author Jodi Rizzotto
Check out Kindle Vella, a new way to read stories. From your Amazon page or app, you can go to Kindle Vella. There you can read the first few episodes for free, and then purchase tokens to read more.
My young adult fantasy romance College of the Crones is up with 24 episodes so far. If you like your heroes ugly and your handsome prince wicked, check this out!
For the last eight years, one of my writing goals has been to find a literary agent. Last October, in a surreal moment on my birthday, I got “the call.” Actually, in our post COVID world, it was a request for a Microsoft Teams virtual meeting.
It was really happening.
At the meeting, we talked about ourselves, our dreams, my book. Then Tia Mele made me an offer of representation. Because I still had my book out with other agents, I told her I’d get back to her after I notified them.
After I’d received prompt responses from the other agents, I made my decision. In October 2023, I became an agented author.
I went through two rounds of editing, and then Tia created a Google spreadsheet with the publishers she was sending my book to, similar to my querying spreadsheet. But my querying was done.
Now it was my agent’s turn.
After spending years researching agents, revising my query, synopsis, and pitch, it was someone else’s responsibility.
Now I was free to focus on my writing. At first, it felt weird. Like I should be doing something. In the back of my mind, I realize it’s the calm before the editing storm. But it feels good to take a breath and have more creative time.
If you’re still in the querying trenches, take heart. With a lot of hard work and a little courage, you will find the right person to champion your work.
Read my young adult faery tale on Kindle Vella. Episode 3 is live now with Episode 4 coming tomorrow.
A young widow must choose between remarriage or turning into an ugly crone. Erin joins the College of the Crones where unmarried women can learn vocations and survive in a world controlled by an exiled faery prince. There she discovers the crones are not feeble old women and other dangerous secrets that will challenge her beliefs and change her life forever.
Check out my fantasy/romance tale on Kindle Vella. The first episode is free!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CFTH17JF/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=College+of+the+Crones
I have sassy squirrels in my neighborhood. The past few days I’ve had to bring my border collie, Davey, inside the house in the morning because he can’t stop barking at the tiny creatures.
The homes in my block were built in the late 1940s, back in the days when trash trucks picked up your cans from a network of back alleys. These narrow roads provide the route for our electric, phone, and cable since they were put in before the days of buried lines.
Squirrels love to use electric lines as their personal bridges between the trees in our backyards. Davey notices everything, including the furry animals passing over his head. They cause him to bark like a vicious wolf since he believes the alley and its airspace are part of our property.
This makes the squirrels bolder, as they sit directly above Davey’s head, staring at him and twitching their tails. How they manage to balance on the wire is beyond my understanding. It’s fun to watch Davey and the squirrels interact, except for the part where he’s waking up the whole neighborhood.
Davey always barks and jumps at the squirrels, even though he never can reach them. He never gets discouraged. He never gives up. Even if he never gets his teeth on one fluffy tail, he will always try.
Seeking to get my first book traditionally published is like that. Those book deals sit up on the electric wire, taunting me with their advances, book tours, and international rights. There I am, on the ground, barking to get an agent or editor’s attention. Every day I get up, check my email for requests for pages. After sending pages, I stare at my phone, waiting for the Call.
Every day is the same. The squirrels tease Davey. He barks like a wild dog. My email inbox fills with rejections. The Call never comes.
It would be easy to get discouraged. No one would blame me for giving up. But I’m inspired by my border collie’s dedication to his job. He knows what he’s born to do.
Even if I never get my teeth on a book deal, I will always try.
As I hang on the edge of another writing retreat, I consider my expectations. This week, I will attend the SCBWI Writing Retreat in the San Bernardino Mountains, near Lake Arrowhead. Last year was our first in-person event since the pandemic. Last year was all about being in the presence of other writers, allowing their creative energy to infuse with mine.
I wonder what will happen this year.
Since the retreat is built around critique groups and writing time, I know I’ll spend a lot of time working on my book. My story has already been shaped by my other critique group, so I will need to concentrate on final revisions.
After attending this retreat for many years, I know the true magic happens when you’re eating breakfast and talking to the agent or editor at your table. Insight flashes between writers when we’re toasting at happy hour. The opportunity to have a fifteen-minute coaching session with a publishing professional is priceless.
In the first years I attended, I would drive up to mountains holding my breath. This would be my big break. I would meet the agent of my dreams. She or he would email me a contract when I got home. My writing career would be officially launched.
But I didn’t know what I didn’t know. My finished book projects needed more than properly placed commas. My plots needed more emotional depth. My endings needed to be more satisfying.
Years later, I will drive up the mountain with more realistic expectations. But my heart will still beat wildly when I arrive at the cabins. I will warmly greet our guest agents and editors. I will enjoy the company of my writer friends. I will take a deep breath of cool, pine-scented air.
Anything could happen.
You may argue Southern California doesn’t have seasons, but my umbrella would eyeroll if it could.
Usually Winter behaves itself nicely, not putting his feet up on the coffee table or rearranging the couch cushions. He usually arrives late and leaves early, making it possible for me to plan any number of outside gatherings and activities.
Not this year. Winter knocked on my door precisely on time. I didn’t complain because any Californian who likes a green lawn would tell you we need the rain. Needed the rain. And I have some really cute sweaters and boots I rarely have the opportunity to wear.
I like a good soaking rainstorm as much as anyone, but endless storms, week after week, began to annoy me. At least I wasn’t still teaching. I have many fond memories of plastic bridges laid over the flooded blacktop so my students and I could enter our portable classroom. You already know what children do when faced with a knee-deep puddle.
Remember the saying “If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb?” Apparently, Winter forgot. Understandable really, considering the endless storms. Not to mention the tornados we’ve experienced, a novelty in California. Of course, Northern and Central California would argue that those of us in the south have nothing to complain about except a few landslides.
And Winter brought us much-needed gifts in the form of filled reservoirs and snowcapped mountains. In return, we entertained Winter by traveling to the snow and making snowmen.
But the hour grows late, and Winter shows no sign of leaving. I yawn. I clean up the dishes. But Winter is still stretched out on my couch binge-watching Midsomer Murders. As the hostess, I balk at telling my guests to leave, but I am weary of sodden, grey days. Doesn’t Winter know I have gardening and patio work to do?
Any day now Spring will be knocking at my door, but she won’t come in until Winter leaves. She thinks he’s rude, but we all know she depends on him to prepare her way. My mind blanks out as Winter drones on about the time he flooded the Colorado River so badly he created the Salton Sea. And we all know how well that turned out.
What can you do about a house guest that will not leave?
As I scroll through my streaming channels, looking for a TV series I haven’t watched twice already, I realize a great truth.
Books are better.
Books are better because on my Kindle, there is an endless supply of new stories. This is helpful when you finish a book at 3:00 am.
Books are better because I can skip over the boring parts. Or linger over the marvelously crafted ones.
Books are better because if I don’t like where the author is taking me, I can close the book.
Books are better because the way the characters look in my head is way more accurate than the actors chosen for the TV show.
Books are better because sometimes you can actually meet the author at a book signing.
Books are better because you get to know the characters in greater depth, including things they are too polite to say out loud.
Books are better because even if you are sitting in a hospital waiting room, you can escape to the Shire and have cake at Bilbo’s birthday party.
Books are more reliable to convey the author’s message. Even though there have been some great adaptations of books into TV shows and movies, most readers agree something is lost along the way.
And one last reason—reading great books inspires me to write my own.
That’s why if I’m not writing at my laptop, you’ll find me reading a book.
Have you ever decided to become an expert at something, only to find out the more you spend time doing it, the less you actually know about it?
In my earlier years, I was a visual artist. For most of my childhood, I expressed ideas through drawing and painting. My first degree was a BFA in Fine Arts. But after college, real life intruded, and I had to make money. My creativity was expressed in clothing displays and sale setups. I continued to draw and create intaglio prints at the local community college.
Then came motherhood. My creativity emerged in birthday cakes and scavenger hunt parties. My creative genes were passed down to my youngest, who although she drew and painted, she preferred photography and video.
When the retail industry choked after 9/11, I went back to school to become an elementary school teacher. In my classroom, my creativity generated bulletin boards and diagrams of the water cycle. When I took on the after school musical theater program, I created backdrops and sets.
After my husband suddenly died, writing became my comfort. I could write about my characters’ struggles and pain easier than my own. Although I’d always written short stories, I had my heart set on novels.
How hard could it be?
Years later when I retired, I imagined I would crank out novels every year to make up for all those earlier years with no time for writing. My short stories appeared in anthologies. I got my first writing advance ($15).
After I finished three novels, I began to send out query letters and sample chapters. My heart was set on traditional publishing, so I knew I needed a literary agent. As the form rejections rolled in, I realized I didn’t know as much about writing as I thought I did. It wasn’t just about having a great story idea. I was responsible for creating character arcs for all my major players, as well as the villain. Novels had to be divided into acts and move at a certain pace. Forget the glorious description of the setting. You needed to blow things up.
How could I get better?
I took classes. I attended writing conferences. I hired editors. But the most helpful step was joining a critique group. It would take a long time to go through my novel in a critique group, but it was well worth it. After three years, we finally reached the ending of my novel. My faithful critique group tore it to shreds. They had permission to do so, as they had lived with my story for a long time.
Who knew endings were so hard? I made some corrections and resubmitted to my group. Still it wasn’t enough. Or rather it was too much. Apparently, I had another entire novel embedded in it.
I can’t help it if I keep coming up with new great ideas.
After much soul-searching, I now sit in front of my laptop, cutting chapters and characters, trying to salvage my novel. I’ve learned a lot. My next novel will be so much better.
As of this date, I haven’t deleted this story yet. The revision process may be painful, but it is a good teacher. You can read all you can about how to write, but in the end, you have to go through the process yourself.
And blowing up the ending of your book is a great way to learn.
Living the Write Life 