What do a door in L.A.'s Griffith Observatory and the Publishing Industry have in common?

Just when you think you've found a way in... you get this:

This picture is not a picture.

It's okay, though. That door was subjective. We queried another entrance and it turned out to be an actual entrance.

On the other hand, once you're "in" the publishing industry, you might run into this:

The restroom of doom in Venice Beach

I got locked in here. And the rest of my party had already started down the boardwalk. And trust me when I say the last place you want to be randomly pounding on a door, screaming like a crackhead, from inside the toilet, is Venice Beach. 

In the end, a nice man, with dreadlocks coming out of his armpits and an odor that had me writing home to mom, helped me out of my predicament.

He then proceeded to try to sell me his CD of reggae music. Which I of course bought. After I explained to him that he was white. I will buy anything from a stranger who breaks me out of the john.

That's my mission statement.

I have one more day of the WIFYR conference. I plan to have a wrap-up of all the awesome nuggets of wisdom for next week. 

So, what's everyone up to? Anyone else get trapped in a bathroom in Venice Beach? Or worse, anyone else querying right now? 

Prepare to be Walloped by a 2x4 made of Sunshine, whether it's cancer or publishing

Thanks y'all for voting in our Barry Manilow cover band naming contest.

And the winner is:

THE BARELY MANILOWS

Stay tuned for our debut...

On to the post.

Every time we take my dad to visit a new doctor, we listen patiently to the spiel. We are quiet as he or she reiterates what a formidable foe cancer is. And then my mom opens her mouth, and I think to myself, I hope this doctor knows what he's in for. He's about to be whacked up the side of the head with a buttload of optimism. 

She will take whatever abysmal numbers they throw at her, and twist them around to suit her outlook.

Odds are 100:1 against us? "Fabulous," she says. "That means one person, somewhere out there, is beating the odds. Why not Dad?"

This attitude infiltrates every aspect of his treatment.

Yes, the chemotherapy causes my dad's hands and feet to swell and blister. Some serious ouch. 

His hands, twice their usual size

 But how my mom sees it is, "If it's doing that to your hands, imagine what it's doing to the tumors! This is so good."

Every break from chemo means my dad's hands will shed their outer skin, revealing the super-sensitive skin below.

Mom: "Isn't that new pink skin underneath gorgeous? It's like baby skin!"

She says this as she tirelessly and delicately massages his hands and feet. She knows how much it hurts.

As for the fact that he could only survive Disneyland in a wheelchair? 

Mom: "It's only temporary, and can you believe we get to use the wheelchair line? This is so good!"

Sometimes I get the sense that her optimism scares people. We hear whispers of "Doesn't she get what's going on? Is she unclear of the concept of Pancreatic Cancer?"

 I can tell you, without a doubt, she's totally clear on the concept. She just expects the best, and plans accordingly. And I've seen her expectations defy science, and fly in the face of those pesky numbers known as "The Odds".

For instance, my dad's chemo regimen knocks out his white blood cells, the things that fight infection. If his white count is below 1.5 he can't get a full dose. At 1, he might not even get any, because the danger of infection is too great.

After my dad's break from his first round of chemo, he knew he was still weak, and he was sure his numbers hadn't recovered enough. On the drive to the hospital, my mom repeated, "You're getting infused today. Get ready."

They tested his blood, and it was at 1.0. Borderline. They agreed to give him 80% infusion. Because this was only the beginning of his second round, the doctors thought there was no way his counts would recover for his next treatment, as he would have no break.

The next week, they made the drive to the hospital, and my dad was sure he wouldn't get the infusion. My mom said, "Get ready. You're getting infused."

My mom called me for support, and I was all, "Oh yeah, I'm with you. He's totally getting infused." But inside I was thinking, "There's no way he's getting infused."

They get to the hospital, draw his blood, and wait. The numbers come back. 1.9. 

There's no explanation. Those numbers didn't make sense. He got the full infusion.

And after Disneyland and Palm Springs, the sheer energy of the trip - and the fact that each infusion should have an exponentially detrimental effect on his white count - should've led to even worse numbers.  Plus, he was pretty sure he had a low-grade fever that morning.

They drive to the hospital. My mom says, "Get ready. You're getting infused."

His counts come back. 4.8. What the what?

How does this relate to publishing? You can probably guess, but I'm going to explain it anyway. 

Every person who's been published defied the odds. Every. Single. One.

And along the way, I bet every single author knew someone out there was saying, "Are you crazy? Don't you understand the odds?"

I'm sure most of you have heard me say this, but I found my first agent after a contest with my sister-in-law, titled "Who can get to 100 agent rejections first?" 

Let me tell you, I hit 100 rejections first. In your face! Boo-yah!

And with every rejection, my mom and I would get together and say, "That's one rejection closer to success!"

When my first book didn't sell, and I had to part ways with my first agent, my mom was all, "Glad we got that one out of the way. Now off to find a better fit!"

Even though I sometimes forget it, my mom reminds me there is a power to positive thinking. Believing something will happen in the face of incredible odds. 

I don't know the science behind that power. I don't have any proof. Would my dad's counts have the same acrobatic skills if my mom did not literally bleed sunshine and rainbows? Maybe.

Or maybe I'd be writing a different blog post. I don't know. I never finished The Secret. 

But I can tell you, my approach during the whole query/rejection stage helped me survive the long and arduous journey.  Survival turned out to be key. I could've easily given up after rejection number 99.

And my dad was supposed to be dead two years ago.

Here's to expecting miracles, when reason tells you not to.

Yesterday, I went over to my parents' house for our weekly Sunday lunch. I checked out my dad's hands, as I always do. 

I turned them over in my own hands, ran my fingers gently over the blisters and said, "If the chemo is doing this to your hands, think about what it's doing to the tumors!"

My mom said, "Hey! You're beginning to sound like me! Or maybe I'm beginning to sound like you."

No mom, I'm beginning to sound like you. And I hope it never changes.

Are you in the middle of querying? Or any other struggle? Feel free to siphon off some of my mom's unwavering, unreasonable, emphatic optimism. She can enthusiasm your butt off. Only she'll do it more eloquently.

What DWTS Teaches Us About the Publishing World

Howdy.

So I watched Dancing With the Stars last night. I've never really gotten into the show before, because I like my shows to have a guy who holds a rotating power drill up to someone's thigh, all the while shouting, "Where are the Nuclear Rods?!?!" (Farewell 24).

Anywho, I watched Dancing with the Stars, or DWTS as people in the know call it, and of course, I was struck by the similarities between the dancing competition and the Publishing industry. I don't know why no one's talked about this before. (Well, probably lots of people have).

Here's what DWTS teaches us about Publishing:

1. Nobody likes an Astronaut.

Okay, so that's not exactly true, but bear with me. Last night, Space Hero Buzz Aldrin was voted off the dance floor. Despite the producers making us feel like not voting for him would be like not voting for Apple Pie, he made an early exit.

Publishing: As much as a publisher gets behind a book, and tries to ensure a best seller, it's the quality of the dancing that will sell it. Wait. I'm mixing metaphors. But you get the drift. Nobody can force a bestseller, no matter whose feet touched moon dirt, thus beating those Ruskies. Who knows why some books flounder while others catch on like fire. Nobody can predict it. But if the love isn't there, you can't force it.

2. America hates the Space Program.

Well done, America, voting our hero off. You've just killed the Space Program. Now the Ruskies have the power. 

Just kidding. This is what I wanted Buzz to shout during elimination. I thought it would be cool, followed by security forcing him off the stage while he laments, "Why do y'all hate Spaaaaaaaace?"

3. Running after Eight kids Doesn't Make you Light on Your Feet. 

    

I don't know if you knew this, but Kate G. has eight kids. and the paparazzi follows them like moths to the flame. Heartless weenies. Kate never wanted to be in the spotlight. She did dancing with the Stars to take a stand against fame, and tell the world, just because you have a reality show, it doesn't mean you can act.

Show me anger, Kate:

Keep flapping, Kate. You're not going to fly away.

Publishing: When it comes right down to it, it's the writing (dancing) that matters. And there is such a thing as talking about your kids (books) too much. You kids (books) are never as cute to everyone else as they are to you.

4. The people who love... um... these:

Aren't the ones who know how to use this:

Now, if people voted by going to a bar and chugging each time she licked her teeth, she'd be the front runner. 

For publishing: Know your target audience. Know exactly where it will fit on the book shelves. Know how large your audience would be, and why they would buy your book. If you can't figure this out, Publishers won't be able to either.

5. Doesn't matter how cute your dance is. If you don't follow the rules, you don't stand a chance.

These two (okay, I'm not good with everyone's names) did an awesome dance, but apparently they broke some cardinal rules of the shuffle. I had a tough time understanding just what the rules were, but here's what I gleaned:

     a. They dipped when they should've squatted

     b. They strutted when they should've shimmied.

     c. Their costumes weren't historically accurate. Everyone knows sailors show a little more skin.

Publishing: You can write a great book, but if you don't follow the rules of querying and submission guidelines, no one will ever read it, and the dance scores won't count. So don't let something like a shimmy keep you out.

Okay, y'all. Keep shimmying. Anyone else watching dancing with the stars? Who's your most annoying contestant?