Don't be a Crummy Santa Writer

All---

If you're anything like me you hate giving people Christmas lists.   I don't have a problem coming up with ideas for things that would be nice to get, but I hate setting myself up.   What do I mean?

Well, for instance, two separate family members asked for list from me.  I gave each of them a list of EMT gear they could get me that ranged from the very cheap to the more moderately priced so that they had a range.  It was a pretty good list that could be purchased easily on the internet or at a variety of local stores.  I was excited to see, when the time came around, what they got me from the list.

And, of course, they had not gotten me anything from the list.  What they had decided on was perfectly nice and perfectly useful, but I couldn't help a sense of disappointment.  I had given them a list and no matter how much I might have otherwise liked what they gave me, it's not what I asked for.

Lest you think I'm posting to whine about Christmas presents, I'm not.  Here's the point:

When a writer submits something to an agent or an editor and then gets a list of changes back, it's rather like getting a Christmas list back.  "Here's what I'd like to see changed."

Too often, writer friends of mine or writers I follow in the blogosphere seem to have a response along the lines of, "Well, I actually have some ideas for revising this that are not exactly the same, but I  think they really make for an even better, stronger book, so I'll go with that and re-send it in."

And then they get shocked when the agent or editor either sends back with more requests or just opts to reject altogether.

So here's my advice.  Take it for what it's worth, based as it is on general human psychology and not on my own experience: give them what they want.  Or don't give it back to them at all.  Or else know that you're taking a chance that they will say, "Eh, it's nice, but it's not what I asked for."

If you're asking an agent or an editor to help get your book out there in the world, disappointing them isn't going to help your cause.

Be a better Santa than that.

.Nevets.

Advent Ghosts 2009: Out of the Mouths of Babes (repost)

"From the Mouths of Babes"

by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2009

Twelve Christmas ago, Deb and I put up the tree and then the kids placed ornaments. They complained that the globes were warm and the figurines were evil. I said they'd been by the heater and were handcrafted. Then the whole house started to get warm and Deb said Frostie's eyes were creepy.

When phantom mists poured forth and wooden reindeer walked, I believed.

When Frostie ice-skated across Maddie's throat and the mists turned Jacob's eyes blue, I screamed.

When the tree burst into a fireball that consumed Deb, I crumpled.

When all passed and I remained untouched, I wept.

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This is a repost of my story last year's Advent Ghosts event, organized by Loren Eaton.  You can read the whole list of Christmas ghost stories from 2009 here.

Advent Ghosts 2010: Christmas at the Cabin

"Christmas at the Cabin"

by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2010


We'd never done Christmas at her grandparents' cabin before.  During the day, it had seemed charming and rustic.  It had felt warm and cozy.

At night, it was unsettling for my city-boy nerves.

Ice-covered branches scratched against the cabin and clinked against one another. Birds or animals moaned, low and remorseful.  The snow that fell seemed to hush everything but the sounds I didn't want.

Cozy felt confining.  Rustic felt unprotected.

It's just the woods.  It's just the woods.  It's just the woods.

And then I saw the face at the window.

And the blood seeping under the door.

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Please read the other stories that are part of the Advent Ghosts 2010 event, organized by Loren Eaton.

Blogsclusive: From Mouths of Babes

"From the Mouths of Babes"
by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2009

Twelve Christmas ago, Deb and I put up the tree and then the kids placed ornaments. They complained that the globes were warm and the figurines were evil. I said they'd been by the heater and were handcrafted. Then the whole house started to get warm and Deb said Frostie's eyes were creepy.

When phantom mists poured forth and wooden reindeer walked, I believed.

When Frostie ice-skated across Maddie's throat and the mists turned Jacob's eyes blue, I screamed.

When the tree burst into a fireball that consumed Deb, I crumpled.

When all passed and I remained untouched, I wept.

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A 100-word Christmas Eve Ghost story, prepared in response to Loren Eaton's writing invitation.