Where did the time go? 

How did this get to be May already? My last round of query letters have now gone the full 6 months with no replies. That sucks. I've been becoming increasingly cynical of all the FB/Reddit groups I'm in; there seem to be only 3 or 4 subjects; How do I write my memoir? Who will publish my memoir? I'm so happy I published my memoir, how do i self-publish (or some variation of).

I feel ashamed that I'm part of these groups and more recently have been wanting to express my self-loathing on being on these sites, wanting the same thing all these people want; to be read. 

And I'm sitting with a novel ready to go, sitting in Kindle for the last 2 months, waiting for me to pull the fucking trigger and just press publish. Why am i so hesitant to just put it out there? Probably because I'm over 50 now and I don't want to be considered a 'senior' writer? I don't know. 

Plus, who really reads this shit anyways. I saw a therapist 5x at the start of this year. He ended it, not me. I wound up crying every time I saw him. Typical suicidal thoughts. 1st time, I told him I wouldn't call him if I decided to do it- I think that's when he realized I was really in trouble. 2nd time, he wound up crying. 3rd time, he tried to get me to find my happy place, i couldn't and he literally said 'oh oh' as I started bawling. We had a 10 day break after that. 4th time, he told me the next time would be the last time and on that 5th and last time, I barely cried which I guess we/he considered good enough.

So here I am. I'm still working on the dolphin rapist thing. It's pretty big; 180,000 words (est) so I'm trying to cut it down and I cut out this huge chunk but I'm reconsidering as of course, it ties to the end. I'm also confused as to if it's funny or not. People have been raped by dolphins. That's not funny. But it is. But it isn't. 

Anyways, here's a picture of an evil dolphin for the likes. 

 

 

Yes, I am still not famous.

 
On query letters, podcasts and fatherhood

I've been spending some time listening to a podcast on writing, where three women critique query letters by hopeful writers. I've liked and hated it; the letters are basically all follow the same format; here's my genre, my word count, what the story is about and who the comparables are (meaning similar books). Blah blah blah about the arc of the story, a little bit about me to humanize me and the first 5 pages of a manuscript are critiqued. 

I'm in a love/hate mood with it. First I don't love that of the 10 critiques I've listened to, every query letter has been by women. Second, I don't love that (spoiler) I sent out 5 intro letters to my top five specific agents a three weeks ago and not a word. I hesitate to call them query letters as they weren't for one book specifically, but a pitch for all of them. I also don't love that none of those intro letters were like what these ladies would want. 

I do love most of the advice; clock in around 400 words; careful of comparing yourself to 'famous' authors, which is a bit difficult because I like to read the more tried and true. I'm no Kurt Vonnegut but I sure am influenced by him. Grab the reader at the start, show character arcs in your summary.

Anyways, the podcast has given me some ambition to look at my marketing again. The only one I feel is a slam-dunk of a one-liner is my current manuscript but the way it's going, it won't be for another year at least. 

Which brings me to a short topic about prioritizing and fatherhood. 

I annually hate myself when my birthday roles around, reminding me of pledge I made when I was 40 to get published. It's 12 years later and I still haven't achieved that goal. I totally get that a lot of it is on me; nobody is rushing to find someone who isn't making it easy to find. But a small epiphany- part of this delay in life goals is, yes, fear of success but it is also the responsibility of parenting. 

I spent an hour today teaching my 10 year old how to play Risk, 30 minutes of him explaining a detailed map he drew. We made Kraft Dinner together. Last night, my 14 year old asked me to sit with her on the couch and we watched TV (9-9!) for a couple of hours. I've spent hours this summer ripping up weeds and replanting my lawn as it gave me a sense of completion and honestly, will make our home look better as my wife and I grow older here. Nobody else was going to do it. I've also spent many hours not with the kids, doing other things to avoid writing, which is such a cliche but it's true. It's so easy not to write and I hate myself when I don't, when I listen to podcasts of others who are that much closer than I am, Some were mothers and I wonder how their support system is; where their kids are. I read Danielle Steele has nine kids and has written 94 books. That sounds impossible on both counts. Nine kids? Where does she find the time to be a mother. Then I think, she likely doesn't. Now I've never read any of her books and likely never will but I'm envious of her output.  That's a dedication to the art I simply don't have in me.   

Yes, I could have used all those hours to write, not write, promote myself, draft query letters, get closer to my dream. Instead, I CHOSE (and I have to remember this) to be a good father, dad, husband. They come first, usually always come first and that is nothing to be ashamed of. No matter how litle I write in a day or week.

Families are what we make them.    

My Next WoP/Passion Project

 

Everyone has some type of passion project. For me, my passion is not finishing my passion project. But I am working on it. 

We all need dreams. I've rekindled mine of sorts, been spending a few hours a day over the last two weeks trying to print out this mess of a dystopian legal thriller novel which I envisioned over a year and a half ago. I know this because, thanks to Google Docs, it keeps a version history of my works in progress. 

I think I found the original seed of this epic novel; it's from Jan 7, 2022. Over a year and a half ago. Crazy. 

It is a meeting of potential sexual assault victims to create consensus of filing a lawsuit against a dolphin and the company that manages it. A lot of the original guts is there; five victims, an official rep from the company, at the time called Playa De Blanca; it's now a global vacation conglomerate called Great Holidays. 

Two nights ago I night-dreamed of finding out the names of the agents of my top 10 favourite contemporary authors and sending off a query letter for representation. I had a good start in my head to the letter; giving two examples of roads to success, the one told to Michael J. Fox by his father when he wanted to become an actor and the one told to Kermit the Frog by Gonzo in the original Muppet Movie when he wanted to do the same thing. 

I'm basically the Great Gonzo of writing. 

It was a good letter in my head. Here's hoping I will follow up on it. But first, edit and print one more chapter, which was really the first chapter i ever wrote and is now tentatively Chapter 18 of many...

A Secret that Rocks the Literary World, if they only knew about it.

 

Wow. So many months since my last entry. That's because of all the press I am doing around my other projects is really cutting into this side project. Perhaps if I just admitted that jay royston is a pseudonym for the real me, a few more admiring fans may take an interest in this blog. 

But for them to take an interest, they'd need to bite the worm, which if you've read this far, you have. 

I believe this is called catfishing. I apologize to the real jay royston for appropriating your name and wonderful sense of humor in making this blog. I trust you like a good joke and won't sue. 

So who am I?

Here's your first hint; I have a coffee in front of me. It contains 2 spoons of sugar and some cream, maybe one, maybe two. So cross off everyone you know who drinks it black, or black with sugar. 

Still unsure?

The second hint is I have written 3 (maybe more) fan letters/email to authors of books I have read. There may be more but I don't really keep track of these things. I think if I told you who those authors were, you'd be too close to my real identity. However, I will say that one author was also a pseudoymn and wasn't an elderly wise Jeff Lebowski-type dude but more of a young Jeffrey Lebowski-type dude who wore seasonal Xmas sweaters instead of housecoats. 

I think that is enough hints for now. I shall enter my next set of clues in about 15 months time, in keeping with my current updating the blog schedule. 

I levelled up in adulting.

 

I earned myself a 12 foot aluminum fishing boat last year, doing it the old-fashioned way, bartering it from an obese neighbour who couldn't assist me in the building or paying of a shared fence. The boat had sat on an old utility trailer in the back corner of his yard and to which we stared at for the last five years, and after the bartering, found out it had sat there for twenty. 

I spent most of last summer rebuilding the trailer from the frame up, because also when you are an adult, you should have a utility trailer (caveat, you don't need one if you don't have property). So I rebuilt the trailer and spent this summer slowly migrating the boat from our back yard to the top of the trailer. I also needed to invest in a means of propulsion, for despite it also coming with a 7hp 45 year old outboard motor, I felt an electric motor would be more suited for my needs; specifically a quiet trolling speed. 

So for my 50th, I bought an electric boat motor and a battery to go with it. I also bought a fishing license, which is like an official ticket to enjoy the bounties of nature. 

I have used the boat twice this summer, which is a 200% increase over last year. I have taught my boy the ritual of the Fisherman's Club, which is to jump overboard and pee while holding onto the side of the boat. He enjoys doing that. I have learned that the slower it goes, the longer the battery life. I have learned rowing is not as easy as it looks in the movies.

I have yet to catch a fish. 

But I have a boat. 

I levelled up. 

yay. 

In other news, I was informed an ex-girlfriend of mine died last year of a brain aneurysm while running. She was 49 and one of those women who seemed larger than they were; who brought joy and laughter and excitement into my life and then when she left, it killed a part of me. She was someone who showed me how joyous life could be but I equated that to only being possible if she was there to point it out to me. I wrote poetry for her, wrote a short novella also about her that nobody has ever read. She was my first reader and my poetry made our relationship last maybe... two months longer? I can't exactly remember. However long it was, it wasn't enough for me, more than enough for her. It took a long time for me to get over her but that's on me. Life goes on until it doesn't.

I can only imagine how much laughter she and her husband for over two decades and I am sad to hear her life-timer is over. Just recently I had used her as an example to my daughter in a discussion about careers. My daughter had chosen 'computer designer' or something that sounded so establishment/stereotypical. My ex, on the other hand, 25 years earlier, told me she would love to be a do-wop girl, one of those girls in the background singing the ooohs and ahhhs while the singer did their thing. I loved that thought, someone not wanting to be the one in the spotlight, but instead being in the background, experiencing her own dream as she doo-wopped her way through life. 

She never did become a background singer, but I'm sure she helped so many others in her joy, laugh and smile, do-wopping through life. Here's to you, SJ.