“Is everything okay?”
He raises his eyes and looks at me blankly for a few seconds. “She’s gone…”
And I know that he’s talking about his mother…she has lost the fight to live.
“Are you alright?”
He ignores my question and continues to stare at the letter and I recognize that he probably didn’t hear me. I have never been in this kind of situation before; I don’t know whether I should keep quiet and let him deal with his grief alone or whether is should console him-but he is not crying and that makes it even difficult. So I keep quiet.
“Why…God?” I hear the pain in his voice; it sounds like something breaking.
“Maybe she is in heaven right now…” I offer trying to console him. But he doesn’t seem to have heard me.
“Why…?” I hear him groan and I realize that it is best that I leave him alone to resolve his own questions and to grieve alone. Sometimes it is better that way.
I am leaving the room and have patted him on the back briefly to show my commiseration and I leave without saying anything; I don’t really know what to say.
I have gone to Ugo’s room and I meet him packing his bags.
“Ol’boy Ade just got a letter from home saying that his mum just died”
“Na wa! Wetin kill am?”
“She suffered a stroke several months ago and I don’t think she recovered”
“Poor guy…at least him go fit travel during the holidays and not miss any school work…anyway when you go travel?”
“On Sunday”
“We dey leave for Moscow tomorrow morning …we wan pass through Kharkov first”
“Are you going with Eddy?”
“Yes…”
They wanted to pass through Kharkov so that Ugo could help Eddy with some of his stuff as he didn’t want to come back to Rostov after the summer holidays. They planned on going to Nigeria to sell football boots and some antibiotics; apparently they had made quite a lot of fortune in the last few months and they now had a ready market for their goods.
“We’ll leave you and your babes in Rostov…”
“Have you seen Sveta today?”
“She’ll be coming later this evening…I fit leave Sveat for you as well”
“No thanks…Tanya’s problem is already too much for me…she been meet me and Adelaide as we dey waka down the street today and then hin come bolt like person wey dey craze…”
“Bolt go where?”
“I don’t know…”
“So wetin dat one mean?”
“I really don’t know, but I just hope say hin’ no go harm himself…”
“Why…?”
“She just dey behave like person wey get real issues and I just don’t know what to do?”
“And wetin Adelaide come talk?”
“I never talk with am since then”
“You and this your love nonsense! Why don’t you just take things easy and enjoy yourself?”
“I don’t know…”
I really don’t know. That’s the question I have been asking myself and I am wondering whether I should not try to disentangle myself from Adelaide before I get too involved to a point where I cannot turn back. I am just so confused; one moment I know that It feels as if I cannot live without her, while the next I feel so distressed by the thought of her.
Is this what love is about? Why can’t I take things easy and “enjoy myself” as Ugo asks?
“Anyway, you don here the latest with Barry?”
Ah, the man Barry; I heard that he had attacked Omar along the corridor and had continued to punch him until Omar who was carrying a sharp penknife used it on him in self-defense and stabbed him in the abdomen…
Barry had been acting even weirder in the last few days; he had almost attacked Volodya the other day calling him a KGB spy and saying that no matter what they did that they will not be able to plant anything on him. I think most people had realized that something is going on with him, but nobody has been bold enough to do anything about it. He had been literally stalking Omar in the last few days and had been saying that as long as people like Omar-who according to him are an embarrassment to the children of Kememu-walk about freely, then the black man will never know any respect. He says its people like Omar who the white man uses to divide the black man…
I think it’s because of Barry that Omar started to carry about the knife with him. And its lead to this…
“So what happened to Barry?”
“They say they think he is mad and that they’re sending him back to Zaire after they treat his wounds…”
“Poor Barry…I think he just started to muddle up a lot of things from his too much reading…”
“No. I think the guy has always been sick and should have been treated a long time ago”
“But a lot of the things he says make sense…”
“Like what?”
“There are a lot of books he’s asked us to read and I’ll look for them when I go to England”
“You think say you go get time look for book in England? E be like say you think say na holiday you dey go!”
In a way he is right. The purpose of my traveling was to go and look for some holiday jobs to raise the funds to start buying and selling things. So it wasn’t really a holiday in the real sense of the word since I would need to pay him back once I came back.
We were still talking when there was a knock on the door.
“It must be Sveta…if na she then you know say you go vamoose…”
“I know.”
The door opened and it was Sveta; she wasn’t looking happy when she saw me!
“Kasi, what have you don to my friend?” she shouted at me as she walked in.
“What did I do?"
“My friend almost killed herself and she’s at the CGB…”
CGB is the acronym in Russian for the Central state hospital but everybody just knows it as CGB.
“Is she okay…what did she do?”
“She took an overdose of some tablets but her grandmother found her throwing up and called the ambulance…”
“Is she okay?”
“They say she is going to be okay, but she wants to see you…”
“Is everything okay?”
He raises his eyes and looks at me blankly for a few seconds. “She’s gone…”
And I know that he’s talking about his mother…she has lost the fight to live.
“Are you alright?”
He ignores my question and continues to stare at the letter and I recognize that he probably didn’t hear me. I have never been in this kind of situation before; I don’t know whether I should keep quiet and let him deal with his grief alone or whether is should console him-but he is not crying and that makes it even difficult. So I keep quiet.
“Why…God?” I hear the pain in his voice; it sounds like something breaking.
“Maybe she is in heaven right now…” I offer trying to console him. But he doesn’t seem to have heard me.
“Why…?” I hear him groan and I realize that it is best that I leave him alone to resolve his own questions and to grieve alone. Sometimes it is better that way.
I am leaving the room and have patted him on the back briefly to show my commiseration and I leave without saying anything; I don’t really know what to say.
I have gone to Ugo’s room and I meet him packing his bags.
“Ol’boy Ade just got a letter from home saying that his mum just died”
“Na wa! Wetin kill am?”
“She suffered a stroke several months ago and I don’t think she recovered”
“Poor guy…at least him go fit travel during the holidays and not miss any school work…anyway when you go travel?”
“On Sunday”
“We dey leave for Moscow tomorrow morning …we wan pass through Kharkov first”
“Are you going with Eddy?”
“Yes…”
They wanted to pass through Kharkov so that Ugo could help Eddy with some of his stuff as he didn’t want to come back to Rostov after the summer holidays. They planned on going to Nigeria to sell football boots and some antibiotics; apparently they had made quite a lot of fortune in the last few months and they now had a ready market for their goods.
“We’ll leave you and your babes in Rostov…”
“Have you seen Sveta today?”
“She’ll be coming later this evening…I fit leave Sveat for you as well”
“No thanks…Tanya’s problem is already too much for me…she been meet me and Adelaide as we dey waka down the street today and then hin come bolt like person wey dey craze…”
“Bolt go where?”
“I don’t know…”
“So wetin dat one mean?”
“I really don’t know, but I just hope say hin’ no go harm himself…”
“Why…?”
“She just dey behave like person wey get real issues and I just don’t know what to do?”
“And wetin Adelaide come talk?”
“I never talk with am since then”
“You and this your love nonsense! Why don’t you just take things easy and enjoy yourself?”
“I don’t know…”
I really don’t know. That’s the question I have been asking myself and I am wondering whether I should not try to disentangle myself from Adelaide before I get too involved to a point where I cannot turn back. I am just so confused; one moment I know that It feels as if I cannot live without her, while the next I feel so distressed by the thought of her.
Is this what love is about? Why can’t I take things easy and “enjoy myself” as Ugo asks?
“Anyway, you don here the latest with Barry?”
Ah, the man Barry; I heard that he had attacked Omar along the corridor and had continued to punch him until Omar who was carrying a sharp penknife used it on him in self-defense and stabbed him in the abdomen…
Barry had been acting even weirder in the last few days; he had almost attacked Volodya the other day calling him a KGB spy and saying that no matter what they did that they will not be able to plant anything on him. I think most people had realized that something is going on with him, but nobody has been bold enough to do anything about it. He had been literally stalking Omar in the last few days and had been saying that as long as people like Omar-who according to him are an embarrassment to the children of Kememu-walk about freely, then the black man will never know any respect. He says its people like Omar who the white man uses to divide the black man…
I think it’s because of Barry that Omar started to carry about the knife with him. And its lead to this…
“So what happened to Barry?”
“They say they think he is mad and that they’re sending him back to Zaire after they treat his wounds…”
“Poor Barry…I think he just started to muddle up a lot of things from his too much reading…”
“No. I think the guy has always been sick and should have been treated a long time ago”
“But a lot of the things he says make sense…”
“Like what?”
“There are a lot of books he’s asked us to read and I’ll look for them when I go to England”
“You think say you go get time look for book in England? E be like say you think say na holiday you dey go!”
In a way he is right. The purpose of my traveling was to go and look for some holiday jobs to raise the funds to start buying and selling things. So it wasn’t really a holiday in the real sense of the word since I would need to pay him back once I came back.
We were still talking when there was a knock on the door.
“It must be Sveta…if na she then you know say you go vamoose…”
“I know.”
The door opened and it was Sveta; she wasn’t looking happy when she saw me!
“Kasi, what have you don to my friend?” she shouted at me as she walked in.
“What did I do?"
“My friend almost killed herself and she’s at the CGB…”
CGB is the acronym in Russian for the Central state hospital but everybody just knows it as CGB.
“Is she okay…what did she do?”
“She took an overdose of some tablets but her grandmother found her throwing up and called the ambulance…”
“Is she okay?”
“They say she is going to be okay, but she wants to see you…”
The last days of Spring/7
She is staring at us as we are coming up Puskins street towards the hostel. And after what seems like a brief moment of indecision, she looks away and has just scurried off through the crowd and into the hostel.
“Isn’t that your mulatka?”
The paramedics are carrying a stretcher out as I come up to the entrance of the hostel and I have to wait for them to pass before I can continue my chase. Where is she running to…what is she going to do?
I recognize the stocky frame of Barry on the stretcher, with a bandage tied round his trunk and muttering something about Kememu. What’s happened now and what is this Kememu nonsense he’s been saying of late? Behind the stretcher, a limping Omar is being escorted out by two police officers and it’s clear that both of them have had another fight and that Barry seems to have come out worse. I pass through the crowd and run into the hostel and head towards the stairs to the second floor.
I am not sure where exactly she has run to but I have decided to check Ugo’s and Eddy’s room seeing that her friends still came by there sometimes.
I have come up to room and knocking but no one is opening the door; I don’t know where else to start looking and I am thinking that I should go back to the ground floor and wait there since she has to come out of the hostel through that one exit. I am running down the stairs towards the ground floor and Adelaide is walking up…
“I just saw your…er…the mulatka” she says.
“Where did you see her?”
“She just ran out of the hostel…as if she was being chased by somebody…”
“In which direction…?”
“I don’t know I was already in the lobby…”
I ran out onto the street and look in both directions up Pushkin’s street but she is not there. And I don’t know in what direction to go…
She is gone and maybe this is the best thing to happen; may be it is best for us to end this way…I cannot give her what she wants and that is that. Yet…yet I am realizing that I do feel something for her and though I will be able to live without her I will want to see her again and to end properly with her.
Now I am free to go after Adelaide; I am even more convinced that it is our destiny to be together-why else would we both be left behind in Rostov, while all our friends are posted out? Why else would it be today of all days that Tanya chooses to meet us together, if not that fate has decided to intervene? We are powerless in the hands of destiny; we cannot change what is meant to be. Adelaide and I were meant to be-we have now only to confront our destiny.
“Isn’t that your mulatka?”
The paramedics are carrying a stretcher out as I come up to the entrance of the hostel and I have to wait for them to pass before I can continue my chase. Where is she running to…what is she going to do?
I recognize the stocky frame of Barry on the stretcher, with a bandage tied round his trunk and muttering something about Kememu. What’s happened now and what is this Kememu nonsense he’s been saying of late? Behind the stretcher, a limping Omar is being escorted out by two police officers and it’s clear that both of them have had another fight and that Barry seems to have come out worse. I pass through the crowd and run into the hostel and head towards the stairs to the second floor.
I am not sure where exactly she has run to but I have decided to check Ugo’s and Eddy’s room seeing that her friends still came by there sometimes.
I have come up to room and knocking but no one is opening the door; I don’t know where else to start looking and I am thinking that I should go back to the ground floor and wait there since she has to come out of the hostel through that one exit. I am running down the stairs towards the ground floor and Adelaide is walking up…
“I just saw your…er…the mulatka” she says.
“Where did you see her?”
“She just ran out of the hostel…as if she was being chased by somebody…”
“In which direction…?”
“I don’t know I was already in the lobby…”
I ran out onto the street and look in both directions up Pushkin’s street but she is not there. And I don’t know in what direction to go…
She is gone and maybe this is the best thing to happen; may be it is best for us to end this way…I cannot give her what she wants and that is that. Yet…yet I am realizing that I do feel something for her and though I will be able to live without her I will want to see her again and to end properly with her.
Now I am free to go after Adelaide; I am even more convinced that it is our destiny to be together-why else would we both be left behind in Rostov, while all our friends are posted out? Why else would it be today of all days that Tanya chooses to meet us together, if not that fate has decided to intervene? We are powerless in the hands of destiny; we cannot change what is meant to be. Adelaide and I were meant to be-we have now only to confront our destiny.
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