I am a sucker for these sorts of pet stories:

Here a dog and monkey are inseparable.

And here, Nora the cat plays piano.

Okay, back to writing…..

My half-sister, Sylvia, passed away last night. “Passed away…” Those two words always give me pause. Sylvia is so much a part of the reason that I survived my childhood.

We’re sitting there–anywhere, the dining table, the sofa–and Brian says, “Why did you sigh?” and I shrug.

I lie along the top of the sofa (it’s wide, it’s sturdy) like the cats do and stare. A bit numb. Missing Sylvia. Not feeling like doing anything.

Sylvia was older than my mother when I was born, my father’s second daughter with his first family, the family that his marriage to my mother broke up. She was half sister, half mother to me. The most upbeat person I know. Or is that knew? When someone dies, does knowing them pass into “knew them?”

Oh, the minutia of it all.

I do know this: Sylvia will leave an unfillable hole in my life. As it should be.

I’ve let too much time go by without posting.

We’re back home, missing snow.

I’m revising Starletta’s Kitchen and planning to give a writing workshop at a major insurance company tomorrow for a dozen of its marketing folks.

And I’m keeping watch, via phone and email, on my half-sister back east who is close to death. Sylvia is who I write about at the beginning of the chapter in Pen on Fire called “Using the Ones You Love,” the chapter that begins with: “Multiple marriages, remarriages and bigamy run in my family. My dad married my mother while he was still married to his first wife. My half-sister divorced her first husband, married her second husband, divorced him and remarried the first; and when he died, she remarried the second, who had been waiting for her for ten years.”

After I sent Sylvia the book, she said she liked it, “especially the part about me.”

Sylvia was from my father’s first family. She was older than my mother, so you can imagine the jolt to her family when my father, a native Sicilian, left her mother and the family for my mother. Must have been a major drag for everyone involved.

So now Sylvia’s in the hospital. I spoke to her the other day. She told me she hoped she would get into heaven.

“If you don’t, Sylvia, none of us will.”

“I don’t know,” she said, kinda slurry.

There were a lot of “I love you’s” and she then she said, “I’ll see you in heaven.” So she must have decided she would get in after all. Yesterday a priest gave her Last Rites.

It’s debatable whether the Eskimoes have 100 words for snow. Doesn’t matter. Today we have blotla, which is blowing snow and tlapa, which is powder snow.

This shows the view outside the condo.

I love snow.

Here’s the beginning of a poem by one of my favorite poets, Diane Di Prima (a podcast of her on my show is at http://writersonwriting.blogspot.com).

“First Snow, Kerhonkson” – for Alan

This, then, is the gift the world has given me
(you have given me)
softly the snow
cupped in the hollows…..

(You can find her poem in its entirety here: http://www.rooknet.com/beatpage/writers/diprima.html. Just scan down a bit.)

I do love snow.

We are going out
into the snow
now.
Make a new memory
with snow.

Trav and me…

A friend wrote to me about her novel that has been rejected from enough agents to give her pause, to ask me what I think she should do. Some agents have said they didn’t like the “voice,” and the last agent said she didn’t like the writing.

Here’s what I said, more or less:

All I can say is sometimes you just have to move on. I wrote two novels and 100 pages of another before I wrote PEN ON FIRE. The first novel I sent out to only one agent and she said, “The characters are navel gazing, but I like the writing,” and I thought, You’re right, they’re just sitting around talking, and I put it aside. If I’d had a passion for it, I would have sent it out more, but I realized it was the novel that taught me what writing a novel was all about.

The 2nd novel I worked hard on. I compiled a couple dozen rejections from agents. There were some really good parts but the main male protagonist no one liked. During that time, I began writing PEN ON FIRE because …why? I loved inspirational writing books and wanted to write one, wanted to combine instruction with memoir. I had two agents who compiled a couple dozen rejections. I put it away for a year or so, hired a freelance book doctor/editor who didn’t know me to give me feedback, and I rethought the slant, researched what was out there and how could I make my book different. Came up with a new title and the aspect of time—using little time to write.

This time the book worked. I got a new agent and a great book deal. And it was 8 years from the idea to publication.

Was that time wasted writing the novel and working on PEN ON FIRE? I don’t think so.

All writing goes toward becoming a better writer. Fiction is a hard one. Many novelists write at least one novel, usually two,sometimes more, before they write one that sells. This may be your practice novel. It may not. But maybe you should put it away for a while and start something new, learn as much as you can about the art of fiction, read a ton of books on technique, read a ton of novels, and write something new. You may end up bringing this one back out and revising it so that it sells. You may not. But right now it seems it’s not happening.

Work on voice. If you don’t understand voice and what it is, read up on voice and study authors who have strong voices.

It may seem daunting now, I know.

On the other hand, if you believe strongly in this book of yours, then send it out more and don’t put it away until you have more than a few dozen rejections from agents. Or approach a small publisher whose advance would be too teensy to get an agent involved, and see what happens.

There’s no easy answer. You put a ton of work into this book. But so much of writing is about process, and certainly with fiction, this is true. Even novelists with books out occasionally write one that their agent feels isn’t right and shouldn’t be out there and they move on and write the next.

After she’s already published a few novels, bestselling ones, my friend, the late Barbara Seranella, wrote one that her agent thought wasn’t right somehow. Barbara wasn’t happy about this, but she was a professional. She put it away and barreled on, wrote the next novel and sold it and even won an award, I believe, for that book. (I miss you, Barbara!)

Any bits of advice I missed here? What would you say to my friend?