Sandra Gail Lambert

Geologic Time Scale

Abyssal plains, block disintegration, planetesimals, and upwelling mantles - these are the latest additions to my vocabulary.  They're from the geology texts I'm reading in anticipation of a trip to Santa Fe.  Besides the words (seamount, subduction, spreading ridges), there is the extravagance of the geologic time scale to be fit into the folds of my brain. 

It helps that I'm used to the "publication time scale."  At first, I'd send something off and right away hold my breath, but now it takes six months before I think maybe that I should be hearing something sometime.  Right in this moment I have a full manuscript out to a publisher (query in January, request for full in May) and an anthology possibility (submission sent in February, "recommended for the second tier of editorial review" message this month).  Anytime now I should hear if my little planetesimals have been captured into anyone's gravity field. 

P.S. Does anyone anywhere understand the magnetic fields of the Earth?    

Re-beginning

It's been two weeks of hospice world with my mother.  We've all worked hard for her to settle in on this new (lower) plateau and today is the day for me to take for myself.  I'm going to try writing again. 

This post is for me to remember where I was.  A list will help.

1.  A generous writer friend gave the "Rolling in the Mud" essay extensive notes.  It's time to look at them.

2. The still unnamed essay set in the Everglades was left pulled apart in an attempt to figure out what it is really about.  Wouldn't it be great if I opened that folder and there is the answer all obvious after this long break?  Right.    

3.  The memoir about this time with my mother - you'd think I'd start here what with the recent wealth of material.  Except that it's not "material" just yet. 

4.  Oh, and then there are the novel chapters an agent requested and now has waiting on his desk. That's an archaic phrase these days.  "On his Kindle" is probably more accurate. Whatever, it's best not to think about either too much. 

5.  The next novel.  It's a faint siren call that compels me to write obscure notes like "future - everything recycled," "anger under everything," "have a real plot," "a bookstore owner in a dying business."

6.  Submissions.  Somewhere in this neglected pile beside me is a list broken down by month.  I'm pretty sure that April's are done, but I should check on that. 

Okay, I'll start with #2.  It offers the best chance of quick accomplishment. 

Or I'll go figure out where to plant the Hop Hornbean tree I bought at the Native Plant Sale.  Or I'll watch reruns of Criminal Minds.  Or maybe take a mid morning nap.  And I'll have to call and check on my mother.  Just in case. 

Submission Strategies

 
This morning I made a list of every journal that had ever given me even a teensy tiny bit of encouragement, a list of well-regarded online journals, and a list of places I've, as yet, never submitted to.  

And now I'm going through guidelines and matching pieces to them.  If any editor out there thinks that my huge (and growing) list of rejections is going to protect them from my writing - hah.     

Novel update

 

As you know, I wrote the novel, I wrote the query letter, I wrote the friggin' synopsis.  There is a lovely chart of the agents that have received some combination of the above. 

And there has been some "interest."  (Yes, I know I'm using the passive voice all over the place here, but it helps to put a little distance between me and this weird emotional existence.  

So.  Now, I wait.  And write.  And wait.  And walk the dog, visit friends, and wait.  

P.S.  The photo is lifted from Moonrat's blog.