Turns out the psychic was wrong. The literary agent who wanted my second suspense novel was a quack, at least according to Absolute Write and Predators & Editors: two indispensible guides for authors seeking literary representation.
It’s so difficult to know who to trust. Fiction is a striped cat. Authors get tired of sending out queries when the tantalizing aroma of self-publishing lies just around the corner. But just like pre-marital sex in the ’50s, one must not give in until all other exploration has gone south.
All is not lost, however. Four scriptwriters of varying expertise currently compete to adapt my award-winning first suspense novel Deadly Choices, now five years old. And I shall continue to participate on mystery author panels at conferences throughout the country — and tell myself: Get it together. Your time will come….
I just started working with a real estate client who says he runs everything through his “prophet” before he decides which property to buy. Turns out his prophet is Grandma Rose. In my vocabulary, “prophet” equals “psychic.” I decided to give her a call — not regarding my success in the real estate business but as an author!
Grandma Rose, who now resides in Mississippi, originally hails from Chicago. Thus her comments or revelations, depending on your level of spirituality at the time, are drop-dead blunt tinged with smatterings of southern .
For my second suspense novel Window of Guilt, Rose sees a Jewish or Italian bearded man with a broad smile and a sharp scissors cutting the red ribbon that encases my manuscript! She says it’s an agent I’ve recently sent to, although she knows not his name.
My third novel Fatal Reaction only needs a bit more editing, according to Rose. True enough, it needs to be elongated another thirty pages. Then it’s ready to go! Rose says agents will attempt to talk me out of the school setting but I should stay true to my beliefs, i.e. keep it! That novel will also find a home with a publisher.
Lastly, my fourth novel Psychobabble. Rose says this manuscript should be the easiest to sell because it’s got lots of fascinating characters.
If this psychic is clued in on any of the above, I can look forward to an exciting future! I’m sending Rose a carton of books — not my own — as a Thank You. If you’re interested in talking to Rose, shoot me an e-mail and I’ll act as the conduit!
Last night was the second night, thus the second Passover sedar. The word “sedar” means “order.” We read the Haggadah (spelling?) which describes Moses leading the Jewish slaves out of Egypt. They’d been building those pyramids for Pharoah for 400 years and were way tired!
Because we have a small extended family, we always invite friends over to celebrate. This time we blended several new friends from various walks of life with a few “old” friends. What was cool was that although each person was Jewish by heritage, their personal recollections of their childhood Passover sedar experiences were totally different.
In the 1960s and ’70s, Reform Jews grew up reading from the free but boring Maxwell House Coffee Haggadahs. Today, those are still available but really dry. Over the years, our family was fortunate to accumulate some beautifully illustrated Haggadahs with insightful discussion questions printed in the margin of each page. For example, “In what ways are we slaves today?”
But the rocking part of the sedar was the naming of the ten plgues G-d visited upon the Egyptians when Pharoah refused to let the Jews go. We distributed plastic frogs, cows, lions, lice, hail, etc., along with masks my artist friend, Tobi Abrams, made to describe each plague! Each of the ten participants held up that particular item when it was named. It brought some levity to the sedar. Definitely a new custom for everyone in attendance!
To our family, the whole idea of the sedar is not something to rush through so we can eat, but rather an hour-long oasis in which to reflect about our lives through various discussion questions threaded through the service. COMMENTS