What's in a name?

"I love the name of your book!" said one agent to me this weekend.

Steamtopia Rising.

It's funny. Other agents ran the gamut from "Meh," to "Look!  The line at the bar is gone!"

This agent loved it. That's what she said. In my own special way, I love her back. She loves the name of my baby.  Funny thing, (Cuz this blog seems to be filled with unfunny funny): I always thought Steamtopia Rising was more of a nickname. It's what I called my manuscript till I found something better. I still have a list of options that includes things like "Crafters of Chaos" and "Harrow's Opus." I dunno. Naming a book can be a bottomless rabbit hole from which there is no return.

"Eat me."

Lord knows I love me some rabbit hole.

The problem is, rascally rabbit, it just doesn't matter. By the time an agent and an editor give everything the official okey doikey, it could be called "Beavis Rising."

Ok, not that, but you get the idea. So I don't even think right now.

Just like Beavis.

On a promising note, there's a Detroit Steampunk conference. Guess what it's called.

Go ahead guess...

You're no fun.  The glorious gala is called Steamtopia!  Ask me, that just rocks.

So now I share titles with a steam function. So maybe Steamtopia Rising will stick. Maybe it won't, so long as I  avoid Beavis Rising I'm a happy writer. Until it's published, the only title that's sure is "Completed Manuscript." And for that, I'm grateful.

Gambol of Words

I hate the salesmanship of writing. I mean, I get the necessity, I just wish somebody else did the work. You know, a designated pitcher.

"Step right up! Come, marvel at Rob and his magical Morlocks!"

I left sales to create worlds—not create sales. Selling a TV to Ray Parker Jr., that's just a bit-o-stress in a day's work; selling two-years of my soul to an agent? That's an emotional twerk in a rejection minefield. I'm begging experts to love Steamtopia based on thirty seconds of verbal illusion.

It's more than Steamtopia Rising, I'm risking that they'll love me! I'm one junior high dance floor away from getting published.

"Here dear agent, would you care to twirl an ungainly tangle-tango with 125,000 of my favorite words? No? That's okay, it didn't work with a seventh-grade Gina Robbins either. sigh..."

Obviously, like junior high, I need to start with confidence. Time for big boy panties. I wore them to my first dance, I can wear them now. This time,  I'll put them on, one leg-hole at a time, and  inside my pants.


The other thing that makes this tough is translating the pitch from written to verbal. It's common practice to open a letter with, "Steamtopia Rising is a 125,000 word YA alternate history, fantasy novel. As Harry Potter introduced the wizarding world to muggles, Steamtopia Rising introduces steampunk Morlocks to ELOI." Try leading a conversation with those words. They'll only confuse, and Gina Robbins still won't want to dance.

So that's where I am this week: perfecting the conversational query. Working words of character and charm, so that next Saturday I'm my Friday-night best.

"Would you like to dance?"

It's Official!

I'm registered for the 2015 SDSU Writers' Conference. 

This year I'm offering up the first pages of "Steamtopia Rising" for advanced reading. Two agents will read, then talk about what works and what doesn't. I've also signed up for a "consultation" appointment. What's a consultation? Think speed dating for manuscripts, only there's one person, one chance, no pre-read--just ten minutes of stress to impress.

 Hopefully "Steamtopia Rising" can gain the same interest that DTTR did. I mean Steamtopia did place at Detroit Working Writers, but writers are one thing; agents and publishers are a different monster all-together.

I'm so excited! This January 23-25, look out San Diego: Robby's back in town!

Wish me luck!