The agent who didn’t empathize with April was kind enough to read both _Dulcinea_ and _Camille’s Travels_ over the weekend (on long plane trips). She still couldn’t identify with either of the main characters.
This is not something I can fix, I don’t suspect. If I could be more like other people (and if I wanted to), I might be able to make the characters someone that people would identify with. But that’s beyond me. I’m different, and if at this age I hadn’t made peace wtih that, I’d be a fool. I like my differences. I don’t see merit in changing.
What she actually said was that she didn’t see that special spark in either of them. I wonder whether that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like my voice and doesn’t get charmed by anything about the books. She always says that they’re well written. Workshops never help with this because the only thing workshoppers do is pick out several passages and rewrite them. They really don’t look at the big picture. I did have one beta reader who saw the larger issues in a book, but ultimately her problem boiled down to not liking the character and her personality.
If I saw what the spark is in the Twilight series . . . or if I saw anything interesting in it at all . . . I would be ahead of this game. Since I don’t, I conclude that I am not on the right wavelength for audiences of this generation. I think our surface differences may indicate that there are far deeper issues in the ways we perceive the world.
On to the next agent on the list. Probably won’t have any luck there, either.
I can usually get over this by going to the piano for a couple of hours, but today I’m too aware that I play like a pig. It’s not just that the piano is going out of tune. It’s that even though I have played since I was four, I’m not going to get any better. I’m just not good enough. I always THINK I’m fairly good until I record something that I’ve invented or supposedly memorized. Then when I hear the crap that plays back, I realize how my mind’s ear edits what I hear when I play in real-time. I know, I know, I should just enjoy the act of playing, because I know I’m only doing it for self-expression and an outlet at any rate. But it’s depressing. You ought to get a LITTLE better if you spend hours in the batting cage, after all. Unless you’re the baseball.
Two more independent bookstores closed.
And I caught athlete’s foot at the pedicure spa place. Already have cracks at the base of my right little toe, and the whole side of my foot burns. Crap!