Self publish vs. agent

Back in 2014, I sent out...mmmm (too lazy to check my sent box) about 100 queries. I got a few bites. Two partials. One full. All rejections. 

Since then, I've gone back to school and have had co-workers, friends, colleagues, and even professors edit/help me revise my book. I know now, it's as strong as it's going to be. Sure, I've written other things, but I can't move on. I love this book and these characters SO much that I can't leave it alone. I won't. So, here it is 2018, and I sent out queries again. 

A whole whopping 18 queries. 

Something has changed.

Before, I was practically desperate. I queried EVERYONE. Literally. But now, I'm more choosy. I judge the tone of the agent's bios. I don't think I'd like to work with them. Eventually, my list dwindled and dwindled. Granted, I haven't gone through the whole list. (Only querying 18 out of 100 would be too extreme. Too picky, right?) 

But I'm having a hard time. Rejections are hard. Reading about an agent--liking them as much as you can like another person through the internet--and having them reject you is hard. What's even harder? Receiving a personal rejection. Yep, just got one of those the other day. It was so nice. SO nice and genuine. But it hurt. 

I used to think self publishing was giving up. (I know, I was kind of an asshole.) But the more and more I think about it, the more I want it. Is that bad? Is it bad to quit querying and decide to self publish? 

The book market is tough, and I never see agents or publishers actively looking for my genre. (YA urban fantasy) Oh--and it has vampires and werewolves--which agents HATE right now. But, I love them, and there's people out there that still love them and you know where they are finding those books? Amazon.

I'm not going to put my book on amazon tomorrow, but I am going to start doing research and I think eventually, I will go that route. 

I'm excited. 

My blog is lost in the sea of unrecognized blogs, but if you're here, leave me a comment. When did you decide to self publish? 

Poem Analysis: Because I Could Not Stop For Death

Because I Could Not Stop For Death is a lyrical poem because it tells a story using rhythm and delves into the author’s emotions. Upon reading the poem for the first time, I assumed--from the title--that is was going to be about someone dying, and perhaps contemplating their life while on their deathbed. While the poem is about death, it personifies death and makes death a peaceful journey rather than suffering until the end. The reason I chose the poem is because I had read it around the same time I got a scary diagnosis, and it helped me not be so scared of the worse case scenario--death.

The poem is about a woman who gets picked up by a gentleman in a carriage. The gentleman is Death. They travel peacefully and slowly taking their time. They pass children playing, fields, and even the sun until it stops at her grave. Her trip seems like it went by fast, but actually it lasted an eternity.

Not only does the poem tell a visualizing story, it captures feelings. It’s visual in the way that it shows the children playing, grain fields, and the setting sun.There’s more to these things being visuals though. On one hand, it shows how life is still going on without her. Children are still going to play, grains are still going to grow, and the sun is still going to set. It shows how insignificant she is in the world, and yet, in another way, it can be seen of her life passing before her. The playground is when she was a child, the grains is when she  was grown and strong, and the setting sun when she was at the end of her life. The speaker is a woman explaining her journey with Death. We know she’s a woman because he’s wearing a dress. The poem starts with “because” and due to this it gives a feeling that she is explaining something to other people.

“For only Gossamer, my Gown –  / My Tippet – only Tulle” (15-16)

She talks in past tense as if her journey had already happened and she is telling someone about it.

“Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet / Feels shorter than the Day” (21-22)

The speaker does appear to be addressing other people, like she is telling a story perhaps to the living, by way that the poem has a narrative feeling to it.

The voice of the poem holds a very patient and calming tone. Her attitude is neutral toward Death--maybe a little respectful. Death isn’t something to feared, but rather like a companion. The tone stays consistent in its serene nature until the very end. I don’t believe the poet was being ironic, I think she was fascinated and scared of death and this was a way to cope with it. In her time, death was something often contemplated because religion focused heavily on death and back then people died more easily than today. She often wrote about death, but in this unique poem, death is something entirely different.

The poem speaks to everyone because as humans, we are often contemplating death and are scared of it. Death is often seen as a scary figure, painful, or the end of everything, but this poem shows it in a different light. Rather than the grim reaper with a skull face and sythe, a companion comes for us, and rather than it being the end, we go on a journey--one that lasts longer than our life. The poem states, “The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  / And Immortality.” (3-4) By saying immortality rather than mortality, it shows that the speaker doesn’t think death is the end. Death will always be something we fear because it’s the unknown, which makes the poem even more relatable because we want death to be something like this. It’s hopeful. This poem resonates with all because everyone is scared to die.

In the beginning lines, “Because I could not stop for Death – / He kindly stopped for me” (1-2) by her using the word “kindly” it already starts Death off as a gentle figure and eases the mind. By saying, “I could not stop for Death,”(1) it relates to people because not only are we so busy living our lives--almost too busy to stop for anything--we especially don’t want to stop for death because we don’t want to die. And by her saying Death stopped for her shows us a kind gesture even without her using the word “kind” because she herself was too busy to stop for anyone, but Death stopped for her.

The poem is organized in very short sentences with dashes. When one reads it, it makes the reader pause and read slowly and gives the feeling of the poem where everything is moving patiently and relaxed. The line breaks often reveal more to the story, almost like a tiny plot twist. For instance, “We passed the Setting Sun – / Or rather – He passed us – “ (16-17), at first when she states they passed the setting sun, you get an image that the sun is setting, it’s getting darker, but then when she springs the second part it shows you how slowly they are travelling and they perhaps it’s not them passing life by, but by life passing them by. Nothing changes when you die.

She uses dashes to explain more detail and make the poem more visual. As an example, “At Recess – in the Ring –” (10) and “My Tippet – only Tulle –” (16) by using the dashes, she creates the picture and explains what the children are playing, and what her dress is made of, rather than making the poem wordy. Technically, the poem isn’t shaped a  certain way, and it’s not concrete, but there is something about how narrow the poem is--how she uses clipped words--that makes the poem pause a lot and read slowly, so as the reader reads it cascading downwards, it comes off as the same pace as perhaps the carriage. This would be lost if the poem got changed to a prose.

Although there is a rhyme scheme, the poet likes to break it a bit in this poem. She rhymes “Me” with “Immortality”, she also uses slant rhymes such as, “Day” and “Eternity”, but she even go as far as no rhyme at all, like with, “Ring” and “Sun”. It works though because throughout the poem she uses, “Immortality”, “Civility”, and “Eternity” to all come together in a rhyme scheme. Another way she ties the poem together is by saying “We passed” over and over, and then at the end, when they get to her grave, she says, “We paused.”

Dickenson likes to capitalize nouns to make them sound important and stand out. For instance, in the lines, “The Carriage held but just Ourselves – / And Immortality.” (3-4) Immortality is capitalized almost as if it’s a person, like Death is. Some people believe that Immortality is also a person, a chaperone in fact, because during Dickinson’s life, couples needed to have a chaperone. Although, Ourselves--among other words--is also capitalized  emphasizing that perhaps they are by themselves.

The Carriage is a striking image in the poem because it’s where all the action takes place. Here, she also capitalizes it, showing its importance. It’s a metaphor for the journey to death--and with death. The sun setting, and the speaker getting chilly is also a metaphor for the coldness we associate with death. When she says, “Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet / Feels shorter than the Day / I first surmised the Horses’ Heads / Were toward Eternity (21-24), by using “surmise” we see that all of this is based on feelings or instincts.

Death says nothing to her, and yet she still feels at peace even without knowing for sure what’s going on.

I chose this poem because I find it both enchanting and peaceful. It’s like listening to a lullaby, and it has a calming affect. Death is something everyone contemplates, and the idea of it can be so cruel and frightening, but this poem makes me brave. The poet could anticipate a reader like me because every single human contemplates death numerous of times. It’s the unknown, and it’s everyone's’ most primal fear.

I liked the poem the first time I read it because I really loved how Death wasn’t a scary skull in a black cloak. It was the first time Death was depicted as gentle and kind. I also love the era, so the carriage, the gown, and the gothic atmosphere just comes together so perfectly in my mind. I think anyone can appreciate this poem. I think at the end when they get to the “house”, it can be a little confusing because people are expecting either a tombstone or golden gates, so when she’s taken to a house in the ground, I could see it not being so clear at first.

Work Of The Day: Chbosky

So, this is a little change of pace. Normally, I bore you all with Old English works. Yet, today I'm posting something a little more contemporary: The Perks Of Being A Wallflower. Have you read it? Perhaps you've seen the movie? Yes, the one with Harmione. Btw, her name is Emma Watson, and you should look into her some more because she's a phenomenal person. But anyways, if you haven't read it, then as my favorite Lit Professor says, "There's still time." It's not long, and it's a very easy read. It'll change you, in a good way, of course. 

Now, I could put literally a hundred things I love in this book down, but I'll do my favorite. When I read this part, goose-bumps rose on my arms. It's like the author knows what's in your heart, your feelings. There's things you experience, and yet, you can't put them into words, because it's more of a feeling. Yet, Stephen Chbosky, slams it right into your gut, and aha! there it is! Yes, you know exactly what the character is feeling because you've been there. 

Okay, I can ramble on forever about this. So here it is:

“Because I know there are people who say all these things don’t happen. And there are people who forget what it’s like to be sixteen when they turn seventeen. I know these will all be stories some day, and our pictures will become old photographs. We all become somebody’s mom or dad. But right now, these moments are not stories. This is happening. I am here, and I am looking at her. And she is so beautiful. I can see it. This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive. And you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And you’re listening to that song, and that drive with the people who you love most in this world. And in this moment, I swear, we are infinite.”
                                       

Work Of The Day: Milton

I chose this sonnet because Milton was blind, and here he states how he dreamed of his late wife, and although he couldn't see her face in his dream--which he had never seen her face--she was the sight of love, sweetness, and goodness. Now, that's true love right there. And then the last line will just strike you right in the heart, especially if you're a literature lover like myself, which I assume you are since you're here reading this. He says "day brought back my night" which may seem confusing, but remember he was blind, and so the only time he could see was when he dreamed. When the day came, he went back to darkness--night. Ah! Beautiful.

Sonnet 23: Methought I saw my late espoused saint

BY JOHN MILTON

Methought I saw my late espoused saint

       Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,

       Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,

       Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and faint.

Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint

       Purification in the old Law did save,

       And such as yet once more I trust to have

       Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind;

       Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight

       Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd

So clear as in no face with more delight.

       But Oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd,

       I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.

Work Of The Day: Marlowe

Ready for chills?

This is From Christopher Marlowe's play The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus

You should read it.

But if you haven't here's a little recap: Dr. Faustus wants to sell his soul to the devil, and here he is having a conversation with one of the devil's demons.

“FAUSTUS: Where are you damn’d?
MEPHISTOPHILIS: In hell.
FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that thou art out of hell?
MEPHISTOPHILIS: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it:” 
― Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus

Work Of The Day: Poe

Happy Halloween!

Because it's Halloween, I chose a perfect poem for the day. Of course it's going to be one of Poe's. 

Please enjoy. Also, have a fun, but safe Halloween!

Annabel Lee

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

It was many and many a year ago,

   In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

   By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

   Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

   I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

   Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

   In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

   My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

   And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

   In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

   Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

   In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

   Of those who were older than we—

   Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

   Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

   In her sepulchre there by the sea—

   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Work Of The Day: Donne

Hello.
Bren here.
I realize I have been neglectful of my blog/twitter/facebook page. And recently, in my English Lit class, I've been exposed to all these great poets and writers. Chaucer, Mawlowe, Dunne. These are just a few. And I've been enlightened and inspired, and because of that I've been annoying everyone around me because it's all I'm talking about. So, I realized, why am I bombarding the people around me who don't appreciate the work as much as I do? Hello! I need to reach out to my fellow writers and literature lovers who are online!

So, I'd like to say I want to do a "Work of the day" (First off, I say "work" because it may be a poem, sonnet, play, or just a sentence) that inspires me and I want to share it. Also, I'm gonna try to do it everyday but between school, work, and everyday life, it might be once a week, maybe twice. We'll see.

And if the poem is hard to understand, please look it up and read more into it, because I promise you, it's worth it. Don't let the old language be a barrier to far greater things!

Here is a love poem that is way more than a love poem, and quite possibly, the best love poem.

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

BY JOHN DONNE

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

   And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say

   The breath goes now, and some say, No:

So let us melt, and make no noise,

   No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

'Twere profanation of our joys

   To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,

   Men reckon what it did, and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,

   Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love

   (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

   Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,

   That our selves know not what it is,

Inter-assured of the mind,

   Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

   Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

   Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

   As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show

   To move, but doth, if the other do.

And though it in the center sit,

   Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

   And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

   Like th' other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

   And makes me end where I begun.