Kit Frazier: Unleashed

Tornado, then snow . . .

2011-02-04T16:26:00.008-06:00

Just to add insult to injury, an arctic front roared in after the tornado, then blanketed us in snow . . .

Guide to Childish Warfare for Robust Young Boys and Toublesome Ladychildren

2010-12-27T09:46:00.001-06:00

As we hit the height of snowball-fight season, it seems fitting to remember the roots of the sport. Here are the official rules of Iced-Orb Combat from the 1832 Guide to Childish Warfare for Robust Young Boys and Toublesome Ladychildren:

The Captains Courageous of the opposing child army shall meet on the field of glory prior to the start of hostilities. Any prisoners taken during the previous month’s skirmish are to be released from their Snow Dungeons and allowed to rejoin their apple-cheeked compatriots.
Any child stricken with asthma is to be rooted out by a set of 10 wind-sprints and sent home to practice his scrimshaw.
Should the town’s richest gentleman be present, it is his honor to signal the Beginning of Atrocities by hitting a horse with his cane. If there is no horse, any adult over the age of 14 will do.
Inflicting a displaced eyeball upon one’s enemy is grounds for a team’s instant victory and legal precedent for the attacker to receive a Child’s Knighthood at the next Town Ceremony.
Should there be no clear victor before the lamps are lit, it is upon each side to tally the nosebleeds among their ranks as the other side’s score. In the case of a tie, whichsoever team has the most stepchildren is the losing party.

In honor of my Mother and Father, who both served proudly . . .

2010-11-11T15:19:00.005-06:00

For Chief Master Sergeant Betty W. Frazier, USAF, and Col. Stephan T. Frazier, USAF. I love you and am always proud to be your daughter . . .

The simple truth about cats. . .

2010-11-10T09:12:00.003-06:00

exactly right

by Charles Bukowski

the strays keep arriving: now we have 5
cats and they are smart, spontaneous, self-
absorbed, naturally poised and awesomely
beautiful.

one of the finest things about cats is
that when you're feeling down, very down,
if you just look at the cat at rest,
at the way they sit or lie and wait,
it's a grand lesson in preserving
and
if you watch 5 cats at once that's 5
times better.

no matter the extra demands they make
no matter the heavy sacks of food
no matter the dozens of cans of tuna
from the supermarket: it's all just fuel for their
amazing dignity and their
affirmation of a vital
live
we humans can
only envy and
admire from
afar.

"exactly right" by Charles Bukowski, from The Night Torn with Mad Footsteps: New Poems. © Black Sparrow Press, 2001. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Six wines under $15 that live up to gimmicky labels | News for Dallas, Texas | Dallas Morning News | Wine and Spirits | Food | Dallas Morning News

2010-11-07T11:43:00.000-06:00

Peeping Tom On My Porch . . .

2010-11-07T10:08:00.005-06:00

Buck on the Island

2010-10-26T18:13:00.003-05:00

This afternoon we were barbecuing near the lake, and what did we see? A huge, young buck on the island! He traipsed across the bridge and helped himself to some peach tree limbs . . .

Paws on the Keyboard

2010-10-23T23:13:00.013-05:00

Talented writer/photographer Kimberley Freeman stopped by Thursday for a book she's writing about authors and their canine and feline muses! There were photos, wine and women (well, the two of us) and I cooked up some fish I caught! We did the shots on the island where I write and it was perfect. What a lovely woman, and a fun day. Can't wait to see the book! In the meantime, here's a sneak peek . . . Is this a happy dog or what?

Autumn Shivering In On The Wings of Canadian Geese

2010-10-18T20:33:00.015-05:00

The Canadian geese arrived today on their annual trek south, and autumn came shivering in on their black-tipped wings. Technically, autumn has been here for weeks, but the summer sun has been reluctant to release her grip on Central Texas, which is fine by me.

Though I am a child of October, autumn, for me, is a yawning, cavernous time of subterranean sighs, the small creakings and dyings of summer, the lingering shadows of old sorrows burrowing in for a long winter.

Watching the geese skim across the darkening water, I work at finding the beauty of the season, the dusty golds and burnt oranges, but in my heart I know that winter lurks beyond the leaves and will be here soon, pressing its low, gray sky into the earth.

Over the past few years, I have learned to come to terms with autumn, but I am not sure winter will ever be welcome to me. And so I will pull blankets from storage and stockpile hot chocolate and settle in, knowing that spring will come.

Mean Kitty in the News . . .

2010-10-14T04:27:00.004-05:00

So, Atticus and I got invited to be in A Cat on My Keyboard: Photos and Essays from America's Favorite Writers by Kimberly Freeman! I warned her that Atticus is not a typical muse--he's really kind of a thug. She seems undaunted . . .

Give that man a martini!

2010-09-27T15:01:00.005-05:00

The Return of Odysseus
by George Bilgere

When Odysseus finally does get home
he is understandably upset about the suitors,
who have been mooching off his wife for twenty years,
drinking his wine, eating his mutton, etc.

In a similar situation today he would seek legal counsel.
But those were different times. With the help
of his son Telemachus he slaughters roughly
one hundred and ten suitors
and quite a number of young ladies,
although in view of their behavior
I use the term loosely. Rivers of blood
course across the palace floor.

I too have come home in a bad mood.
Yesterday, for instance, after the department meeting,
when I ended up losing my choice parking spot
behind the library to the new provost.

I slammed the door. I threw down my book bag
in this particular way I have perfected over the years
that lets my wife understand
the contempt I have for my enemies,
which is prodigious. And then with great skill
she built a gin and tonic
that would have pleased the very gods,
and with epic patience she listened
as I told her of my wrath, and of what I intended to do
to so-and-so, and also to what's-his-name.

And then there was another gin and tonic
and presently my wrath abated and was forgotten,
and peace came to reign once more
in the great halls and courtyards of my house.

"The Return of Odysseus" by George Bilgere. (buy now)

Autumn Equinox, Celtic Style . . .

2010-09-22T08:27:00.004-05:00

The sun is waning signaling the start of shorter days, winter winds and Autumn Equinox. Today, the sun and moon share the sky equally, and Celts celebrate the harvest . . .

The Wicker man There was a Celtic ritual of dressing the last sheaf of corn to be harvested in fine clothes, or weaving it into a wicker-like man or woman. It was believed the sun or the corn spirit was trapped in the corn and needed to be set free. This effigy was usually burned in celebration of the harvest and the ashes would be spread on the fields. This annual sacrifice of a large wicker man (representing the corn spirit) is thought by many to have been the origin of the misconception that Druids made human sacrifices.

'The reaping is over and the harvest is in,
Summer is finished, another cycle begins'

In some areas of the country the last sheaf was kept inside until the following spring, when it would be ploughed back into the land. In Scotland, the last sheaf of harvest is called 'the Maiden', and must be cut by the youngest female in attendance.

Talkin' Texas, Austin Style

2010-09-13T15:35:00.007-05:00

Austin, Texas is an alluring oasis located smack dab in the heart of Texas. Learn the lingo and you'll fit right in . .

New to Austin? You’re not alone. The little big city on the Lower Colorado River has been growin’ so fast almost nobody’s from here any more.

And it's no wonder. Austin is an oasis of rolling green hills, miles of blue river and more writers, musicians and computer whizzes than you can shake a stick at.

Though the city is located deep in the heart of Texas, you can always tell when you hit the Austin city limit line. The elevation is higher, the landscape is lush and green and the language is a pure, straight up, double shot of Austin. With a good ear and a little coachin’, you too can talk like you were born here.Now, learnin’ to act like you’re from Austin may take a little longer . . .

A Bit About Austin

A couple things newcomers find out right away is that Austin is different—not just different from Texas, but, for the most part, different from the rest of the planet, which is why so many people visit Austin and nobody seems to leave.

The semi-official Austin city motto is “Keep Austin Weird,” and we like it that way.

I hear up north they lock their crazy people in the attic. In Austin, we prop ‘em up on the sofa and invite the neighbors over for iced tea. So it stands to reason we need our own language, which explains everything from our own special pronunciation of regular ol’ English to our own brand of Spanglish.

Talkin’ Austin: The BasicsFirst off, you can always tell a newcomer when they refer to Austin residents as “Austonians” or any other some such nonsense. Be aware—this is a terrible insult, since Houston residents call themselves “Houstonians,” and Austin takes great pride in being unique. Austin folks are Austinites.

Many a new weather man has made the grave mistake of addressing his audience as Austonian, and the unfortunate tee-vee station that employs said weather man gets more irate phone calls than if he’d predicted the weather wrong. To be fair, we don’t much care what weather men, or anybody else for that matter, say about Austin weather—we already know the forecast. We’ve got four seasons: hot, hotter, hottest, and natural catastrophe (flood, hail, tornado, drought, and any coastal north-heading hurricane, and the inevitable evacuees said hurricane blows in with, which we take in with shelter, hot casseroles and good intentions).

To keep things interesting, there’s the occasional annoying cold front that knocks the whole city to its knees—helpful hint: avoid rare rain or ice storms. Austinites don’t know how to deal with bad weather and the resulting skidding, sliding, crashing traffic accidents will likely earn you a nasty note from your insurance company.

Austin Pronunciation Guide

Once you’ve dipped your toe in the Austin pool of assimilation and know enough to call yourself an Austinite, you’ve gotta learn to talk Austin.Begin by dropping the “g” at the end of most, if not all, words—Austinites pride themselves in environmental awareness and that extra “g” is just a waste of time and ink.As in most of Texas and other southern/southwestern states, there is no such saying as “you all” or, even worse, “you guys.” Saying you guys is like scritching your nails on a chalkboard. Best to avoid it at all costs.

Y’all (YAWL) is a plural second-person pronoun. All y’all is a contraction of “all of you,” and refers to an entire group. Y'all is not used when you're referring to a single person.

And you’re not ever “about to do something,” you’re fixin’ to do somethin’, as in, “We’re fixin’ to whoop up on Texas A&M.” There's a whole slew of legend and lore about Texas A&M University, their football team and their bitter and uncalled for rivalry with Austinites, whether said Austinites actually attend or ever attended the University of Texas or not. It’s the principle of the thing, and Austinites are big on principles. For the most part.

Gettin’ Around Austin

If you don’t know the Austin pronunciation of thoroughfares and out-lyin’ areas, you’re gonna get stuck in a whole mess o’ traffic because you can’t translate the traffic report.Some of the traffic stuckedness will not be your fault, as some thoroughfares change names three or four times before you reach your destination, and half the name changes aren’t pronounced the way the whole rest of Texas (or anywhere else for that matter) pronounce them.

Some Examples:

Burnet Lane- “BURN-it,” as in, “Burn-it, durn it, learn it!” Also the pronunciation of Austin’s Hill Country pseudo-suburb, Burnet.

Guadalupe Street- “GUAD-a-loop.” Yes, we know the correct Spanish pronunciation is “Gwaad-ah-LOOP-ay,” but stick around and you’ll see that Austinites don’t care much about rules, linguistic or otherwise.

Loop 1- “MO-pac,” so named for the Missouri Pacific Railroad tracks it parallels—sort of.Manchaca Road- “MAN-shack.” Also the pronunciation of a south Austin suburb.Ranch Road 2222- Another multi-named thoroughfare. The correct pronunciation is “Twenty-two, Twenty-two”—not ever, ever, ever , “Two Two Two Two.” This burgeoning byway is changes names as it snakes through Austin, and is also known as Allandale, Northland and Koenig Lane (pronounced

KAY-nig Lane), depending on where you wind up when you’ve gotten yourself lost.Research Boulevard-Depending on your GPS location, this major highway is also known as Anderson Lane, Ed Bluestein, Toll Road 183-A (don’t get us started on this one) and regular ol’ 183, as in, “Pray for me, I drive 183.”‘Nuff said.The Drag—the portion of Guadalupe near the University of Texas, named for fun-loving, free-spirited students, aka “hippies,” in the late 1960s and early 1970’s.

And if you don’t catch on to the lingo or the lifestyle of Austin right away, that’s okay. In the words of adopted, Grammy award-winning Austinite Lyle Lovett, “That’s right, you’re not from Texas, but Texas wants you anyway.”

We believe he was writing about Austin. So y’all come on down, ya hear?

.

The real meaning of romance . . .

2010-09-07T10:40:00.003-05:00

My great aunt tells a similar story about my grandpa and grandma--a bit of romantic nostalgia through rose colored glasses . . .

My Parents' Dance Lessons, 1945

by Alison Townsend

In the story my aunt tells,
this is how they met. It's
September, the war just over,
the air crisp as the creases
in my father's khaki pants,
bright as his Bronze Star,
pungent as the marigold
my mother tucks behind one ear,
the night they both sign
up for dance lessons
"the Arthur Murray way"
at the Statler Hotel
in downtown Philly.

He's there to meet girls, of that
I am certain, and she's there
for romance, though I don't think
that's what she would say,
both of them looking for something
as intangible as the cigarette smoke
that rises in old, deckle-edged photos—
everyone tough, glamorous, vampy.

Perhaps there are dance cards?
Or maybe partners are assigned?
The truth is, no one really knows
about the moment when their glance
catches and snags across the room,
a fishline pulling taut as they
place their feet on Murray's
famous "magic footsteps," and start
the slow luxury of reeling one another in.
Music spills from a scratchy
Victrola as she places her hand
on his shoulder, feels the slight
pressure of his palm against her back,
and they begin to move together,
her hesitant steps following
his over-enthusiastic swings,
until they are both lost in
"The More I See You" or "I Don't
Want to Walk Without You Baby,"
the future stretching out before them
like a polished oak dance floor.

I don't know if they went back
for more lessons, or how they learned
to dip and twirl and slide together,
though I once saw my father spin
my mother completely around—her skirt
flaring out around her like the bell
of a silk lamp shade—just monthsv before she died. It's their story
after all, the one with a secret
hidden deep inside it like all
love stories—bigger than we
are or will ever be—music
from a Big Band coming up
in the background, playing
"You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To,"
while our parents swoop and glide
in the spotlight, keeping back
just enough of the story to make us wonder.

"My Parents' Dance Lessons, 1945" by Alison Townsend, from The Blue Dress. © White Pine Press, 2003. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

A book by its cover . . .

2010-09-07T09:51:00.007-05:00

Potential buyers judge books by their covers, making cover art important in today's fast growing indie market. My cover for SCOOP was indicative of the story, and tells you right away that the book is about a young woman with a mind for writing and mystery . . . It says we're in for a snappy, sexy ride.

DEAD COPY, with its image of a young woman near the outline of a dead body, keeps with that theme.

When considering cover art, make sure the art you choose answers these tips:

1. What audience are you targeting?
2. What appeals to that audience?
3. What is your book about?
4. What is the theme of your book?
5. Does what appeals to you personally appeal to your targeted reader? Sometimes it doesn't . . .
6. Does your cover design have a professional presence?
7. The most important thing is to do your homework. Market research into colors, themes and eye-catching art is the foundation of a good book cover that will appeal to your audience.

Remember, your cover not only represents your book, it represents you and your career. Choose wisely . . .

Best advice ever given . . .

2010-08-11T11:31:00.002-05:00

Okay, I laughed so hard I spit iced tea on my monitor . . .

Kit Frazier's Online Writer's Portfolio

2010-07-23T10:27:00.008-05:00

My first mystery novel, SCOOP, was Mystery Guild Pick of the Month and was nominated for an Edgar.
http://www.amazon.com/Scoop-Cauley-MacKinnon-Novels-Frazier/dp/0738709158/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279900024&sr=8-3#_

After writing three articles for The Writer Magazine, the managing editor assigned an article on self publishing (back when my name was Cyndee DuHadaway)
http://www.writermag.com/

Bodhi's Invading Mah Spaces!

2010-07-17T23:11:00.008-05:00

Poor Atticus.

How is a kitteh supposed to gather his minions if he can't get a moment's peace?

Bodhi the Wonder Dog has finally located puss-boy's Lair o' Destruction, and now, there's no rest for the whiskered evil genius and no place to plot his kittenly dastardly deed . . .

Can't a Kitteh get a break?

Writers' Conference Season Is Upon Us--Tips For a Successful Agent/Editor Hunt

2010-07-08T13:38:00.008-05:00

Why writers' conferences proliferate in the sweltering heat of summer is beyond me, what with global warming and all, but the fact is, conference season is upon us, so get ready.

Conferences are a great way to meet an agent and editor--but remember--meeting with a Publishing Pro may help, but it isn't the make-it-or-break-it of your career.

It's time to spiff up your writing resume, polish your pitches, get your writing house in order and break out the no-fragrance, environmentally sensitive hairspray.

With a few tips and some gumption, you're going to hit the writing conference circuit in style.

First impressions mean a lot.

In the next few days, we'll explore how to make the most of writing conferences, from Super Secret Must Haves to take on your trip, conference etiquette (hint--don't slide your manuscript to your prospective agent under the wall of a bathroom stall) and some acceptable out-of-the box ways to vault your manuscript over the slush pile and onto your Dream Agent's desk.

To get started, check out the first spiff-up-your-manuscript lesson on Suite 101 . . . http://bookpublishing.suite101.com/article.cfm/hook-a-literary-agent-with-one-page

The story of my life . . .

2010-07-08T07:56:00.002-05:00

Graduating? You gotta be kidding! ! !

2010-06-01T14:13:00.004-05:00

I can't believe my niece is graduating!

Well done, Maddie Kat, Congratulations! Wishing you lots of love and joy in the journey to come . . .

Stripping Down

2010-05-27T16:58:00.002-05:00

See Oprah today? If not, you really need to check out Peter Walsh's Stripping Down:

Ready for some serious writing!

2010-05-18T14:57:00.004-05:00

Well, if you can't write here, I don't know of a place on earth where you could . . .

Off to get some done!

Me and my buds . . .

2010-05-06T20:14:00.005-05:00

More Fish & Birthdays than you can shake a stick at!

2010-05-05T21:21:00.008-05:00

Lot's of birthdays, lot's of babies, lots of fish and lots of fun! Click the header "More Fish" and take a look at some of these monsters!

There will be hell to pay . . .

2010-04-23T12:31:00.004-05:00

Once again Puss Boy wanted to go on the boat, and once again, started acting like the Tasmanian Devil when he realized he was surrounded by water . . . we went without him, but there was hell to pay.

The Koi in the pond are really going to hear about it now . . .

Fishers of Men and Cats and Other Meanies

2010-04-12T14:49:00.005-05:00

So, okay, we're throwing a big fish fry for R's family in THREE weeks and need pounds and pounds of fish. So I ask the gang, "Who wants to fish?" None of any of the related kids responded, but I got a resounding resolution from the numerous quadrupeds who populate our homestead:

Fish? You mean REAL fish, not the kind of dried, processed crap in a bag from PetCo you usually give me?Count me in, but I get to DRIVE!

Of course, the Apocolypse ensued. Dogs every where, geese swooping in for their share, and 25 pounds of flipping, flopping catfish trying to leap for their lives.

And in the ensuing mayhem, Sam (R's dog) somehow gulped down 1/4 pound of stink bait while assorted men were trying to keep fish in the boat.

Sam didn't get sick. She's okay. Or will be, until Robert's dad finds out she consumed half a can of costly catfish bait . . .

All's well that ends well, however. The boys caught their fish, the dogs got their ride, and Sam ate lots of really stinky cat fish bait.

Life is good on the lake . . .

Kit Frazier and the Bush Whackers...and the Writing Life

2010-04-07T10:54:00.001-05:00

Kit Frazier and the Bush Whackers...and the Writing Life

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It's not easy being an Evil Genius . . .

2010-04-06T13:30:00.008-05:00

Power, wealth and an endless supply of Little Friskies are not enough for Atticus the Meany Cat. He is out for World Domination, beginning with the dog . . .

And just as the target approaches . . .

Prepare for Projectile Puss Mode!

But Bodhi proves to be a worthy nemesis . . .

Ah, to live and fight another day . . .

Is your dog a terrorist?

2010-03-19T09:47:00.003-05:00

I think Bodhi's okay--technically he's Scottish, but I worry about Sam the Lab and Atticus . . .

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Still loving Mary Oliver--Almost a Conversation

2010-03-14T13:04:00.005-05:00

Almost a Conversation

I have not really, not yet, talked with otter
about his life.

He has so many teeth, he has trouble
with vowels.

Wherefore our understanding
is all body expression—

he swims like the sleekest fish,
he dives and exhales and lifts a trail of bubbles.
Little by little he trusts my eyes
and my curious body sitting on the shore.

Sometimes he comes close.
I admire his whiskers
and his dark fur which I would rather die than wear.

He has no words, still what he tells about his life
is clear.
He does not own a computer.
He imagines the river will last forever.
He does not envy the dry house I live in.
He does not wonder who or what it is that I worship.
He wonders, morning after morning, that the river
is so cold and fresh and alive, and still
I don't jump in.

~ Mary Oliver ~ Link to purchase this poem at: http://www.amazon.com/Evidence-Poems-Mary-Oliver/dp/0807068985/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_2

The US Census . . .

2010-03-11T20:40:00.005-06:00

Okay, so you're going to take it, right?

I got my warning to be looking for the forms in the mail yesterday, and yeah, you bet I'm going to take it. As a country, we need to get a good idea of who we are, how many we are, and how many representatives we get to send to Washington. Depending on how invasive the questions are, I'll probably even answer most of them.

Andy Rooney says the First Question asks you to identify the person in your home who is "Person #1," as opposed to "Person #2." Yeah. Good luck with that one. At my house, Person #1 is a cat-- if you don't believe me, just ask him. But don't forget the lion tamer gloves . . .

Watch CBS News Videos Online

Hoping for a Happy New Year . . .

2010-01-01T13:11:00.001-06:00

Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man. ~Benjamin Franklin

Happy New Year, y'all! Let's hope it's happy, healthy, peaceful and prosperous . . .

Some stuff just sucks . . .

2009-11-15T21:10:00.001-06:00

What I did this weekend . . . . *sniff*

Stuckedness: Getting unstuck in Writing

2009-11-13T10:03:00.001-06:00

Here are some helpful ways to brainstorm:
1. Ask yourself what is the absolute worst thing that could happen, and what is the absolute best and why?
2. Is there another logical way the story could work?
3. Does the story need to change in some small or large way?
4. Change location. Write some place or time you don't normally write.
5. Change media. You'll be surprised the diffence changing the way your write makes-- I sometimes write longhand in a spiral notebook--just make sure you don't lose the notebook *g*
6. Go back to you character GMC sheets for inspiration. Is there anything you missed? Anything new the character has revealed to you?
7. Interview your character. Ask him or her questions a reporter might ask, Who, What, Why, Where and How? Keep an open mind and leave the questions open-ended and let the character answer. You'd be surpised how well this technique works!
8. Read the chapter that's bothering you before you go to sleep and let your subconscious work on it. Make sure you keep a pen and pad by the bed--I do this one all the time.
9. Skip ahead and come back to it. If it's really giving you grief, leave three xxx's as a place holder so you can easily search for it later, make a note in your master notebook, and move ahead. Let your subconscious and the characters work on it while you're moving forward. The wonderful, magical thing about writing every day is the characters start doing some of the work for you. Let them do it!

My mother wore combat boots . . .

2009-11-10T22:03:00.003-06:00

My mother wore combat boots
It used to be an insult.
When I was a little girl in the Seventies, it was a taunt, a remark, “Your mother wears combat boots!”
Only my mother did.
On weekends, when duty called, and during the week, when duty required, combat boots were as much a part of my mother’s uniform as were the smart, polished little navy blue kitten heels. Footwear for military women were not built for comfort or style, but for pride, and for that they were worn, and worn well.

I watched my mother wear those combat boots through many muddy marches, patrols and parades, to celebrate Flag Day, The Fourth of July, The Bicentennial and many other American holidays, but I will always remember the pride I felt helping my mother polish her boots, the stories she told me about the women who came before us, the women who made it possible for us to be take those bold steps, and the women who would take the bold steps beyond.

My mother wore combat boots.

And for that, I am very proud.

Finding Time to Write When You Don’t Have Time to Write

2009-11-08T17:42:00.001-06:00

Nobody has time to write. I certainly didn’t yesterday. There are so voices many demanding your attention (some even deserve it) it’s amazing we get anything at done all. But there are ways we can get our writing done if we make it a priority.
The first is to do just that—make it a priority. Even if it’s just a few moments a day, write every day. Make it a habit.
Write just the dialogue if that’s all you have time for. Your characters will remind you where they were, what they were seeing, smelling, hearing and feeling. And you’ll be pleasantly surprised how much mileage you can get out of dialogue when you go fill it in later.
Keep something with you to write with at all times. Just a small notebook or some index cards. There are so many wasted minutes in each day—in the Ten Items or Less Line (which is a big fat lie and should be actionable in court), at the doctor’s office, at the 19-minute stop light, at the bank—you name it. You wait all day long. Take those moments to take back your life.
Pay attention to your Muse. She (or in my case, he) is a fickle thing, and if you don’t honor him when his mood strikes, there’s hell to pay later. Those little notes may pay off big time later.
And finally, we all know what a time suck TV and the computer can be. Unplug the box and plug in the Muse.
So get busy and go write!

National Novel Writing Month Tip Of The Day

2009-11-06T21:44:00.005-06:00

Brainstorm words or images about your story or theme. In a notebook dedicated to your idea or story, write down every word, idea or song that springs to mind or sketch every image or stream of thought you can think of about your idea. Just let the ideas flow.

Don't stop to evaluate their worth. Keep writing down ideas. When you can't think of another thought, put it away awhile, but keep it handy. Often the most powerful or meaningful ideas will appear after you've put the idea away. You never know when that fickle Muse will show up . . .

Don't have a theme? Don't worry. They often appear when and where you least expect them!

House under construction--Bodhi gets a bath!

2009-10-25T20:25:00.002-05:00

Book in a Month: Novel Writing Tool Kit By Kit Frazier

2009-10-13T06:22:00.008-05:00

Get the dog washed and the dishes done, 'cause it's time to clear the calendars for National Novel Writing Month!

Whether you're thinking about writing a novel or mired in the middle of your work in progress, this is the class for you. The intensive course of study reviews Christopher Vogler's The Hero's Journey's three-act structure and Debra Dixon's Goal, Motivation, and Conflict: The Building Blocks of Good Fiction, and breaks these concepts down into a manageable, 30-day writing regimen, with particular emphasis on those all-important first five pages and middle-of-the-story conflict.
The Book in a Month Tool Kit includes:
1. PowerPoint Videos of Class Instruction
2. Personal Goal Tracker Calendar
3. Character Worksheets
4. Character Goal, Motivation & Conflict Sheets
5. Story Board Worksheets
a. Act One
b. Act Two
c. Act Three
6. Time Tracker Worksheets

Instructor Kit Frazier will provide daily encouragement to students and host Friday online brainstorming chats.

Students will also have the opportunity to share work in small online groups. To sign up, visit http://writersleague.org/programs/classes.html. See you there!

He's here . . .

2009-09-20T21:35:00.003-05:00

Puppy Time!

2009-09-08T08:36:00.005-05:00

The Collie Count down begins!

Tomorrow I leave to go pick up my mom and get the Poochini. I'll spend the night at Brub's with his chitlin's then pick up Mama then head toward Natchitoches, Louisiana.

We'll pick up Bodhi at G-Force Kennels and do some sight seeing around the historic district, check out the Cajun districts and see what we can see.

We'll be staying at the The Jefferson House Bed & Breakfast, which is pet friendly, and has a lovely view of the Cane River, and has been written up in Gourmet Magazine and Forder's Southwest. We'll take lots of pictures and keep y'all posted!

Coming to terms

2009-08-30T09:05:00.006-05:00

I'm really excited about the puppy, but I'm having such bittersweet feelings about Tahoe. I still miss him so much. He was such a diva, like he was born with the heart of a broadway star. Like he did a double flip into this world and said, "TA DA!"

And even now when I sit down to write it's just like missing a part of my heart.

I know I will love the new puppy, and he will have his own personality, and today I finally realized something important--that I don't have to make room in my heart for two dogs--Tahoe already did that for me.

So, welcome home, Baby Boy puppy. You don't have a big collar to fill. I wouldn't do that to you. Instead, you'll have a collar of your very own, to fill it as you see fit. And I will love you for the little puppy you are.

The Nekkid Time

2009-08-25T06:46:00.002-05:00

There’s an old Garth Brookes song that poses the question of what to do with a cowboy when he don’t saddle up and ride away.
If you are unlucky, broke or just plain out of your mind, you get engaged. But before you do that, you have to meet his family. In this particular instance, his family—his grandmother in particular—was his ace in the hole.
It turns out his mother and father died the same year my father died, when we were both four-years-old. I took this as a sign. He took this as a way into my pants. Either way, it worked out for a while.
Miss Jessie was a tart, tough little blue-haired Baptist lady who smelled like Avon’s version of gardenias and the Old Testament, and from the moment I met her, I was smitten.
After our first big fight, Fluf went to his grandmother so that she might intercede on his behalf. Instead of jumping to his side, she said, “Well, boy. Ya shit in your nest and fell back in it. Now you got a mess to clean up.”
We survived that fight, along with many others, due largely to a little old lady with a loving heart and balls as big as icebergs.
So, when she asked us to go fetch some things from her little rent house out in West Bumfuck, who was I to refuse? Besides, this would be Fluf’s and my first roadtrip together, and I’d never been that far west.
Turns out I hadn’t missed much
West Texas is approximately one billion miles away from Austin, and because the trip takes six hours, we decided we’d spend the night there and head back the following afternoon.
Living in Austin tends to spoil you, and you forget that not all places on God’s green earth are green. Rotan, Texas is brown. The grass is brown, the dirt is brown, even the sky is brown because it’s filled with dirt.
Saying so does not hurt a West Texan’s feelings, because they know it is unattractive, flat and dry, and in fact, they take great pride in the sheer endurance it requires to live there. But I don’t believe in endurance for endurance sake, and I’d have to be sittin’ on an oilfield to ever want to live there.
I’m not alone in this musing. Miss Jessie used to say if she owned hell and half of West Texas, she’d live in hell and rent out Texas. And if she did, there’d be three hundred rednecks waiting in line for a lease.
In truth, there is a terrible, desperate beauty about West Texas, like the Chisos Mountains that rip red and orange through the wide, blue sky.
But Rotan, Texas has no mountains, and the entire town has one tree. It may not be the armpit of the world, but I’d put it in the top ten.
About two hours into the trip, the air-conditioner in Fluf’s truck broke (things always broke in Fluf’s truck—in fact the whole thing was held together with duct tape and a prayer), so we spent the next four hours languishing in a heat than the hammered hinges of hell. It also smelled like ass.
In its hay day, Rotan was an oil town, and the stench of long-dried up oil rigs blankets the town like a noxious fog.
Then there’s the dirt. You would not believe the amount of dust and red dirt that can fly into an open pickup window and deposit itself in areas of your body that, until that moment, you were blissfully unaware of.
Getting hotter and tired-er and dirtier by the mile, I informed Fluf that I had enough dirt on my body to re-pot a geranium and I would not be fit for company until I had a shower and brushed at least some of the dirt out of my teeth.
Assured that no one was in Miss Jessie’s rent house, and that I could in fact take a shower so long and hot it’d dry out the town. Calmed by this assurance (and the second or third beer he handed me), I settle back and contemplated brown skyline.
Now if there’s anything a redneck loves more than his truck, it’s a naked woman in said truck.
He popped the top on my third (or sixth) beer, and announced, “It’s nekkid time!”
There’s a big difference between being naked and being nekkid. Naked means you don’t have any clothes on. Nekkid means you don’t have any clothes on and you’re up to somethin’.
Rednecks are often big time sweet talkers, particularly if there may be an opportunity to see some boobies. I’m convinced it’s an evolutionary skill, because based on their housing arrangements (sacking out on a friend’s sofa) and their financial planning (buying lottery tickets), no redneck would ever get laid.
And in the interest of getting laid, Fluf commenced to cajoling me to get nekkid.
I was pleasantly buzzed enough to acqueiesse to this small, slight perversion. It was dark, there was no one in the god-forsaken place for miles—what harm would it do?
It is one of God’s pure truths that if you tempt fate, you’re gonna get it triple fold. The moment the panties came off, flashing red lights appeared from nowhere and we were being pulled over.
I made a mad scramble for the floorboard when Fluf said, “Don’t worry. It’s just Curtis. He can’t see.”
“What do you mean he can’t see?”
“He’s blind.”
“Right. You have a blind cop driving around town pulling people over?”
“He’s not really a cop. They let him use the light and pay for his gas, and he runs around handing out speeding tickets.”
“So if he’s blind, how did he know we were speeding?”
“He can tell by the engine sound.”
“But how does he drive?”
“He knows the road.”
I clutched my shirt while Curtis the blind traffic cop was at the driver’s side window, ripping a ticket off his handy little pad.
He was a small guy, balding and a slight pooch lopping over his belt buckle. And he had on the thickest glasses I’d ever seen.
“Fluf? Is that you?” Curtis said, squinting through his coke bottle lenses.
“Hey, Curtis, how you doin’?”
“Oh I could complain but it wouldn’t do no good.”
“Nice car. Who’d you sue?”
Curtis offered a wide, half-toothed grin. “Some fool up from Fort Worth.”
Fluf nodded, like suing someone and buying a car with the proceeds was the most natural thing in the world.
And, after about five minutes of this witty banter, asking after Curtis’s mom-n-them, the blind traffic cop bade us goodbye and admonished us to slow down.
He said nothing about my near nakedness.
I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful or offended.
“He really can’t see,” I said.
“Yep. Blinder than two-foot up a bulls ass.”
And then he tugged my shirt away from me and grinned. “Welcome to West Texas. Now, get nekkid.”

Rednecks are like dogs because . . .

2009-08-24T06:23:00.006-05:00

Rednecks love a good dog. They prefer the sporting dogs because they come when they're called, they're loyal, and some of 'em will even go get you a beer.

Sporting dogs main two appetites are similar to a redneck's--hunting and humping. If they aren't eating, they're looking for something to eat, and if they're not humping, they're looking for something to hump, and man nor beast seem really particular about what gets humped or hunted.

Which is why I prefer my dogs a bit more sophisticated (I'm still working on my taste in men).

I lost my ever lovin' mind . . .

2009-08-23T15:18:00.005-05:00

Well gang, I finally did it. I lost my mind. I was surfing around on the Net when I shoulda been writing, looking at (what else) puppies and puppy rescues, pretty much anything related to all things furry and four-legged, and I was mindin' my own business when I hit a related link, and there he was. My puppy.

And I lost my ever lovin' mind. Started bawlin' like a banshee right there at the keyboard, right in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, just drinkin' iced tea and eatin' Cheetos, and I started crying my eyes out. R came runnin' in, "You okay? You smash a finger or somethin?"

"No," I said, "I found my dog." He just shook his head and went back to fixing things in the big house, and I went back to emailing the lady on the website to tell her she had my dog, and to please hold him for me, I'd be there quick as I could to come pick him up.

To show you how far I've lost my mind, I have to drive all the way to Louisiana to get my mind and my dog back. But that's okay. I'm going to go pick up my mama and take her with me, we'll go make a little Cajun roadtrip out of it, and come back with some po'boys, a puppy and hopefully, a mind that is whole and fully intact, such as it is.

Puppy crisis averted, for now, back to writing that dang book . . .

Looking for Dog in the little things . . .

2009-08-21T15:38:00.005-05:00

I've had puppies on the brain all summer long, but I've been on the fence about what to do about it. They're so much responsibility. There's the potty training and the chewing and all the million things you forget when you're in the thralls of being charmed by little puff balls of puppy-ness. And then there's the fifteen years of another life depending on you--no trips without him or without making plans for him, there's just so much to think about.

On the other hand, there's nothing quite like the unconditional love of a dog. Nothing like coming home to someone who is literally head-over-heels happy to see you. Nothing like snuggling up to a furry friend at the end of a hard day. Nothing like a cold nose and a warm heart. No better muse than a dog who thinks you're the most brilliant writer on the planet.

I think I'm a goner. I think I'm getting a puppy. I'll keep you posted.

Remembering Tahoe

2009-08-20T07:10:00.008-05:00

I've been thinking about my boy a lot lately and missing him so much it's like a phantom pain. I sit down to write, and he's not there, his soft ears near my knee where I absently stroked them trying to come up with something poiniant, if not poetic. He's not there to remind me to take a break, to dance in the kitchen, to wander the neighborhood, to smell the evening news. It's tough to write without your muse.

It's been a year and a half now. More and more often I find myself surfing the web instead of writing, popping by pet rescues, looking for the dog who's out there looking for me. Knowing when I see him, I will know him and he will know me. I know there will never be another Tahoe, unthinkable, I know, but perhaps there will be another dog and another day . . .

Wishing on stars . . .

2009-08-13T22:16:00.005-05:00

The Perseid Meteor Showers are one of my very favorite meteorological events, and R and I spent the evening (well, after working on the house) sitting out on the porch watching the shooting stars. I made some good wishes. Here's to a good year for all of us, full of new agents, fat contracts and that all of our good wishes come true . . .

The Cavalry Arrived

2009-08-09T19:28:00.010-05:00

R's sisters Ida and Martha arrived with little Chloe to check out the progress and wound up lending a hand with the lighting.

Of course, we took some time to hang out, play with the dog and ducks and take a spin on the paddle boat (which Chloe steered) before getting back to work.

Martha and Ida helped with the light fixtures and placards, and

Chloe helped sweep, and then we had a fish fry and broke open a big juicy watermelon to thank them!

Here is the turn-of-the Century Chinese chest that will be the bathroom counter, with one of the hand-hammered copper sinks, and the adorable lanterns that will serve as the bathroom lights! Big thanks to my sis-in-laws for swinging by-don't be strangers--and next time we won't put you to work! Maybe next time we'll have the hammock up . . .

Generations of little feet . . .

2009-08-03T06:51:00.014-05:00

So we went out to Cherry Springs to get the wood for the floors--this is the wood from Great Opa's old house, so it's probably close to 100 years old. I just love the thought that we'll be walking on wood that bears the lovely scars of generations of little feet that came before us.

We ran the wood through the planer (it's hard work, finding the wood, gathering the wood, dragging it to the trailer . . . ) and now it look just beautiful. We braved snakes, scorpions and one tiny little lizard. The calves are getting big, and the buck's horns are coming in. It was a good but very exhausting weekend! And yes, that's a three foot snake skin on top of the toilet tank at the hunting cabin *ick*

The art of forgetting

2009-07-29T08:06:00.002-05:00

A Friend’s Umbrella
by Lawrence Raab

Ralph Waldo Emerson, toward the endof his life,
found the namesof familiar objects escaping him.
He wanted to say something about a window, or a table, or a book on a table.
But the word wasn't there,although other words could still suggest
the shape of what he meant.
Then someone, his wife perhaps,would understand: "Yes, window! I'm sorry,is there a draft?"
He'd nod.
She'd rise.
Once a friend dropped by to visit, shook out his umbrellain the hall, remarked upon the rain.Later the word umbrellavanished and becamethe thing that strangers take away.
Paper, pen, table, book:
was it possible for a man to thinkwithout them? To know that he was thinking? We remember
that we forget, he'd written once, before he started to forget.
Three times he was told
that Longfellow had died.
Without the past, the present
lay around him like the sea.
Or like a ship, becalmed,
upon the sea. He smiledto think he was the captain then,
gazing off into whiteness,
waiting for the wind to rise.
"A Friend's Umbrella" by Lawrence Raab, from The History of Forgetting. © the Penguin Group, 2009. Published with permission. (buy now)

The house so far . . .

2009-07-27T06:46:00.007-05:00

I just love this song . . .

2009-07-27T06:24:00.001-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liYfyRrY0yQ

Ichabod is back!

2009-07-26T11:11:00.002-05:00

Ichabod the blue heron is back . . . she's been gone for about two weeks, and I was down on the island, and there she was, fishing on the rocks! Luckily, she leaves my koi alone, and she hangs out when we go fishing, and we always throw her a fish or two. It's amazing to watch her, she's so graceful when she fishes, until she flies, then she looks so awkward, like a pteradactyl or some kind of prehistoric creature.

2009-07-12T10:47:00.003-05:00

The Place I Want To Get Back To
by Mary Oliver
is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darknessand first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw methey said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is
and why she is sittingon the ground like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;and so they came
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the wayI go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forwardand nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring to me that could exceed that brief moment?
For twenty yearsI have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.
If you want to talk about this
come to visit.
I live in the house
near the corner,
which I have named
Gratitude.
"The Place I Want To Get Back To" by Mary Oliver, from Thirst. © Beacon Press, 2006. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

What I did last weekend . . .

2009-07-02T06:26:00.001-05:00

http://www.sfsite.com/columns/graphica299.htm

Where to find a redneck if you must . . .

2009-06-25T22:44:00.002-05:00

And the tale continues . . .

My first real brush with a redneck traumatized both me and my mama and even had lasting repercussions on my little sister. I was my minding my own little eight-year-old business (isn’t that always how it is when you run into a redneck?), drawing pictures of kittens and hearts when Bud Epperson turned away from making glue chips in his desk tray and informed me that he was going to marry me.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he said.

I thought maybe he’d gotten too good a whiff of that glue, but he was dead serious –or as serious as you can get in the fourth grade—and he said, “I’m gonna hold you down and cut your fingernails and you’re gonna milk cows. I’m gonna marry you.”

Of course I was horrified and ran straight home to ask my mother if he really could cut my fingernails and make me milk cows.

Horrified her ownself, Mama immediately enrolled my sister and I in Charm School. Apparently, she thought teaching us to eat with the right fork and walk with books on our heads would not only whip us into marriageable shape, but would also make us unrecognizable to the average, every day redneck.

Sadly, redneckedness rubs off on you a lot faster than charm does.

Oh, sure, my sister and I learned how to artfully apply makeup, how to win beauty pageants and the proper way to cross your legs (at the ankles, knees pressed together, which incidentally I found out later, is also a perfectly acceptable form of birth control and is still being taught in many a Texas school).

Mama knew a lot about charm, having pulled herself up by her own petticoats and escaped a life of redneckedness.

She also knew that rednecks are a lot like Cheese Doodles. Once you’ve had one, you pretty much want the whole bag and then you’d spend the rest of your life with Doodle Dust down the front of your shirt.

And so it was that my sister and I were shielded from blatant redneckedness until well after the age when many southern girls lose their virginity in the back bed of a pickup truck hanging onto a gun rack, which was always my mother’s greatest fear. It turns out there are worse things that could happen.

My own personal redneck rode into my life the same way he rode out—riding to the rescue of a blonde. The first time, the blonde was me.

It was my own fault for putting myself in a situation that required rescuing. The particular situation that led me to this particular redneck was, of course, another redneck, because everyone knows the easiest way to get over one redneck is to run right out and jump on a new one (I said the easiest way—not the best way).

While rednecks can be found roaming freely most anywhere in the continental United States, there are proven habitats that tend to attract them in large numbers, and most of them are in Texas. These places include but are not limited to: anywhere that beer, bait and ammo are sold, any establishment where meat is fried, and anyplace they might get to see some boobies, including company picnics, tractor pulls and family reunions.

A redneck will never look a gift boobie in the mouth, and will fall all over themselves to get a peek at even one, lone boobie. They don’t even care what the boobies look like. You could have tits you can fold like a pair of socks and a redneck will still want to see ‘em.

And, as one of my redneck friends informed me, the only bad boobie is a covered-up boobie.
Now, if you’re looking for a redneck to keep, the Home Depot is by far your best bet. Being at the Home Depot suggests that he is willing and able to fix things, has the money to pay for the things he needs to fix things, and if he pulls out that little orange credit card, you can surmise that he is able to make a commitment at least once a month. You may also surmise that if he’s getting things to fix things at the Home Depot, the home he’s fixing does not come with wheels and a trailer hitch.
I met my own personal redneck not at the Home Depot, but at the South Austin meat market. Needless to say (or maybe not), both of my boobies were covered.

On the advice of a friend who knew I needed to move all my personal possessions out from under the nose of Previous Redneck, I took myself down to the meat market to enlist the help of a man she called “Fluf.”

I was immediately wary when she referred to him as Fluf, but, being acquainted with more than my fair share of rednecks, I took this with a grain of salt. Besides, I’d left half my shoes at the Ex Redneck’s house. They weren’t my favorite shoes, mind you, but I wanted them back. Another woman could take my place in his bed, but I’d spit nails before she took my place in my shoes.
And though I was fully clothed on meat market day—as I am on most days—Fluf later told me that there was sufficient evidence that my boobies were worth a little wait.

With very little malice and absolutely no forethought, I waltzed myself into the meat market full of fear and false bravado, and with good reason. Fluf looked like a machete-wielding, swarthy, southern version of Yosemite Sam.

Not to mention the fact that I was told he could bend a crowbar with his bare hands—not a bad trait when you’re looking for someone to move all of your earthly belongings out of the house of another redneck.

One thing I knew for sure was that he in no way resembled anything remotely related to fluff, at least until I learned the origin of the moniker.

FLUF, he told me later, was an acronym for Fat Lazy Ugly Fucker, and was bestowed on him by friends at the Baptist Boys’ Ranch.

If it is true that all good boys go to heaven, then boys on the fence go to the Boys’ Ranch, where they are taught survival of the quickest and the slickest.

Fluf was neither fat nor lazy or ugly, but he could indeed be a fucker when the occasion called for it, especially after copious amounts of tequila—a fact he seemed proud of, because he had a t-shirt that said, Instant Asshole, Just Add Tequila. But as I mentioned, these are all things I learned later.
While I balked at the nickname, there’s one thing you have to know about rednecks is that they’ve appropriated the Native American custom of naming people for their attributes, abilities or behavior, such “Barn,” as in, her butt’s big as a barn door, “One Arm Amy,” on account of she only had one arm, and “Smidge,” as in premature ejaculator.” So, if you’re planning on saddling yourself a redneck anytime soon, you may as well pick your own nickname, or you’ll be assigned one and it will stick, whether you like it or not.

Anyhow, on that fateful day at the meat market, Fluf was behind the counter, blithely butchering a feral hog. Horrified, I tried not to stare, as I am a Hypothetical Vegetarian, which is to say I eat meat but I feel bad about it, and I prefer not to eat anything while it still has a face.

But standing there in Aisle Five, flanked by pork butts and bacon, I realized that I did, in fact, have a pig in my life, and this guy with the machete and appeared to know how to handle a pig. Not that I wanted him to filet my ex, but it was nice to know I had options.

Later, we discovered that we both had misgivings about the other. He thought I was a social worker, and I thought he was an ex-con. It turns out both of us were mostly right.

Tentatively, we exchanged telephone numbers and I hightailed it out of there before he continued his assault on the hog and before I could change my mind.

Writers' League!

2009-06-25T10:02:00.002-05:00

On Saturday, June 27th, I'll be moderating a panel about writing for graphic novels at the Writers League of Texas Agents Conference, being held at the Sheraton Hotel in Austin.Joining me for "Beyond the Strip: Inside the World of Comics & Graphic Novels" will be Alan J Porter, Rick Klaw (former editor of MoJo Press and online reviewer and columnist), and Tony Salvaggio (writer of Psy*Comm and Clockworks)

Agent Class Starting Soon!

2009-06-20T17:46:00.002-05:00

There are four more spots in the Agent Class starting Tuesday. We’re going to be looking at winning query letters from best selling authors, we’ll share insider tips from Super Agents Jenny Bent, Kim Whalen, Deidra Knight and Noah Lukeman, along with some secret weapons to help you get your foot in the door. In the second week of class, we’ll help you write (or rewrite) your pitch and/or query letter. Email me privately at kitfrazier@yahoo.com for more information.Hope to see you there, it’s going to be a lot of learning and a lot of fun!

This one's for Rita . . .

2009-06-19T08:19:00.003-05:00

Redneckedness
By Kit Frazier
©Kit Frazier 2009

Chapter One
Redneck Rule of Three

Grandma Jessie used to say there are only three kinds of men in this world: the ones you play with, the ones you stay with and the ones who just need killin’.
With a redneck, you get a three-fer. I know this because I went through all three of these stages with a redneck of my very own.
In the beginning (the play-with and stay-with stages), my own personal redneck could do no wrong. The man practically farted hearts and flowers which is a neat trick if you can get him to do it. But as we neared the killin’ stage, I was tempted to chop off his private parts and duct tape them to his forehead.
Since the law (even in Texas) frowns upon maiming your loved ones, I’ve amended Grandma Jessie’s Rule of Three to include two alternative endings.
The first is that if you can’t beat ‘em, you’re not using a big enough stick. Face it. You’re just gonna have to out redneck your redneck. This isn’t hard, if you have in fact decided your redneck is worth keeping. The trick is to just hang around with a redneck—any redneck—as long as you can possibly stand it, because sooner or later the redneckedness is gonna rub off on you.
And honey, once you’ve been subjected to that level of redneckedness, there’s no amount of Extra Strength Clorox or mega-doses of the Discovery Channel that can scrub the redneckedness out from under your skin.
While greater minds than mine have pondered the meaning and/or classification of redneckedness, a redneck is basically a cowboy who’s gone over to the dark side.
You will know you’re on your way to true redneckedness when you realize that kitchen appliances are merely extensions of garage appliances. A steak knife is as handy as a pocket on a shirt and can be used not only for slicing up a good steak, but also as a screwdriver, a back scratcher, and/or a hammer. Moreover, you learn the true use of major appliances—transmissions go on the bottom rack of the dishwasher, baseball caps go on the top.
The second, and my preferred alternative method, is the Redneck Catch & Release Program. You catch and keep your own personal redneck and do the whole moon-pied, doe-eyed, hearts-and-flowers thing until one day he stays out all night and you have to restrain yourself to keep from Super Gluing his frank to his beans.
And when you’re finally to the point of wanting to back over him with his own tricked-out pickup truck, it’s time to take him back to the auto parts department at the Wal-Mart where you found him in the first place.
This is not to say you can’t still have a little fun at his expense—dancing naked in the backyard around a burning pile of his underwear, for example (I warned you—redneckedness rubs off on even the best of us).
And, after you’ve drunk your bodyweight in Bourbon and Diet Coke and all your good sense ran out the dog door and you decide to go get yourself another redneck, don’t worry. As Miss Jessie used to say, “There’s an ass for every saddle, and another one’ll be along directly.”

Some interesting news . . .

2009-06-05T10:38:00.001-05:00

This is from Cindi Myers' weekly Market News . . .

Last week I shared information from the Book Industry Study Group's Making Information Pay 2009 conference about the state of the publishing industry. I want to continue that report this week, with information from Kelly Gallagher, v-p of publishing services at R.R. Bowker , who spoke on "The Customer's Always Right: Who is today's book consumer?" The average book reader last year was 45 years old. Women comprise 65% of buyers. Of all Americans 13 or older, 50% bought a book last year. The average age of the most frequent book buyer is in the 50s. The average price paid for a book last year was $10.08. Unit sales (number of books sold) for the year to date are down 1.2%.31% of all books purchased last year were impulse purchases, and 28% of purchases involved readers planning to buy a book, but not knowing what they wanted. Thus more than 50% of book buys are impulse purchases. 41% of people earning more than $100,000 a year buy comics and graphic novels. 41% of all books purchased are bought by people earning less than $35,000, and most people in the U.S. earn less than $35,000.The average book reader now spend 15 hours a week online, more than for TV. Digital book sales grew 125% last year and represent 1.5% of the trade. Digital book purchases by those 64 and over rose 183% last year. Seniors are the largest users of Kindles. 48% of e-books are read on computers. Kindles have a 22% market share; the iPhone has 20% of the market. Last year for the first time online became the "No. 1 selling channel," and accounted for 21% of sales.Book clubs are still significant sales channels for reaching older readers.The fiction market is predominantly female. The one area of fiction in which men predominate is science fiction, where 55% of buyers are male.

You can view a slideshow of Mr. Gallagher's presentation at http://tinyurl. com/pqnjy2

Cabinets & Fireplace!

2009-06-02T11:11:00.005-05:00

So, Opa was here all weekend, catching boo coo fish! Yesterday when Opa hauled in a big catch I said, "We should have a fish fry!" and Opa took his fish and left before we could get our mits on his catch . . .

In the mean time, R and Opa got the cabinets going, and yesterday R started on the electric.

Today the guys are here working on the fireplace.

Atticus doesn't like all the commotion. Look at that face . . . I feel like that about writing sometimes . . .

Writers' League Chat

2009-05-26T10:25:00.000-05:00

Pitches are like a snapshot of your book. It gives your agent/editor the essence of your novel. You should have three pitches: One line, one paragraph and a short synopsis.

The one-line pitch is like a TV Guide blurb. My one-line pitch for SCOOP was, “It’s a southern-fried Janet Evanovich.”

The one-paragraph pitch is like a back cover blurb. My one-paragraph for SCOOP was “Starting over after a truly bad marriage and armed with a freshly minted journalism degree, Cauley is disappointed to find that the only job she can get in her hometown of Austin is as an obituary writer - something that only happens to interns who've been very good, or reporters who've been very bad. Somehow, Cauley's managed to do both. While on the hunt for a story that will get her off the Death Page, Cauley's life takes a turn for the worse when hapless childhood friend, Scott Barnes, threatens suicide and barricades himself in a dilapidated old shed where he phones Cauley for help. Cauley is soon devastated when she discovers Barnes dead at his computer with an empty bottle of bourbon and a computer-generated suicide note. Soon, Cauley is up to her eyelashes in dead bodies and everyone wants to know what Barnes said in the shed - the last time anyone saw him alive.”

Killer Query
A query is similar to a pitch, but it also provides a snapshot of you, who you are, what you’re writing and why you chose this particular agent.

Queries are three paragraphs limited to one page. The first paragraph is about the agent, the second is about the book, the third is about you. That’s it.

For more insider info, email me about the Perfect Pitch, Killer Query wonline workshop beginning June 1. Mention the Texas Writers’ League and get a $5 discount!

Sad news . . .

2009-05-20T09:56:00.002-05:00

My goslings are gone. They were getting bigger every day, then one disappeared, then the other.

Back to Writers' League of Texas & Cyndi Hughes

2009-05-15T12:05:00.007-05:00

I was horsing around online the other day (which I call Pretend Writing--it feels kind of like writing but is really just goofing off) when I discovered pal Cyndi Hughes (former Texas Book Festival founder) is now the director of Writers' League of Texas!

We went to Threadgill's yesterday (she had veggies and I had a wonderful, heartclogging, inject gravy directly into your veins chicken fried steak) and we talked about the new things going on at the League, including her Build a Book series, that covers everything from sitting your butt down at the computer to getting yourself an agent.

In that vein, I'm going to be on a panel on how to get your self an agent next Thursday, so come on over and meet me there!

Austin Mix & Mingle Happy Hour
5 - 7 PM
Doc's Motorworks Bar & Grill, 1123 S. Congress (two blocks south of the WLT office)
Come get to know fellow members or learn more about the Writers' League. After Happy Hour, join us at the WLT office for our monthly program, "The Big Windup: Prepping Your Pitch, Proposal, and Synopsis."

How much cuteness can you stand?

2009-05-09T11:11:00.004-05:00

So the goslings came up on the island with their mama and daddy, and I just ask you, how much cuteness can you stand???

They didn't even mind R weedeating with that noisy weedeater!

The Geese are Back!

2009-05-08T14:59:00.002-05:00

We're out on the property, busting tail and trying to get in the utilities when look who showed up! The Canadian geese are back, and they brought the little ones!

Confessions of a Contest Slut . . .

2009-05-06T12:55:00.003-05:00

Nearly a decade ago, I was at bestselling author Julie Ortolon’s house, doing some work for the newspaper we both worked for when I noticed she had rows of framed awards hanging on the walls of her home office.

When I asked what kind of awards they were, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “Oh. They’re awards for romance writing contests.”

I was in awe. I had won writing awards at the newspaper, but the publisher keeps those—you want to look at your own award, you have to actually show up to work, and what fun is that?
But here were these rows and rows of awards bedazzled with glittery gold stars and official seals, proof that she was a writer with a capital “W.”

I knew then and there I had to get me some of those awards for my very ownself.
What I did not know was that contest wins were a ticket to the top of the slush pile, and ultimately how I got both my agent and my first editor.

But contests did something else for me: the judges behind the contests taught me to be a better writer.

Contests can tell you if your story idea and GMC (goal, motivation and conflict) is strong enough to carry an entire book, where to start your story, scene and sequel an proper manuscript format, all things you’re going to have to know before you get The Call.

That day in her office, Ortolon printed out a list of contests she liked based on agent/editor judges and critique value, and bam! I was hooked.

Now I want to help you final in your contest, and how to parlay that win into a contract! Email me at kitfrazier@yahoo.com to sign up!

Family, family . . .

2009-05-04T15:40:00.003-05:00

Well, it turned out to be a weekend of family! We were going to work on the house, but it was R's dad's 86th birthday party, and most of the 12 children were in attendance (along with their 40-some odd extended family). . . I made my famous Barracho Beans for Saturday, and we had a ball.

We had so much fun we invited the out-of-towners to the house Sunday, and we got a housefull!

Kittie Boy was his usual surly self, but nobody got bit, everyone got a boat ride, and we all had fish, which put Puss Boy in a considerably better mood. Today, however, I paid for his inconvenience . . .

Texas Sayings . . .

2009-04-29T12:22:00.008-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about my dad lately, and we were compilin' a list of Texas sayings when he died. He loved them--they always made him chuckle, and getting an Old Colonel to chuckle is no easy task. I've decided to take up his cause and collect as many as I can.

Some of his favorites were, "Useless as tits on a boar hog," "Richer than ten-foot up a bull's ass," and "Daylight's burnin'!"

What are your favorite southern sayings? Come up with some good ones and we'll vote on who gets the "Not Now! My Muse is Kicking Ass!" tee shirt . . .

Some of my faves are:

I’m gonna give it to ya with both barrels.
That really chaps my hide.
Madder than a long-tail cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs
Look out, she’s havin’ a conniption.
He’s sharpenin’ his saw teeth.
She’s in a sod-pawin’ mood.

I’m so mad I’m gonna cloud up and rain knuckles.
He’s got his tail up.
She’s got her hackles up.
He’s burnin’ like chicken at Baptist barbeque.
Look out, he’s tearin’ up the pea patch.
That just burns my britches.
He’s so mad he could stretch sheet iron.
She’s mad as a wet hen.
I’m mad as a cow with a sore teat.
I’m so mad I could eat a horned toad backwards.
He’d fight ‘til hell froze and skate on the ice.
She jumped on me with all four feet.
He’s madder than a red ant.
She’s so mad she’s sweatin’ steam at every joint.

The Roof!

2009-04-27T09:52:00.004-05:00

It's raining, but the guys are here doing the roof! Also, our plumber sucks. They know we have to get the house inspected before each draw, and they're hounding us (and we have no control over it) and they did a crappy, crappy job.

They cut giant holes where smaller ones would have done the trick, and mounted the big switch box two feet from where it should have been. When confronted with the poor workmanship, he said, "We gotta do what we gotta do. Where's our money?"

Never using them again . . .

Atticus's Motto

2009-04-26T20:10:00.002-05:00

And don't you forget, bub.

Rainy Days & Sundays Make Me Happy :)

2009-04-26T18:36:00.004-05:00

The house is rockin' right along, despite a sub-standard job by the plumbers. And I wish the HVAC people had done as we asked by pushing the unit back as far as possible--we're trying to limit our carbon footprint in many ways, and the biggest is building a house that's more than 1000 sq.ft. smaller than we planned on five years ago.

The cedar post R put in the center of the house is a real treat, and I'm loving the way it looks!

The house and Puss Boy

2009-04-24T21:15:00.006-05:00

Once again, Puss Boy is on the prowl, and we're making progress on the house. Not too happy about the plumbers, but we'll see how that goes . . .

Come out and play!

2009-04-20T10:25:00.004-05:00

So, Atticus has a new hobby, which is trying to get me to come play while I'm trying to work. He doesn't want to come in, he wants me to come out. He's found a perch on the window sill next to my computer and sits and yowls his head off until I at least open the window and pet him . . .

New! Favorite Thing Friday!

2009-04-17T18:17:00.003-05:00

Okay, so if you haven't read the series Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency, you need to run right out and read you some! I LOVE these books, and now I love the new series on HBO.

Redneckedness

2009-04-16T10:01:00.000-05:00

Some random thoughts on Redneckedness,

The question is, why would any woman who isn’t of the redneck persuasion marry one of these men?

That question came up at Pulpwood Queen Kathy Patrick’s Girlfriend Weekend, when a panel of lone star literati, end for some reason, me.

It was a fabulous weekend, I got to meet, have lunch, and drink bourbon and Diet Coke with Sara Bird, Carol Dawson, Cyndi Hughes, David Marion Wilkinson, and THE fabulous Sam Barry of Harper Collins who still owes me for the tiara he swiped during the downing of said bourbon and Diet Cokes. We'll talk later, Sam :)

The final question posed to the panel was, “Why don’t people in other states like Texans?” And while the rest panel pondered this question with wit and brilliance, I could only offer one word: Redneckedness.

Redneckedness is a special brand of crazy, of which Texans take great pride. I hear up north, they lock their crazy up in the attic. In Texas, we prop ‘em up on the sofa and invite the neighbors over for iced tea.

While rednecks are not locked up (though they are often incarcerated), they do sometimes roam freely about the country, inflicting their redneckedness on unsuspecting strangers.

It was one such case with my own personal redneck that I used to illustrate the profound affect rednecks have on people outside the state of Texas.

We were heading to California to visit my sister and step-brother. My sister was working, and my urbane step-brother, who happens to be half Japanese, suggested we visti a winery.

Texas rednecks are easily identified by their uniform—Wrangler jeans, boots, and some sort of t-shirt in disrepair, topped with a gimme cap proclaiming a slogan for cars, beer and or Tito’s Titty Bar.

Of course, there will also be an image of the Texas flag somewhere on their person, and often on their underwear.

I know of no other state where people would wear their flag on thong underwear, or for that matter would want to. But in doing so, Texans can go anywhere in the world with the state flag up their butt.

The house, the house & Cauley of the Day

2009-04-14T15:06:00.003-05:00

The guys have the dormers almost done, and R is sealing the logs. In other, writing-related news, I'm finished with the first four chapters of Redneckedness, and about to put together the proposal (hooray!).

Because both of these activities are nerve-wracking, I have taken out stock in Doritos, because nothing soothes a troubled soul like fake, powdery Nacho cheese . . .

Cauley of the Day (In honor of the new book): There's only three kinds of men in this world--the ones you play with, the ones you stay with, and the ones who just need killin'.

Buy My RV

2009-04-11T13:36:00.001-05:00

We're finally building, so if you're looking for a terrific RV in showroom shape, here's your chance!

Yikes!

2009-04-10T12:31:00.002-05:00

So, we're working on the house today and R got a terrible splinter!

Fighting

2009-04-09T11:02:00.002-05:00

I hate fighting. It's amazing how often I'm in a situation that calls for it. But, like all things worth saying, there's a Cauley-ism for it:

I'll knock a knot on your head and dare it to rise . . .

Woo hoo! & Cauley of the Day

2009-04-08T09:35:00.005-05:00

Woo hoo! The house is going up! The roof trusses are up and the dormers are on the way! We just got the doors and windows in (with two bay windows . . . woo hoo again!).

And, in honor of the guys working so hard on the house: Cauley of the Day . . .

Those boys are skippin' like water on a hot skillet.

Round Top . . .

2009-04-07T15:49:00.006-05:00

So, we just got back from Round Top Antique Show--the next one is in November. It was huge. Miles and miles of a mixture of crap and some really good stuff -- Lot's of things that stopped me in my tracks and would have had me pulling out the checkbook. Happily, I wasn't alone, and was not in total charge of the check book. I loved, but displayed an incredible amount of restraint, with only an amoire coming home . . .

Atticus was not a amused when we got home . . . he scoffed at the armoire and bit me (hard) because we were gone more than the perscribed 4 hours. Life is hard out there for a puss . . .

Horrible and Beautiful and Sad and True . . .

2009-04-02T17:06:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about my dad--step-father if you want to get technical--but I ran across this horrible, beatiful, terrible poem today, and I wept. I wept for both of my fathers and their short, short lives--and wept at how lucky I am that I had two of these men, shorn from the same strong cloth, but different in their pattern and print, and I wept for myself, and the children who will come, the children who will never know these strong, stoic men, these fathers, who changed my life in the small amount of time they walked ahead and beside me on this earth, and for the long time that I will live on this earth without them . . .

A Father's Pain
by Larry Smith

My father ignored his pain,rode it out without complaint—high threshold they call it now.He worked as a brakeman in snow and rain.Once he pulled his own back tooth,held the pain in his side one timetill it burst his appendix, thenlay in a hospital bed for days.He wasn’t hard on us kids,never struck us, took us todoctors and dentists when needed.He used to sing in the carbought us root beers along the road.He loved us with his deeds.The day he died, he played golfin the morning, came home,muffling the pain in his arm,went upstairs and lay down.
"A Father's Pain" by Larry Smith, from A River Remains. © WordTech Press, 2006. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Progress . . .

2009-04-02T09:44:00.004-05:00

So, I got a lot of writing done yesterday, and the guys got a lot done on the house!

Opa in the river

2009-03-31T09:44:00.007-05:00

There's been a little too much excitement around here--Opa (R's 85-year-old dad) caught two huge catfish, then fell off the dock and into the river. Luckily, the crew was working on the roof and saw it happen, and ran down to jerk him out of the water. There's an old saying that says "You can always tell an old German but you can't tell him much . . ."

The geese have been pestering the crew--They think anything with two legs and opposable thumbs should be giving them handouts.

Losing a friend . . .

2009-03-30T10:07:00.008-05:00

It's a sad day when a friend's dog passes. Tahoe's been on my mind a lot lately, and in their honor, I'm passing along some of my favorite quotes to a girl's best friend:

The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too. ~Samuel Butler, Notebooks, 1912

From the dog's point of view, his master is an elongated and abnormally cunning dog. ~Mabel Louise Robinson

Dogs are miracles with paws. ~Attributed to Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy

The dog is the only animal that has seen his god. ~Author Unknown

Sunday, March 29, 2009

2009-03-29T19:16:00.009-05:00

Many thanks to Jane Sevier and her kitties, Cornelia and Fang, for being such terrific hostesses. Suffice it to say that a wonderful time was had by all . . . thanks to good company, nice nosh and Katie G's dead-relative china.

In other news, the guys worked on the house all day, and Atticus was busy being a cat.

New Member Tea

2009-03-28T10:56:00.002-05:00

I'm heading out to the New Member Tea, one of my favorite writing events of the year. All that fresh, new enthusiasm is beautiful and contagious! Thanks to Jane Sevier for hosting the event . . .

Agent Quest: Pitch, query, and new tools to snag an agent of your own

2009-03-27T14:30:00.004-05:00

Forget the secret decoder rings, special handshakes and the Bat Phone to the publisher—here are the tools--both new and traditional--you need to get published this year.

We're about to head into conference season, where you'll need to query, pitch and network your way into the hearts and minds of an agent or editor.

This interactive class will include brainstorming, feedback, and help with agent selection, as well as new, innovative tools to catch (and keep) attention.

The two-week, $15.00 class is limited due to the amount of feedback you'll receive, and the deadline to enroll is April 7. See you at the book stores! For more details, email kitfrazier@yahoo.com, subject header "Agent Quest."

Cauley of the Day

2009-03-27T13:40:00.003-05:00

That which doesn't kill you makes you want to kill somebody else . . .

And in other news, the house is coming right along, despite the hail and damnation . . . here's the progress for the day . . .

Holy Cow!

2009-03-26T13:54:00.006-05:00

Good grief! Internet and cable are finally back up, and I'm uploading shots of hail and damage from our neck of the woods . . .

Mourning Calvin and Hobbes

2009-03-25T06:25:00.003-05:00

Oh, Bill Watterson, where are you when we need you?

The House!

2009-03-24T09:16:00.012-05:00

And so it begins . . . But first, Cauley of the Day (In honor of the drought-breaking rain) It's so dry the trees are bribing the dogs.

the trucks arrive, and the logs are here!

the guys are doing this all by hand . . . no cranes. And of course, we're in the middle of a drought and our first day of building and it rains . . .

Cauley of the Day and We're Finally Building!

2009-03-23T11:21:00.009-05:00

The Cauley of the Day, in honor of the house lumber finally arriving, is "Are we ready? Does a cat have climbin' gear?"

We're going as green as we can, from downsizing (we went half the square footage than we started with) and hand-applied stain concrete foundation to using standing dead timber for the outer walls and reclaimed lumber inside (from R's Fredericksburg family homestead).

Notice the cat butt prints in the stain . . .

Too big for his britches

2009-03-23T10:17:00.003-05:00

So, this weekend, Atticus got into it with Fuzz Ball. Silly boy attacked the young buck four times before Fuzz Ball started snorting and pawing the gound. After the fifth attack, the two silly boys were playing together. They were so fast I couldn't get a pic of Atti in flight, or Fuzz Ball on the counter-attack. Both Puss Boy and Fuzz Ball are fine, and were eating out of the same bowl 15 minutes later . . .Big fun at the Animal Farm . . .

Cauley of the Day

2009-03-20T11:35:00.004-05:00

That guy couldn't find his own ass with a map and a flashlight . . .

Cauley of the Day

2009-03-19T14:29:00.001-05:00

In the south, we don't ask if you've got any crazy people in your family, you ask which side they're on . . . .

A word about query letters . . .

2009-03-19T14:25:00.002-05:00

Conference season is upon us, so it's time to think about query letters. Here's an article I wrote on the subject this summer:

Kick Butt Query Letters

A traditional query letter is a letter designed to sell you and your idea for a novel. This can be done via email or snail mail, depending on the submission requirements of your agent or editor.

Which brings us to the first step in writing a kick butt query letter: do your homework. Your agent is going to be keeping 15% of your royalties until the day he/she dies. Your research should include:
Research your agent or editor. There are a lot of resources available to authors, including the agent or publisher’s website, AgentQuery.com, Google, Publishers Marketplace, Author Representatives (www.aar-online.org), Writers’ Digest Guide to Literary Agents and Editors and Predators (http://anotherealm.com/prededitors/) just to name a few.
Make sure they represent your genre
Who else do they represent?
Make sure they are accepting submissions and or queries
Find out how they prefer the submission
Check how long their response time is so that you can track your submissions and know when to follow up
Make sure you know which agents/editors are accepting your genre.
Make sure you know which agent or editor you’re approaching (agents and editors change houses and positions as quickly and as often as a teenage girl changes jeans)
How many deals have they made this year?
Does the agency take the standard 15% or more or less?

Once you’re comfortable with your research, get down to business. Get up a professional looking letterhead (no funky fonts or fancy colors, and for the love of Baby Jesus, don’t include pictures, confetti or anything else—if these are necessary, they can wait until your agent or editor asks for it).
Now: Down to Business
Think of a query as a back cover blurb—the blurb is designed to get the reader to buy the book. A query is designed to get the editor to buy your book.

A query letter is basically three parts including Who, What, Why and How.

Do you have a hook? If so, open with it. Your intro should get the agent wanting to read more.
The first part of the first paragraph is an introduction to you (see example below). The second part of this paragraph is why you are choosing this particular agent or editor. The third part of the first paragraph is genre and word count.
The second paragraph is the Reader’s Digest version of your book.
Make sure you include the Hero, the Heroine, and if there is an antagonist, be sure to include that character.
Be sure your internal conflict is clear

Always, always, always tell the agent or editor how the conflict is resolved
TIP: Make sure your voice shines through the query letter—if your book is funny, the query should show that humor.
The third paragraph should sell you—any creds, contest wins, publications, in other words, why you and you alone are particularly qualified to write this book.
Always close by thanking your agent for taking the time to read your query, and close by saying the subliminal “I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

TIP: Publishing is a small business. Never exaggerate, and don’t name drop unless it’s true.

That’s it. That’s all there is to it. Best of luck, and see you at the bookstore!
© Kit Frazier 2009

Sample Query Letter That Worked:

Dear Ms. Fine,

My name is Kit Frazier, and I’m currently seeking new representation. I recently finished revisions on a cross-genre thriller titled SCOOP.

The book is a fast-paced, funny 94,000-word suspense novel with a strong romantic element, a sort of Janet Evanovich meets the Ya yas. SCOOP has won numerous writing competitions including the Writers’ League of Texas and the Merritt, and it has piqued the interest of several editors, including Kate Miciak at Bantam Dell, Kim Cardesia at St. Martin’s Press and Kelly Harms at Avon.

Ms. Miciak has seen the manuscript and wrote me a letter that said she was “smitten” and that my characters were delightful. Since I’m fairly certain I’ve never smitten anyone and my mother assures me I’m rarely delightful, I thought I might be on to something.

Ms. Miciak went also requested a synopsis for the second book in the series as well as an author’s bio. Ms. Miciack also sent me a letter with helpful suggestions. After receiving that letter, I pulled the manuscript from circulation and made the revisions. The manuscript is now ready to go.

SCOOP is the story of Cauley MacKinnon, a young woman who lives in Austin, Texas

Cauley MacKinnon is a down-on-her-luck obituary writer, which, in her words, is one step up from writing classified ads. Being banished to the Death Page is what happens to interns who’ve been very good, or reporters who’ve been very bad. Somehow, Cauley’s managed to do both. And of course, being the Obituary Babe wreaks absolute havoc on her already un-social life.

I’m seeking new representation because I would like to be with an agent who shares my interest in career-building and long-term goals. I’m writing to you because Julie Kenner says you are professional and enthusiastic.

I am an award-winning writer and a professional journalist living in Austin, Texas, and am a member of organizations including the Texas Press Association, the Writers’ League of Texas and Austin Romance Writers of America. I am also certified in Search and Rescue, and a member of law enforcement groups, including the Austin Citizen’s Police Academy, factors which lend authenticity to my stories.

I appreciate your time and thank you for your consideration. I’ve enclosed the first chapter of SCOOP, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.

© Kit Frazier 2009