I’ve been patiently waiting for my query letter (for Ragnarök Willie) to write itself. Or at least edit itself. The query letter, apparently, is even more stubborn than I am. It refuses to move its words around so that it makes sense. So that it matches convention. So that it has a chance in Helheim of getting past the slush pile reader.
Mostly I stare at it and ponder the meaning of a writing life. It sits, printed out, by my computer, patiently waiting for me to edit it. I on the other hand, am patiently waiting for it to write itself. A writer friend said, hey if you get stuck on the query just write a one-page synopsis first, which is possibly the only thing I hate more about writing than query letters.
I need a better hook. I need to summarize, in a witty sentence or three, a novel that took me two years to write and contains 87,000 or so carefully crafted words. I need to let that agent know what Lasse’s goals are, what obstacles he faces, and what are the consequences of his choices (that last part may be easy: global tyranny, a Nordic apocalypse or true love–choose with care, Lasse).
I need to let it sit another day or two. Maybe the Old Norse equivalent of a muse will provide inspiration if I am patient. Or maybe I just need to knuckle down and write it.