Applications and Placement

Dex is back from Peru and will shortly be collecting his Sprint Smartview, which means I won't have Internet access at home, so I'd best take blogging advantage while I've still got it!

I feel like I'm in a quicksand of applications. After the rejection--however kind--by the first agent I approached with "Two Motherlands," I took Dex's advice and headed off to the library to pull from a list of other possibilities. Just like the job applications I've been trudging through online, each agency (if they are in fact accepting new clients, and not exclusively by referral!) has its own guidelines as to what they are looking for, and what they expect prospective authors to send them to pique their interest.

It's kind of like going through college applications again, except that 1) there is much more information required, and 2) you don't know what makes for a successful candidacy. With college applications, I could count on being admitted to at least one program, but with job and manuscript applications there's no such assurance. It's kind of like dating. You could be perfect on paper, so to speak, but if the other doesn't fall in love with you, it's a no-go.

Although my best efforts have been heretofore insufficient in gaining either employment or publication (or romance), my Monday night Trivia team is experiencing a pleasant period of success. Last week, we finished 2nd, and last night, we came in first. Which meant that my margarita both times was free. And I'm doing better at darts. Which is to say that I usually hit the board these days, rather than the floor, walls, or other players. We are all happy about this.

Sheesh

Enough with the catty comments from the relatives. Yes, I am a packrat, and a clumsy person, too. All the agent correspondence was via email (see? no paper rejection letter to hold onto), and there were no obvious "this is how you use this" directions on the lat machine (so I can be forgiven for pulling the bar behind my head, can't I?). Give a girl a break.

Wrecks of Various Types

I haven't had a car accident, thank God! But I did almost take off my own nose on Saturday evening. Susan had shooed me out the door when I said I was debating between taking a nap and working out, and I am glad she did--I spent 45 minutes on the Stairmaster, 30 on the exercise bike, and then another half an hour on a hybrid glute-buster apparatus that really worked up a sweat (not that I was bone-dry after my previous exertions). My legs having been toned, I went to the Lady Gold's room to work on my arms. The last machine was one with a bar that you could pull down either to your chest or to your shoulder blades, and after a couple of pulls to my back I decided to move to the front. And cut it a little close. The agony. I thought my nose might be broken, and was surprised when it didn't start pouring blood. You wouldn't think that a nose as small as mine could hurt so much. I think it's just badly bruised, though I couldn't breathe much through it when I went to bed last night. The internal swelling has since subsided, judging from the fact that I can now take in air without opening my mouth like a fish. Poor little nose.

After I slammed my schnoz (an incident nobody saw in person), I decided I'd exercised enough for one day, and so I grabbed my keys and waterbottle and headed out into the parking lot. Where I fell in a pothole. It was really more of a "pot-bowl" because the asphalt was sagging several inches down into a depression, rather than cracking. There was one witness to that graceful move, but at least he refrained from any snide remarks. I might have bitten his head off, otherwise. And choked to death on it, given my luck at the time.

Better providence awaited me at home, where Steven and Susan were (unbeknownst to me) preparing a five-star repast of stuffed salmon, garlic bread with rosemary, sauteed greens, and butternut squash. And wine. Oh, my. Our friend Amy came over at 7:30 and the four of us had a relaxed candlelit dinner, and then sat down to watch Star Wars, which Susan hadn't seen since she was about five.

This morning, I took Mr. B with me to early church. I think he was a little flustered by all the paper included with the bulletin (though it's less than previously, as now the weekly updates are distributed via email), and the large-print version of the order of service just added to the stack that he shuffled uncertainly. The collective responses may have thrown him a bit, too--although there's often an "amen corner" in small Bible churches, you don't find the unison reading of formally-worded confessions and professions which are dear to the hearts of Presbyterians. Still, he said he enjoyed it--he really paid attention to the sermon, and remarked afterwards that he liked the preacher--but he wasn't interested in attending Sunday School, so when the service let out we chatted with a few folks and then I took him home. And I went down for a nap. Susan got me up at 2 with the news that lunch was waiting--she and Steven had again produced a nice meal, this one of pork chops, rice, salad and ice cream. Ahhh. My nose would have twitched with pleasure if it weren't still throbbing.

Speaking of good food and wrecks, Amy and Susan and I drove up to Bethesda Thursday evening to attend the most-local stop on the CakeWrecks ("This time, it's personal") "World" Book Tour. We left home 30 minutes before the event started (GoogleMaps said it would take 21 to get there) and arrived half an hour late. There was an accident on the Key Bridge involving a GUTS bus. Jen and John, the authors of the CakeWrecks blog, are clever, friendly and funny in person, too--we got to hear the tail-end of the Q&A session. And then there was (of course!) free cake. And then the opportunity to meet the two of them. Susan and Amy, not being Wreckies, took themselves off to the bookstore cafe to wait for me, while I waited to be called into the Presence. Due to my tardiness, I was close to the back of the line, and given there were about 200 people there, and that Jen and John (kindly and appropriately) took time to talk to each one, it was pretty late before I was done.

Saturday was the first weekend since almost April that Anita and I were actually at the Arlington Market together. The gorgeous, sunny and cool weather didn't work in our favor, however, as all of the DC area seemed to be out walking, jogging, biking or hiking, but not shopping at our little market. We packed early, which meant that I was home in time for a late lunch, and had the luxury of deciding whether to nap or exercise. And you all nose the rest of the story.

World's Nicest Rejection

I heard back from the William Morris agent this afternoon. I got what could well be considered the nicest first-time submitter's rejection ever. In part, it read:

Needless to say, this is a fascinating historical document. Unfortunately, after reading the manuscript I have to conclude that this will be an extremely difficult book to place with a traditional trade publisher. While the back and forth exchange is an incredible window into these times & places, the lack of a true, binding central narrative will make this work extraordinarily difficult to market to the general intelligent lay reader. I wish I had some relatively easy solutions to this problem, but I can't come up with any, and therefore I think it would make most sense to pursue an academic publication in the US.

Again, I'm so sorry I don't see myself being able to make this work, but thank you very much for your consideration and for the opportunity.

I'm impressed by the kindness of the whole email, although I am thoroughly disappointed by this setback, and I do think that the book does indeed have a "true, binding central narrative," which may not have been obvious from reading just two chapters. Be that as it may, there is work to be done--approaching academic publishers with what is, at its base, an exploration of what God did in the life of a 20th century communist Russian family. This may be a tough sell.

Or should I try to talk to another agent? I truly think the book should be mass-marketed, not produced by a university press with limited distribution potential and high per-volume cost. I could use a neat dose of wisdom right about now...

Off to the Gym

Government job online applications are their own special form of hell, with more than double Dante's circles, and within each of these spheres, more sub-spheres, like cloves in a head of garlic. It would take any reasonable person hours to complete the process; for a somewhat unreasonable person like myself, that time is exponentially extended. I just finished one application that took me days to assemble--partly because the system crashed on me yesterday morning, when I'd plugged in about half the information, and though I'd been hitting the "save draft" key religiously, it not only didn't save the latest version of the draft, it ate all the previously-inserted data, except for my name, address and telephone number! Susan was home sick yesterday and had to listen to me rant. Poor girl!

One of the checks finally arrived in today's mail! Still haven't heard anything from the book agents.

The weather is superb, bright, clear and cool, and I'm going to revel in this by going over to the gym this afternoon, rewarding myself for my mental exertion by producing some physical sweat. Mr. B has said he wants to go to church with me and Susan this coming Sunday, so that's another reason for rejoicement. And Steven told me and Susan when he dropped by last night that the two of them are taking me to a nice restaurant the weekend before my birthday: another anticipated happiness!

Alright, time to burn some calories (all those mini Snickers bars some diabolical soul brought to Sunday School this week...)

Valedictory Victory

The NPV had never been beaten, single-handedly, in Scrabble during his entire residence in VA. And so it was Wednesday night, at the end of what was perhaps the last of our forty or so Scrabbling tournaments, that I managed to eke out a five-point win. As another girl who has played the wordsmithing game with us told me, "it was a proud day for womankind."

Dex having lent me his Sprint mobile wireless device, I have already applied for one job with the "guvment" and am partway through a second application for an analyst position with another agency. Though in Peru, Dex continues to send me Craigslist postings for oddjobs. The man is incorrigible. He looked downright shocked Wednesday night when I suggested I might move out of the area (who on earth would be his walking partner?!), and so I suspect a stepped-up campaign to root me in Arlington.

The checks have still not arrived in the mail (do they eventually?), nor have I heard anything from the literary agents. Last night was pleasantly spent with Portia, a friend from the Philippines, who told an entertaining tale about the Secretary of State having a yen for one of the locally famous Georgetown Cupcakes, sending her security detail into paroxysms of stress trying to locate the business (don't these people have GPS?). Which teapot-tempest ended with one of the detail asking Portia out for coffee.

Checks in the Mail

So, I'm freezing the proverbial buns in an overly-air conditioned alcove in the Adams building of the Library of Congress and wondering when, or if, three paychecks that I'm due from three different consignment places in the DC area will arrive in my mailbox at home. I'm expecting enough cumulatively to pay the rent, but their not arriving has put a crimp in my style (they are way overdue). That and the fact that it's rained three consecutive Saturdays, meaning neither Anita nor I have been able to set up at the market, mean I am really short on cash. And of course this would be the time I need to replace my headlight bulb, get pants hemmed, buy groceries, and so forth.

The NPV is moving out on the Orange Line later this week (the Wiggle having gotten married and departed), and purposes to clean out his freezer feeding me this evening. Susan and Steven have a date night tonight, but as recompense for my missing the exquisite lasagna he was making for the three of us (apparently I was to be included in the dinner arrangements, though I didn't know this yesterday!), Steven treated me to lunch at the communist Pho place in Rosslyn today, before he dropped me off in front of the LOC. My friend Paul (hereafter known as Dex) plans to leave his "connect to the internet from anywhere" device with me before he goes off to visit the parentals in Peru tomorrow. So, the males of the species are being pretty darn decent to me today. Would that it were so every day!

Still haven't heard anything from either of the literary agents, though I did (my mother tells me) get an effusively conciliatory snail-mail letter from AAA, in response to a hot email I sent them after returning from the roadtrip out West. All the hotels they recommended were great...except one. An edited version [removing name of the offending business, as AAA swears they are going to change their ways] of my scathing review:

Dear AAA,

My brother and I just completed a cross-country trip, driving from the state of Washington through Oregon and California, then across the southern section of the North American continent via Nevada, Arizona, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama, finishing in Georgia. We used AAA guides and maps for much of the trip, relying particularly on the hotel/motel lists contained in the relevant 2009 Tourbooks for recommendations on where to stay each night. For the most part, these were excellent and accurate, assuring us of clean, comfortable and affordable accommodations along our route. There was one glaring exception, however, that we wished to bring to your attention, with the hope that you will investigate and possibly revise or revoke your endorsement of the motel in question.

On Friday, September 25, we were heading toward Yosemite National Park, California, and decided after an hour or so of after-sunset driving to stop for the night. The motel we pulled into was Ye Olde Hole in the Wall. The Tourbook rated the motel 2 diamonds, and noted that nightly rates ranged from $59-$149. We requested a room with two beds, and were informed that the regular rate was $145, $135 with AAA or military discount. This was a steep price, unaccountably so given the basic double room which we were given, and the fact that there was no breakfast included in the cost. But we were tired, and decided that there was little other option.

Room #201 (despite the number, located on the first floor of its building) was designed for wheelchair accessibility, but the motel must have assumed that its mobility-impaired guests were also visually impaired and would not notice problems with lack of cleanliness, as the lowest several inches of the shower curtain were grey-green with a thriving mildew colony, visible even though the lighting in the bathroom and room were generally poor. The towels (the guest book having little in the way of listed amenities, and much in the way of warnings about stealing the linen) were flat, not fluffy, which did little to disguise the stains which afflicted them. The sheets, also, were not white, and bore the ownership stamp of another hotel!

It being a warm night, we decided to turn on the air conditioning, and discovered that the wall unit was unplugged, and in fact the device seemed to be manually adjustable only by plugging and unplugging. It was not until the next morning that we found a digital temperature-box on the wall (it was hard to see in the dim light, and would not have been accessible for any wheelchair-using guest), so we were unable to test whether this mechanism actually worked—probably not if the wall unit were unplugged. Though we had to plug in the air conditioner, we had to unplug the refrigerator, because the thing was making disturbing ticking noises, like a bomb in a low-budget movie. Incidentally, when we unplugged the refrigerator, we noticed that its plug interfered with that of the microwave, which shared the same wall outlet, leaving the prongs of one device only half-way inserted—a fire hazard in a facility surrounded by woods in a region perennially affected by devastating forest fires.

In summary, we did not feel that Ye Olde Hole in the Wall was at all deserving of even the 2-diamond AAA rating, nor should it be able to claim (proudly displaying the plaques on the check-in office wall) that it is even “AAA approved.” Thank you for your consideration in looking into this matter.

Sincerely yours, [etc].

AAA tells me that the pseudonymous Ye Olde Hole in the Wall will be contacting me directly. They'd better grovel, the filthy sods. Getting another check in the mail, along with a profuse apology, would be nice.