For the next part of the exercise, I take a fifteen hundred word synopsis and boil it down to its three hundred word essence.
Q : Am I demonstrating the concept of hubris by sending my work to these exalted places?
A : Depends. Hubris, yes, if the small-town swimmer imagines she’s an Olympic champion. She doesn’t. She just feels the need to keep pushing herself out of her depth. In this specific case, the real point is discovering what the three hundred word essence will be.
Rejections will follow, I’m sure of it. Or the utter silence that signals you’re not even good enough to warrant a reply. Should I get a positive from any agent at this point in my life as a writer, I’ll respond like the dog who’s caught the car by chasing it down the street and barking. The odds are so slim, they don’t even leave room for stage fright. This is good.
Cloudy skies and temperatures way below average on this, the eve of the Street Festival. I doubt I’ll follow through on moving from one living space to another. There’s only so much you can get done in one day.
Allez? Allez. With poetry, music and good old Sanford Meisner as part of the traveling kit.
A writer's notebook 