Share this:

It’s been a couple months since I’ve actually touched the #NaNoWriMo project in earnest. Yes, I know, I’m disappointed in myself too. But even though I didn’t exactly plan this break, I think it has actually been good for me.

Yesterday was my day off from my real job, and I spent about five hours editing my manuscript — first at Starbucks, then at Cosi before heading to my volleyball double header (We don’t need to talk to the results of that one…) And you know what? I actually got some really good edits in, and I think I have to attribute some of that to the fact that these eyes have not been glued to those pages for seven or so hours a day in months. I was fresh. I had a new perspective, and I wasn’t afraid to red-pen out whole paragraphs or pages if necessary.

The other reason I was so productive is easy: Now that I’ve lost two months, my productivity is sky-rocketing. The new goal is to have my query packages in the hands of a selection of literary agents by no later than next Saturday. So what does that mean? I have to stuff some envelopes, right?

Oh Gosh, I wish. Last night I likened this part of the process to applying to college. You know what it’s like, This school wants the common app; This one wants four recommendations; This one can be submitted electronically, but needs 12 forms of ID including a blood sample. Each one of these literary agents wants something different, so last night I pulled a Total Maggie and made a spreadsheet so I could have an organized road map, spelling out what I need to accomplish and send for each agent.

I remember when I was a junior at Syracuse, I spent my Winter Break on the living room floor in the Farmhouse, creating a similar spreadsheet, in which I laid out the application guidelines for all 73 internships I applied to. Yes. 73. It was the longest month of my life, and my breath smelled like the sticky part on all those manilla folders for a solid day and a half after I mailed the last packet out. No, my vacation stories didn’t match up with the other girls’ in my sorority, but I ended up getting my top-choice spot, so it was worth it. That’s the only thing that’s keeping me on task with this endeavor. I just keep telling myself it’s going to be worth it. And it’ll be about 10 days this time, not a whole month.

I narrowed down the list of 28 potential agents I had created while in Mexico. The number is now considerably lower, which is a good feeling, given the fact that each agent packet is likely going to take an hour to organize — after I complete all the moving parts. So far, I’ve created the query letter, which I’ve sent out to about half a dozen friends for their constructive criticism and will complete polishing today. But after last night’s organizational all-nighter, I now know that I also need a one-page synopsis and a bio about me (apparently my 140-character Twitter info box just won’t be enough). In addition to that, I need to fast-track some of the editing I’ve been doing.

I know, I just said that I kicked some major editing butt yesterday. But that was all red-pen-on-page work, and now I need to enter those edits into the living, breathing Word document, which will ultimately take three times as long, as I second guess and ponder. Trust me. Editing Maggie is an inherently indecisive creature. Actually, wait, scratch that. I don’t think I’m indecisive. I’m more of a commitment phobe. My mind goes through this whole crazy thought process, where I question whether my new changes are really better than the original draft, and I freak out about the fact that changing the text is a huge decision, and panic about whether I’m ready to take that kind of leap.

No. It’s not normal, but at least if my book sells kajillions of copies I’ll be able to make a good case that therapy should be written off as a work expense…

Share this:

Max dated so many boys throughout the course of the book that I had trouble keeping them straight during my constant state of NaNoWriMo exhaustion

Ya know, I thought flipping the calendar into December would mean this whole NaNoWriMo whirlwind would behind me. Or at least that the hard part would be over. Sounds reasonable, right?

In fact, I had this awesome plan that included me spinning through the editing process in four days during my trip to Mexico. But much like my beloved protagonist Maxime, I have a way of ruining even the best laid plans. I’m about a quarter through the editing process: I’ve staged a solid red-pen attack through the first 60 sixty or so pages.

Most of the edits entail switching verbs around, and re-writing numbers to comply with fiction rules rather than the AP Style rules that I’m used to (in newspaper journalism, we write out one through nine and use numerals for 10 on, while in books I guess I’m supposed to spell out anything less than 100 — I’ve found about  25 errrgh, twenty-five instances where I need to change numbers around in the sections I’ve edited so far). Some of them are more embarrassing.

It could be worse. I’m often entertained by the mindless mistakes that made their way into my first draft during half-asleep writing sessions well past midnight over the course of November. IHere are a couple of my favorite gems (Commentary furnished by ExBoyf, who took a crack at editing some of these chapters before I got around to it):

Simple misspellings:

Forgotten words:

Obvious exhaustion leading to a lack of basic knowledge of spacial relations:

Share this:

Seriously, because I'm sunburned, and sun block costs 250 pesos per bottle here....

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an Irish-American couple in a resort town in Mexico must be in want of sunscreen.

Seriously. We lobestered it out today. For once in my life, I’m actually less red than my vacation mate. SMB is all kinds of toasty red, whereas I was actually able to stay on the beach for an extra hour or two tonight to edit and research literary agents for my NaNoWriMo creation.

We’ve been in Riviera Maya since about noon on Monday, and I have loved every second of it. Monday was sort of a wash, since we woke up at 3:30 a.m. to get to the airport on time. Once we got here, we walked around a bit and got the lay of the resort — it’s huge. Sprawling even, and I’m eternally impressed by all it has to offer — before grabbing a bite to eat and going to bed. I slept from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. without a single interruption. It was heaven. I even mentioned to SMB today that my eyes seem bluer than they have been in a few months, due to all the rest.

On Tuesday, we went to Tulum, which is an old Mayan kingdom. So. Cool.

After we saw the ruins there, we headed over to Xel Ha, which is this natural lazy river. We snorkeled (my first time ever — I found a fish that looked just like Dori from Finding Nemo), rode  zip line, checked out the beach, tubed down the lazy river, got stung by fire ants, and enjoyed the open bar. Yes. Open bar. I’ve been enjoying several of those over the past few days. Our resort is all-inclusive (God bless you, Mexico), and I’ve discovered some personal favorites among the half-dozen bars on the grounds, including the swim-up bar and the one we literally hung out at today, where the seats are swings.

Today we lounged about a bit. And by lounged about, I mean I worked on some post-NaNoWriMo book editing and agent scouting as I previously said. I also edited chapters one through three. SMB read like an entire book — it still mystifies me that he’s able to read that quickly. In fact, he’s read about 50 pages since I started this blog post. I totally thought I’d be done before him, but he just beat me… We also kayaked a little around the ocean here. I still can’t get over how blue it is.

Tomorrow I’m going to do a scuba diving demo, because SMB wants me to get certified so I can scuba with him. We’ll see if I have a panic attack underwater. If I don’t, it should be a go. Also, there’s bocce here, so we’re gonna roll for a bit tomorrow. (Shout out to my bocce team! What What!) I hope we also have time for beach volleyball, but I think that will depend on how our skin’s feeling. Of course, there’s a canopy at the swim-up bar…

Share this:

Last night I wrote about how scared to death I was about the idea that maybe — even after everything I’ve done this month — I might not hit the 50,000 word mark by November 30, like I’m supposed to.

Then I woke up this morning, earlier than I had originally planned and looked at my calendar. November 29 meant I had two days left to crank out the 4,000-plus words I needed to type to finish this thing. But it’s also sort of a holiday for me. Today’s my Dad’s birthday.

I don’t say much about my Dad on this blog, especially when you factor in how much I say about my mother. I guess I take him for granted a bit, the way all kids take their parents for granted when they’re around. But my Dad is one in a million.

When I was 8 years old, I told my father I would be the first female president of the United States. He didn’t laugh. He told me to go ahead and make it happen. When I was 10, I told him I wanted to be a writer. He didn’t tell me that making a living as a writer is near impossible; he told me to make that happen too. When I was 13, I told him I was writing a book. He challenged me to get it done without letting my grades suffer. When I was 17, I wrote my fifth book. He bragged to his friends.

Then, when I was 22, I found myself jobless, in need of a place to stay for a summer after my internship at a magazine failed to turn into a permanent job. He didn’t tell me “I told you so.” He started calling me “roomie.”

That’s the thing about my Dad. No success is too big for him, and no failure is really a failure. He promised me once that he would always be there for me when I fall on my face, regardless of how old I am when I take the topple or how muddy I get at the bottom. When I first moved to Connecticut and tried to make a living wage out of a meager salary, he pumped $30 or $50 or sometimes $100 into my bank account almost every month when I’d call him to tell him my bank account was empty, as was my refrigerator and my gas tank.

All I had to promise him in return was that when I finally sold my first book someday, I cut my first check for a ski condo for him to spend his golden years by the slopes. I’d give anything to be able to earn a fortune and turn it over to him someday.

Will I? Who knows. Maybe I’ll never get the chance, but when I woke up this morning, I thought to myself, “You know what, Margaret? You can make a down payment on that today.”

So happy birthday Dad. I finished this book for you.

Share this:

I have two days left. Two. Days.

That’s how I’d say it. My main character, Maxime, would probably add in an expletive or two, because she tends to curse like a sailor when she’s stressed out. And I’m gonna go ahead and drop a secret on you: I’m stressed out.

I have to write approximately 5,000 words in the next two days. I know. I know. I’ve done that in one day before, but that was a fluke. A total freak accident. And I don’t have the luxury of time to bank on another freak accident coming my way. So I’m just going to sit here and sulk and think about all the ways NaNoWriMo has ruined my life in the past 28 days: Like the fact that I haven’t really seen my friends; The way the bags under my eyes have swelled to new dimensions that can barely be disguised by concealer; Or the three-to-five pounds I’ve packed on by spending an additional two or so hours on my tush every night.

I think it’s the last one that bothers me the most, since I’m six days away from a vacation to Mexico, where I’ll spend most of my week in a swimsuit. Curse you NaNoWriMo.