Saga of Bohok- Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The rest of the trip was made in complete silence. Bohok focused on synchronizing his paddling with the chief’s to maximize their effort.  It still took a long time for them to make their way up the river. Bohok was exhausted from rowing so long alone and the chief’s age began to show after a while. Still when they arrived at the village the entire tribe was standing on the shores waiting for them.  

Chief Yoosin jumped out of the bow of the boat as they ran it into the bank.  He spoke to Bohok as he pulled the boat up onto land. “I must go and light the fisherman’s fire. You will stay with me tonight in the log house.  These people are eager to hear your story. I suggest you only tell them a little. Save the whole story for the fire. “

The chief scooped up his bag from the boat and walked through the crowd.  Bohok looked up at them. There were so many faces looking eagerly at him.  Several people reached out hands to help him from the boat. Bohok cautiously took them and they nearly lifted him off his feet.

Bohok found himself in the middle of a swarm of people. They pressed close, reaching out to touch him. He heard the questions but could not identify the speakers from within the mass of people. They all asked the same questions, over and over again, they came in an endless stream. “How big is it? How did you catch it? What does it look like? Where you scared? Are you proud?”

Bohok wiggled through the people, first he tried to answer the questions but he was always cut off by more. Finally he decided that the chief was right. He spoke as loudly as he could without shouting, “I will tell you all tonight at the fisherman’s fire.” He repeated the same answer over and over as he made his way to the log house. The crowd around him seemed to grow at each turn, until Bohok wondered if there was a person in the village that wasn’t crowded around him. He smiled to himself, it felt good, to be the center of all this attention.

Finally they reached the long house and the fire pit. The chief had the bon fire roaring. He was smiling into the blaze, pleased with his work. Most of the men who had accompanied them down the river already sat in their usual places on the logs surrounding the fire.

The crowd around Bohok dispersed as wives went to sit next to husbands and children went to sit at their father’s feet. Soon the bowl surrounding the fire pit was full of every man, woman, and child in the village. The air hummed with excited voices as the tribe settled in.

Bohok stood at the lip of the bowl and looked at all the people of the clan. He hadn’t seen the clan gathered since his banishment. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed them until he saw them all assembled together. These were his people, no matter what his bloodline.

The chief beckoned him down to the fire. Kirso and Yannin were already sitting down at the center of the pit next to the chief. Bohok picked his way down through the people to join them.

The chief patted Bohok on the shoulder and motioned for him to sit down next to Kirso. Bohok looked down at the log that Yannin and Kirso were sitting on. Kirso had deliberately sat far enough away from Yannin that Bohok barely had enough room to sit. Kirso smirked at Bohok as he sat down on the narrow section of log that was left to him.  Bohok teetered on the edge of the log as the chief began to speak.

“My people,” the chief held up his long pole. “We have been given a gift from the River. It has bestowed upon its people a great bounty. A great fish has come up the river and Bohok has caught it.”

The chief looked down with a smile at Bohok. Bohok smiled back, and he noticed that Kirso was fuming and distracted. Bohok used the moment to push up against Kirso and scoot him over a little, buying him some more room on the log.

“This isn’t the first time such a fish has come up the river. It happened before, long, long ago. In those times they named this great fish. They named it a whale. I so name it today. This whale will provide a bounty to all our people and even to the other tribes. It is our duty to call upon them and let them know that…”

Kirso shoved back against Bohok, putting an elbow in his ribs and nearly pushing him off the log.

“…we have received this great gift. In past times a feast was held when a whale was given to the tribe. All the peoples were invited…”

Bohok planted his feet in the sand and slammed a shoulder into Kirso knocking him into Yannin. He quickly scooted over on the log. Yannin pushed Kirso back towards Bohok and glared at both of them.

“…to share in this gift from the spirits. I have chosen three of our men…”

Kirso pushed Bohok off the log. Kirso started to shift into Bohok’s spot but Yannin grabbed his arm and held him in his place.

“…to go to the other tribes and invite them to our village. To enjoy our hospitality..”

Bohok scrambled back up on the log, careful not to draw the chief’s attention. He shot Kirso an angry look.

“…and share in the bounty provided by the whale. I have chosen Yannin.” The chief gestured to Yannin. “To go down the river and tell the Root-Eaters.” Yannin stood.

“I chose Kirso to go up into the mountains and tell the Elk-Eaters.” The chief pointed proudly to his son. Kirso stood up next to Yannin

“And I chose Bohok to go over the mountains and tell the Bug-Eaters.” Bohok stood as well.

“These brave young men will be our voices, calling our brothers and sisters from distant tribes here to join with us.”

The people cheered. Bohok felt a surge of pride like he had never felt before. He felt loved and honored, he let the feeling sink in as the chief continued.

“As Bohok caught the whale in his net. I think it is only fitting that we allow him to tell the first tale of the fisherman’s fire.” Again the crowd hooted and squealed.

“Bohok.” The chief addressed him. “Would you tell us how you captured the great fish?”

Bohok nodded and began telling his tale. He told them about swimming out to the sandbar. He told them how he thought that his net had caught a log and about his surprise at being pulled into the water by the whale. He told them about being dragged through the water and finally bringing himself to the surface. He described to them how the creature breathed from the top of its head. How its skin felt, what it smelled like. He described the awesome power of the whale as it beached itself on the sandbar. Then he described looking into its eye as it slowly died. Bohok tried to give the people as much detail as he could. He acted out much of the action, showing them the things he could not tell.

When he was done the tribe was silent. The only sound coming to Bohok’s ear was the popping of logs in the fire. Then one man started thumping his staff against the log at his feet, an acknowledgement of a story well told. Then another and another joined him. Women and children began clapping their hands, stomping their feet, and cheering. Bohok could not help but smile.

Then Kirso started laughing. He laughed so loudly that the people stopped clapping and cheering. He held on to his sides he was laughing so hard. Kirso’s friends in the crowd started laughing with him.

The chief spoke, “What is so funny Kirso?”

“That you would applaud that story.” Kirso wiped tears from his eyes. “That is not a story of triumph or bravery. That is a story of dumb luck. Did you hear the same tale as me? He did not catch the whale, it caught him.”

Bohok felt his temper rising, but he fought it down. Kirso was goading him, trying to get him to dishonor himself like at the last fisherman’s fire. Bohok steeled himself against Kirso’s words. He would not fall into that trap again. He had spent too many nights reliving that horrible night to make the same mistake twice.

 “This man is a half blood fool.” Kirso laughed. “Who was nearly drowned by a fish that caught him.”

“Kirso!” The chief glowered at his son. “You shall not speak to Bohok that way.”

Kirso glared at his father. “You are always standing up for him.” He complained. “Why can’t you see him for what he really is? He does not belong among us. He is a dirt washing Bug-Eater and a liar.”

Bohok’s fists tightened into balls. He squeezed them to keep his temper in check.

“No Kirso. He is a man, like you and I. You will treat him with the respect a man is due.”

“I have no respect for this liar. He said he caught the whale in his net. He did no such thing. He said it himself; the great fish swam onto the beach. He did not catch it. That business about looking into its eye, saying it was like a man’s eye, like the great fish had a soul. I have never heard such an outrageous lie told in my life. I have looked into the eyes of hundreds of fish and I never felt like one was communicating with me. I have had enough of his stories.” He launched himself forward and shoved Bohok’s shoulder. “I have had enough of his lies!”

“Kirso!” Chief Yoosin yelled.

Bohok didn’t remember hitting Kirso. He could remember being pushed and he could remember Kirso laying on the ground holding his bloodied nose. The only way he knew he had hit him was that his hand hurt.

“Bohok!” Chief Yoosin turned to Bohok. His face was red with anger. “Help him up.” He pointed down to Kirso.

Reluctantly, Bohok obeyed. He reached a hand down to help Kirso off the ground. Kirso slapped it away with a growl and stood on his own.

“Did you see that father?” Kirso spat out a glob of blood and snot. “That is your Bug-Eater. He does not follow the Way of the River.”

“And neither do you.” Chief Yoosin retorted. “You have brought me much shame this evening.”

“But Father!” Kirso started but the chief silenced him with an out stretched hand.

“I will hear no more words from you tonight.” The chief glared at Bohok and Kirso.

“I have never seen two people who were so alike hate each other so much.”

Bohok was shocked by the chief’s words, he was nothing like Kirso. He saw his own disgusted look mirrored in Kirso’s face.

“I have tried to guide both you boys in the Way. I have failed! Tonight I have given both of you honors that you do not deserve.”

Bohok’s knees went weak, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to stomach hearing this.

“I cannot let this go unpunished.” The chief looked at Bohok and Kirso. “As the Elk-Eater Tribe lives on the way to the Bug-Eaters you shall accompany each other to both villages. You will not leave each other’s side. You will return together or you shall not return at all. Get into the house and prepare yourselves for your journey. You will leave this village before the sun rises. I do not wish to look upon you until you return.” The chief pointed to the door of the house. “Go!”

Kirso lowered his head and started into the house. Bohok looked out at the crowd of people, and into their shocked faces. He wondered what they were more surprised by; his and Kirso’s outburst, or the chief’s. Bohok had never seen the chief lose his temper. He doubted that any of the tribe ever had either. Reluctantly he followed Kirso into the log house.

Published in: on January 21, 2010 at 10:25 pm  Comments Off  
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The scene in my head

Jennifer Jackson tossed her third Starbucks into the trash as she got into the elevator. Her hands were barely shaking anymore as she hit the button for her floor. Today is the day she thought grimly, the elevator lurching into motion made her jump a little. She had stopped taking query letters until January 15, 2010 and today was that day. She was sure when she got into her office the InBox would be full of hopeful letters sent by desperate fools. Her job was to sift through the muck and pull out the nuggets of talent and skill then process the raw ore into fine pieces of jewelry for the world to observe and enjoy. The only problem was that the nuggets were rarer than gold.

The elevator dinged and Jennifer jumped, she took a Red Bull from her purse and popped the top, she still wasn’t ready. Guzzling the can she walked into the front office of the Donald Maass Literary agency. Donald was there waiting for her. He was always the first one in the office.

“Well, it’s begun.” He smiled and handed her a coffee.

Jennifer took a deep drink before responding. “How bad is it?”

“Hundreds, maybe thousands, I lost count.”

Jennifer made a face. “Really?”

“Afraid so.” Donald took the now empty coffee cup from Jennifer’s trembling hands and replaced it with a fresh one.

“Anything good?” She asked hopefully.

“Actually, yes, the first one you received. I liked it. You should read it.”

“The first one Donald?”

“Sent at the stroke of midnight, and the funny thing is I’ve met the author.”

“When?”

“At BEA last year. You know I usually don’t remember specific people from the thousands I meet at conventions each year, but I liked this guy. He came off really smart and funny too. I am happy to see he got his synopsis done. Of course I only talked to him for about five seconds but hey, some people stand out.”

“Well, I’ll have to read that one first.” Jennifer smiled. Perhaps today wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

I sent Jennifer Jackson a query last night at midnight her time. I hope reality matches what is going on in my head. I might be pushing it with Donald Maass remembering me, but who knows.

Tchuss

Lystra

Some grim statistics and some boggling information

I am doing my homework and researching agents and I stumbled across a disturbing post by literary Agent Jennifer Jackson. Jennifer works for Donald Maass Literary Agency and represents some great authors (Jim Butcher). She isn’t currently accepting queries but I intend to send her one once she starts again. In her post she lists her query stats for 2009. She received 8004 queries last year and request more information from 47 of them. That’s right 1 in 170, that is long, long, long odds. Of course the odds for drawing a pair of aces as hole cards in Texas Hold’Em is 1 in 210 and I have seen pocket rockets more than once so don’t lose heart. There are a lot of other factors to consider as well, this isn’t putting a quarter in a slot machine and hoping for triple sevens. The agent doesn’t randomly choose which queries she answers it is about what she is interested in. Still, it is scary seeing the numbers.

The astonishing part of her post is that of the 47 that garnered the prestigious request for more information, 3 did not respond. Can you believe that? Why even bother going through all the pain, suffering and heartache if you’re just going to ignore responses. In a subsequent post Jennifer theorized why someone wouldn’t respond, but I can’t believe someone wouldn’t at least send a message detailing why they couldn’t or wouldn’t respond. Rest assured I will respond instantly to anyone who contacts me. Even if I’m trapped under a bus, I’ll have someone bring me my laptop to reply to the email.

This wacky publishing business really shows how crazy a world we live in. I just wanted to share.

Tchuss

Lystra

www.lystrawrote.com

I upgraded my wordpress account and registered my domain name. You can now get to my blog by typing in www.lystrawrote.com. You don’t have to bother with the wordpress part anymore. This upgrade will let me do a lot of other cool things with this blog, things that you can only do with a registered domain name. It is pretty exciting for me. I added some more widgets to the sidebar too. You can now subscribe to this blog and it will email you notices whenever I post up new stuff. Also I added a “share this” button that lets you share any post over pretty much every social media format in existence. So if you read something you like click on that button and help me get it out there! Try them out when you get a chance.

Tchuss

Lystra

Published in: on January 12, 2010 at 11:17 am  Comments Off  
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Do your homework

I have two elementary school age children. They come home every night and I have to make them do their homework. They hate homework. It is a battle to get it done. I can’t blame them, I hate homework too. I even hate making them do theirs. It’s absolutely no fun. Especially when there are so many other wonderful things we could be doing. It is hard to sit down after a long day at school and do more work, but it is necessary. As a parent I know that the homework is important and my wife and I both sit down with the kids and make sure that it gets done.

It doesn’t take a huge leap of reasoning to apply that to my writing work. I have a very intense job, the last thing I want to do when I get home is do more work. Even writing a story, which is something I love doing, is sometimes the last thing I want to work on. Now put an un-enjoyable assignment in front of me, like editing, or writing a synopsis and I, like my kids, look longingly towards the television, or the Wii, or a paperback, or writing down a short story. I have to apply the same discipline to myself as I enforce on the children. I must do my homework. My homework right now is to research agents to send my queries off to. I have found this task nearly as onerous as long division. So while my kids sit at the dining room table scribbling down answers on worksheets I am sitting next to them reading agent bios on my laptop. None of us are particularly happy about it but it is important it gets done.

That being said, I have to get back to work.

Tchuss

Lystra

Sending Out Queries

I am sending out queries for Midnight In Vegas. I am trying to find the best matches for my book. I have been using my Writer’s Market book in conjuction with www.writersmarket.com and have come up with a good system.

I have already gone through my Writer’s Market book with a highlighter and bookmarks and identified all the potential markets I might query. I then added them to the MyMarkets section of writersmarket.com it has a handy tool you can use to track your submissions.

Then I find the website for the market I want to query and read all I can about the agents that work there. There is a great deal of information posted online. There is more than the simple lists of what they are interested in or not interested in. After reading about the agents I determine if they would still be interested in my work. I am surprised to find out how many this eliminates. You might think that eliminating agents is a bad thing but it isn’t. I don’t want to waste time submitting my work to someone who is predispositioned against it (or waste their time either, I wish more authors did this it would probably help the query process immensely.) Instead, I am sending my work to people who express interest in the type of book I have written (and are thereby less likely to reject it.) I am also looking for people who have similar business/writing philosophies to mine. I see an agent as a business partner. It is important to find somebody I think I can work with. I hope to have a lasting relationship with this person. A business relationship is often like a marriage, I don’t want to get stuck in a bad one.

After I have read the bios and selected an agent I carefully read their submission guidelines. Since I am being selective it is important to make sure that I send my work in the proper format. Every agent and agency wants something different. I don’t know if this is part of a test to see if writers are doing their homework or just the personal idiosyncrasies of the people writing the guidelines. Whichever it is (I suspect it may be a little of both) I carefully tailor my submission to match the given requirements. I don’t want my work thrown out because I sent in 5 pages instead of 10.

I am shocked by how time consuming this is. I thought that once I was ready to send out my query it would quick; just a matter of changing the names on the top of the letter and firing it out. This is definitely not the case. I suppose that in desperation you could do that, (I can even write a macro in Word that would do it for me) but I won’t. I think that part of the slush pile problem is too many people are doing that. My hope is that the time and care I put into this process now will pay dividends later.

Tchuss

Lystra

Query Letter V3.0

Okay in addition to writing my synopsis I have been polishing the old query letter.

Here is my latest version.

Dear Agent type person

Jeff Heaven is a small time Ecstasy dealer working off-the-strip clubs pawning pills. Jeff’s friend Charles brings him a hit of a strange new drug called Midnight. The black pill is so dark that it seems to dim the lights around it. Jeff is concerned with the drug’s appearance but the effects are so incredible that he agrees to help his friend sell it.

As the drug spreads through the clubs and casinos, Jeff begins to realize that everything might not be what it seems. He hears whispering in the back of his mind and he doesn’t like what it is telling him. People who are using the drug start behaving strangely, violently, a crime wave breaks out in the city.

Niccolo Casciano is a straight laced Las Vegas Metro Officer, he knows little about street drugs and less about the supernatural. In one night he is about to learn a lot about both.

Tymon can feel the growing evil in his bones the way other men can feel approaching storms. The ancient priest scrambles desperately to find out what it is, and how to stop it.

Deep within the pastel shadows cast by neon lights a demon patiently watches as her essence is consumed by thousands. She grows in power and influence; soon she will have enough to return to our world and exact her vengeance.

Midnight in Vegas is a 125,000 word supernatural thriller that takes the reader from the high tempo club scene of Las Vegas and into the twilight realm of the Perimeter, the world between worlds.

 Thank you for your time and consideration, I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Respectfully,

Lystra Pitts

Published in: on June 5, 2009 at 5:23 pm  Comments (2)  
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BEA Writer’s Convention Part Two

The crux of the whole thing is obviously the Pitch Slam. You can go anywhere and hear fantastic speakers talk about the things that were discussed in the various breakout sessions and speeches. You cannot find a room full of agents willing to listen to a horde of writers pitch their books anywhere but the BEA Writer’s Conference.

All in all I would say that the Pitch Slam went pretty much as I expected. I wish that it was a bit longer, I only got to speak to five agents in the two hours. Somehow the agents I wanted to talk to all had the longest lines and at 3 minutes a pop you burn through two hours fairly quickly.

My biggest disappointment of the trip was not being able to pitch to Janet Reid. I watched her during several panels and the Pitch Slam prep and I have to say she is as funny and clever in person as she is in her blog. That being said she was also the most sought after agent in the room. Her line when I first saw it held way over thirty people. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a line that size equals at least ninety minutes. I took a gamble and decided to pitch a few other agents whose lines were shorter then get into Janet’s line. Sadly at four thirty when I went to get into her line it was closed (and so was t lines for half the other agents I wanted to talk to.) I am still wondering if I made the right decision, but I need to get over that and concentrate on the agents I did speak with.

I am happy to say that two agents of my five were interested enough in my pitch to request more material. The other three will obviously hate it when I’m on the NY Times bestsellers list.

My two incredibly insightful agents were Sandy Lu of the L. Perkins Agency and Ginger Clark of Curtis Brown.  Both requested a synopsis and my first fifty pages. I am happy that I went to the Writer’s Digest Editors Intensive and already have had an editor look at my first fifty pages. I feel confident that they are strongly written and hopefully will get the agents interested in more. The synopsis is another story.

I haven’t written a synopsis. Anyone thinking of going to the BEA Writer’s Convention or any other place that allows you to pitch agents listen up. They tell you to finish your manuscript before you start to query or pitch your work well I’m going to add one more to that. Finish your synopsis. I have spent all weekend working on my synopsis and it turns out, synopsis writing is a bitch.

Imagine writing a book report on your book. Doesn’t sound fun does it. Trust me it isn’t. The worst part is I feel like I am scrambling to get it done. I want to strike while the iron is hot. I want to get this synopsis and my first fifty into these agents email inbox as quickly as possible, before they forget who the hell I am (not that I am that sure they’ll remember anyway they had to have met a lot of writers that day).

So if you are querying or pitching bite the bullet and write that synopsis today, you’ll be glad you did.

Okay wasted enough time blogging, now back to the bloody book report.

Tchuss

Lystra

BEA Writer’s Convention Observations Part One

The first thing the convention taught me was that I am not alone. As much as I read about the overwhelming number of query letters agents receive every day, how many times I hear about the thousands of manuscripts in slush piles overflowing out the doors and windows of publishing offices. There is nothing like a convention room filled to the brim with writers to illustrate how desperate my situation is. These writers, who I am sure believe in their work as much as I believe in mine, all paid their hard earned money, money they didn’t earn writing, to be there. THERE WERE HUNDREDS OF US IN THAT ROOM. Hundreds, who like me crossed great distances and spent extravagant amounts of money to get a few precious moments with an agent. Writers are not in short supply.

I wondered what would happen if every person in that room had a brilliant masterpiece, a novel of unequalled quality, the magnum opus of their genre in our time would the agents be able to take them all? Would they all get published? I believe that the sad answer to that question is no. There are too many of us for all our talent to be recognized. The system cannot take everything it is offered, no matter how good it is.

Luckily, I am sure that only a handful of the people in that room had good stories. Right? That is what they would have you believe, that is how the system is set up. But I don’t know. I heard a lot of pitches, both practicing with strangers and overhearing the guys and gals in front of me and I liked most of the story ideas I heard. I am sure that a lot of people in that crowd had mediocre stories or mediocre writing skills and they will be rightfully culled from the herd. Won’t they? Again I am not sure. I have read a lot of really bad books, and I know you have too.

The system cannot guarantee that it will discover all the talented writers nor can it weed out the untalented. So I have to wonder how does one succeed in such a fundamentally flawed establishment? The only answer I have is luck. You have to get lucky, bottom line. It sounds bad right? But it isn’t as bad as all that. You can work with luck.

What is that? You ask.

Work with luck? How is that possible?

Sit back and listen to the Nevada boy.

LUCK IS ODDS. Odds are probability. Probability is a mathematical equation. Equations are manipulated through the use of variables.

Here are the variables: Number of books published and the number of submissions received.

If the givens are that your work is good enough to be published the more you submit or query the better the odds are you will be published. I warn you the odds are really shitty to start out with, but I’ve pulled to an inside strait with no outs, if the pot is right, you just have to go for it. (I do not mean to spam query or do anything stupid or rude that will get you blackballed in the publishing world, I am only saying, query or submit to every available and viable source.)

You see what I mean?

So here is the pot. Your work being read, and enjoyed, by a person you’ve never met.

I hear so many people talking about wanting to see their names on the cover, or their book on a shelf at Barnes and Noble, or just seeing their work in print.

I think all that stuff is awesome, but it isn’t what I am writing for. I am writing to entertain people with my stories, as many people as I possibly can.

So with that illustrious pot piled up on the table before me, I’m going all in, and seeing where the cards take me.

I have seen the elephant

In Victorian England the British Empire spanned the entire globe. It was so expansive that the Brits bragged that the sun never set on the British Empire, and it was true, there were colonies and commonwealths on every continent. No matter what the hour, it was daylight somewhere in the vast empire. During that time, the empire’s most unruly and combative subjects were found in Africa, India, and Asia. Veteran British soldiers were said to have “Seen the elephant.” because if they had gone into battle it was more likely than not that they had done so in a place which, quite simply, had elephants. Today the term is more loosely used to describe any veteran of any endeavor.

After Writers Digest’s BEA Writers Convention, I can say without a moment’s hesitation that I have seen the elephant and what an ugly beast it is.

I have to say on the whole the convention was great. Karin Slaughter was an awesome keynote speaker, the breakout sessions and seminars were informative and fun, the lunch speaker was great, and the pitch slam was exactly what I thought it was going to be.

At a safe distance any elephant can seem charming. Everybody loves elephants, in a zoo, behind a sturdy fence, maybe even a moat. Do you dare climb over that fence, swim that moat and cavort with the great beasts up close and personal? I did, and I’ll tell you what I saw.

In my next couple of posts.

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