Mary Ann Hayes

As you can tell by the title, this blog is for fellow frustrated writers who have had enough of struggling to get a foot in the door, or just a page through the mail slot, at any of the big publishing houses. We aren’t worthy of their attention unless we have a somewhat accomplished literary agent representing us. Of course, what reputable agent wants to represent a writer with no agent?

Let’s face it, writer. You’ve been at this for twenty five years and still don’t have an agent? Your work must be…well…s*%^#t. Why would I, a reputable agent, waste my precious time considering your work when you still, after all these years, don’t have an agent?

Suddenly the phone rings. Unidentified caller. I answer it anyway. Today is my lucky day, an answer to my prayers, the wonder of all wonders. A literary agent who is thrilled with my books and would love to represent me. Here is our company web site. Check us out and get back to me!

The web site is very professional, great graphics, full of big names and lots of information. How did I get so lucky? I call her back. She is delighted. Now let the scam begin.

It goes on for a week. Back and forth, back and forth. I try calling the phone number on the very professional web site. It says it’s a disconnected number. I try emailing at the info address. It bounces back. I research literary agents on line and can’t seam to find her name anywhere. She says it’s because she’s out of Canada. Can’t find her there either. She is talking to her boss about why the phone number isn’t working. Thanks me for brining it to her attention so they can get right on it. She says I should check out her LinkedIn account. I try, but she’s not on LinkedIn. She’s shocked and will contact them immediately.

She thinks I should consider investing a bit of cash, just a little bit mind you, in their highly successful marketing team. It won’t take much. A $500.00 initial investment will boost me right over the top. Right over the top!

Suddenly, she realizes I’m on to her, and now she’s on to me. The disappearing act is commendable. Not a trace.

So, back to my question: where are all the (legitimate) literary agents?

We’re all familiar with the old saying, “when the going gets tough, the tough get going.” It’s also said that a writer should only write what they know, and boy do I know what I’m writing about.

I believe the publishing industry is one of the most difficult industries to navigate. I’ve been an active writer for twenty five years now, have a handful of published articles, five published books, and a blog that I nurture for six months at a time and then ignore for years.

The blogging thing started with happy home tidings, the challenges facing women in our modern world, and the power of positive thinking. I got bored with myself quickly. We all know it’s hard to work and raise kids and be the best partner our beloved could ever ask for. We all know how hard it is to be superwoman.

But does anyone know how tough it is to spend years writing a novel only to have publishers say the last thing they need to promote is another writer of fiction? Many times over? It is discouraging. So, I decided to be the person who gets going when the going gets tough. I would write what I know. I know imagination, creativity, and kids. I know how to engage middle graders in stories that send them on adventures. I never wanted to write in the middle grade/YA genre, but here I am, writing what I know and determined to get my books noticed by the readers of the world.

This comes with a whole set of challenges. More on this later.

Later,

Mary Ann

It’s a good time of year for tending gardens. It all begins with planning a space to grow things like tomatoes, patience, beans, kindness, garlic, acceptance, cucumbers and love.

After deciding on the amount of space required, hard work is needed to till the soil by removing rocks, hate, weeds, criticisms, bugs, selfishness, sticks, and bigotry. After the soil is prepared, we need to add fertilizer, laughter, rows, respect, drainage, encouragement, seeds, and smiles.

A productive garden requires daily attention. Without it, weeds and lies come back to crowd out vegetables, truth, flowers, generosity, berries, and tolerance.

I’m planning my garden today. I know where I will plant it, how I will cultivate it, and what I intend to produce. The end product will nurture my body, my soul, and my mind, as well as the bodies, minds, and souls of those sharing my life’s journey.

So I ask you — how does your garden grow?

Later,

Mary Ann

“Our life is but a grain of sand in the indifferent ocean of infinity.”  Sergei Dovlatov

Simply said — we are, as individuals, insignificant in the universal scheme of things. A self important person only need step outside their tidy little world to understand and reap the benefits of such an absolute truth. Not s single one of us is that big a deal!

Now, the mountains – they’re a big deal. They are room and board to all kinds of wildlife, plant-life, streams, rivers, birds. They have the power to challenge, inspire, destroy, and heal. Spending time in the mountains puts me in my place. I’ve never conquered a mountain by climbing to the top. Yet, I have stood on the summit and felt grateful to have arrived without being swallowed up along the way.

And the oceans? Now, that’s something to brag about. If you wake up one day and discover you are the Pacific Ocean, you have a right to be cocky! You and the moon are in cahoots, (can you imagine such a thing?) and your tides rule as a maritime god. The power of your combined forces is unimaginable. So, if the oceans roll in with epic waves and declare their self-importance, I’d say they have that right.

There is a bristlecone pine tree in the White Mountains of California named Methuselah that is 4,848 years old. If only that old tree could talk! Somehow, Methuselah’s mighty roots have held tight to the earth, extracted necessary nutrients, water and sunshine, and managed to ward off insect infestation and disease for 4,848 years! Imagine the strength at the core root of such a tree. It is truly unimaginable.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to put our self important little selves in perspective. The universe doesn’t really care that we just lost fifteen pounds or that we drive a Tesla. When we individual humans dry up like old prunes and leave the planet, nature won’t care and nothing will happen. Yet, if the mountains blew their tops or the oceans dried up, well now, that’s another story, isn’t it?

Later,

Mary Ann

It’s that time of year again, when we lose the ever so precious hour, yet gain an hour at the end of the day. Funny how there are times when we simply can’t tell spring is on the way, regardless of the date.

Being the research junkie that I am, I turned to the internet for advise. Don’t look at the snow in your yard, it said. Just sit back and ask yourself these simple questions:

1. Have you seen any Indian Plum in bloom yet? Because it’s about the first thing to bloom in lowland forest and wetlands. Lord knows we have plenty of those, so finding it shouldn’t be much of a challenge.
2. Are the Herons gathering in their giant rookeries to build or repair nests in massive treetop colonies? Go look around Discovery Park if your not sure.
3. Have you spotted any gray whales lately? They migrate in spring, travel through Puget Sound, and feed off the bottom which makes them pretty easy to spot. Usually in March.
4. Have you been to the Columbia Gorge recently? Is it exploding in wild flowers? The unique combination of dry hi desert and damp west-side air contribute to the abundance of unique-to-the-area wild flowers.
5. Do you suddenly have a pet newt? It’s that little lizard with the bright orange belly and toxic skin. It’s the one that isn’t afraid of anything and scurries around in broad daylight daring anyone to touch it.

If you have answered no to any or all of the above (which I have done), then go back to bed, regardless of the calendar date or daylight savings. It’s just not happening. Just look out your window at all that snow!

Later,

Mary Ann

As surely as a rose reveals velvet soft petals and heavenly fragrance, Shirley reminded me of it’s rather nasty thorns. In the world of surely, Shirley held her ground with solid stance and determination, unyielding to the ideas of others. Meaning me.

Surely, I knew Shirley was annoyed and probably hated me by the time I’d submitted my dissertation regarding the necessity of a name change. It’s not as if she’d been christened with a name she would most likely spend her whole life defending. Right?

A few examples:

Page 1. The time in sixth grade when Robby Grafton proclaimed loud and clear, “surely, you’re a sure thing, Shirley!” From that moment on, you’ve been referred to as, “sure thing, Shirley.” That right there should be enough.

Page 2. The entirely dreadful memory in sixth grade gym class when Mrs. Strand couldn’t stop herself with, “surely you can climb that rope, Shirley! Surely, you can’t give up with a name like, “Shirley!” “Surely you can do it, Shirley!” the whole class chanted.

Page 3. “It’s a sure thing cuz we’ve got Shirley on our team!” “That’s right! Sure thing Shirley!”

Page 25. High School. Your own mom saying, “surely you don’t intend to eat all of that, now do you Shirley?” And, “surely you don’t intend on wearing that out of the house, now do you Shirley?”

Page 27. High School Graduation. “Congratulations, Shirley. You are sure to do well in life.” And, “Surely, you plan to go on to further your education. Surely, Shirley has exciting plans – right, Shirley?”

Page 79. You’re mom to me: “surely you could suggest Shirley do something about that freshman fifteen. It’ll surely get away from her if she’s not careful!”

In the bad name of bad names category, who’d ever thought a simple name like Shirley could pack such a huge trunk of emotional baggage.

Hours later she finished reading the highlights of her life. It was her twenty-first birthday. Her mother had actually said to me, “surely you’ll stay for a piece of Shirley’s birthday cake, won’t you? It’s fat free!”

Shirley smiled at me and heaved a heavy sigh. “You’re right. It’s time,” she said. “Surely, there are few who happily skip through an entire lifetime with the name “Shirley.”

The paper work took three months. Shirley invited her close friends and a few family members to a “new name revealing” party. The name was written on a large sign hidden under a curtain. Champagne was poured. Glasses were raised. The curtain was snapped away. The new name Shirley had chosen for the rest of her life was revealed.

Grace. It took about five seconds for her to become Racie Gracie.

Some people just can’t win.

Later,

Mary Ann