To: Laurie Fox
CC: Andy Ross
From: H Joseph Horacek, Jr.
Twitter:@HJosephHoracek
Yes, this plan works for me! I have just completed a novel, “The Merchant of Arimathea” a 100,500-word work that might be called literary fiction, historical fiction, Secular Biblical Fiction, or Biographical Fiction. Maybe you can help me figure out how to label it. I am currently searching for an agent and an independent development editor, a platform consultant, and a publicist. I particularly need help in characterizing the genre. I did not write the novel for readers of any particular religious faith (I consider myself to be a “Spiritual Agnostic”) but rather strove to create something that will explore universal truths and that resonate with readers of any faith or lack thereof.
I warn you that I am a novice to a world in which you have been deeply immersed for many years. I hope you do not find me embarrassingly green to talk with. I am eager to learn what I need to do and to work hard to put this story out there.
I did not follow any plan in writing my novel other than to please myself. As I was finishing the first draft of the manuscript, I began looking ahead for guidance in getting it published. While pouring through the 2016 Guide to Literary Agents, I read repeatedly that most agents prefer referrals by other agents, though some mentioned that they sometimes connect with new authors at Writing Conferences. I decided to sign up for this year’s SFWC hoping that would happen for me.
Allow me to give you some of my background history. I was born in Berkeley at the Alta Bates hospital on Ashby (delivered by Alta Bates herself!) and grew up in the Bay Area. I remember Cody’s Bookstore, but I lived in Berkeley even before the time of Andy Ross (Talk about ancient history!). That was back in the day when the “Symbionese Liberation Army” kidnapped a friend of mine, also a student at Berkeley, who was supposed to cook dinner for my roommate and me that night. I did not realize until I saw her on the television news that Patty was the granddaughter of William Randolph Hearst!
I hope I am not digressing too much but maybe it will serve to allow free up time to eat lunch. I tend to talk too much that I forget to eat! I suspect you have already diagnosed me, as I understand you were the senior editor for “Changing Lives through Metacognitive Relationships: LD/ADHD and College Success. Now back to the history lesson.
After graduating from UC Berkeley in 1974, I moved to NC to attend medical school in Chapel Hill. I trained in General Psychiatry at UNC- Chapel Hill and Child Psychiatry at Duke University in Durham, NC. I then spent several years back at Chapel Hill as a Robert Wood Johnson Clinical Scholar and was on the faculty of the UNC School of Medicine for a couple of Years. I then moved to Charlotte, NC where I practiced clinical Child and Adolescent psychiatry and Neurology for four decades until my recent retirement. During the course of my clinical work, I invented and patented an extended release formulation of clonidine for treating ADHD, and formed a startup Biotech company, “Addrenex” to complete the research needed to gain FDA approval for my drug. Following approval by the FDA, I sold the company to a large pharmaceutical company.
In preparation for the 2017 SFWC I purchased the entire set of MP3 recordings from the 2016 conference. While listening to the sessions I became painfully aware of how unprepared I am for publication of my novel. I have no agent, and no platform to speak of on the internet. Over the past few weeks I have set up a blog for the book, am in the process of setting up an author website on Word Press, just today set up a twitter account and starting to resuscitate a long neglected Facebook page. I hope to connect with a platform development consultant at the conference this next week. I liked what Linda Lee Had to say in last year’s SFWC session “ New Ways to Promote Yourself Online” I also plan to take advantage of the pitching and consultation sessions available at this year’s conference.
I have a certain presence on the internet from my first book , a non-fiction book, “ Brainstorms: Understanding and Treating Emotional Storms of ADHD from Childhood through Adulthood” which was published by Jason Aronson in 1998 and 2001. I just now Googled it and got 482 hits for the book and 1,580 hits. This is without any promotion on my part. Though I am not seeking help for this book, I hope you will indulge in telling you a little about it, to give you some of my background history of my experience with a publisher. The Jason Aronson priced the book at $68.00, which disappointed me, as that was way out of the price range of many potential readers. I have seen it listed as high as $125. 00. I was aware that the publisher would set the price but I never dreamed it would be so high.
I felt a bit discouraged as I had spent 3 ½ years writing it as a labor of love and had sweated over every word of it. I consider still ahead of its. I have no idea how many copies it sold, but the royalties I received were very meager. I had no agent to represent me as in those ancient times authors commonly submitted proposals directly to the publisher. I stopped writing books after that disappointment, though I continued to write them in my mind, which is a habit that goes back as far back as I could remember. I am beginning to discover a vast world of support, resources and community for authors that I never realized existed. Now I am invigorated thinking of all the blogs, fiction, and non-fiction books that I feel encouraged downloading them from my brain while I still have one.
My first priority is to plot a course that will get my novel out there. I do not know how others might receive it. I am very pleased with it and I hope others will love it too. I would love a talented Fiction development editor to go through it and let me know how to improve it.
I realized how lucky I am to have won your company for lunch. I hope it makes for an interesting lunch mixing two senior experts in the field with still wet behind the ears author. I know I am looking forward to it!
I listed the best times for me below. These will allow me to catch all of the sessions at the conference that I am most interested in attending. If these do not work for you, let me know and I will work with you. Meeting with you for lunch is my highest priority!
I have also inserted the first two pages of my novel below to give you a flavor of my writing style. My main guiding principle was that it should good to my ear when read aloud. It, therefore, might work well as an audio-book. I have thought of recording a few chapters and putting it on my website.
Best Available Times for Lunch
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 15th
All day
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16th
Between 11:30 am and 2:30 pm
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17TH
Between 11:00 am until 1:30 pm
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18TH
Between 11:30 am and 1:30 pm
First Two Pages of The Merchant of Arimathea.
Chapter 1
The old man woke with a start. He was alone. The smell of grain hung heavily in the air, Blurry beams of light pierced the darkness. He tried to move, but something restrained him, making a clinking sound. He looked down at his arms and legs but saw only a blur. He could feel the hard, heavy metal links, however, and knew what they were.
I am locked in chains!
His heart pounded. He was terrified, confused. His mouth was dry, his skin hot. He saw halos surrounding spots of light so bright they were painful to look at. His head throbbed to a loud pounding in his ears. He felt a pain; an urgent need to urinate. He tried to but could not. The chains that bound him rattled from the violent shaking of his body. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what happened. He could remember nothing. Then he felt a familiar movement, a rhythmic rocking.
I am on a boat.
The old man heard the sound of boots descending the stairs into the hull of the ship. Someone was approaching. “Ah, you are awake at last!” a friendly voice spoke. “I heard you mumbling in your sleep. A bad dream, perhaps? I brought you something to eat. It should help you feel better. You have been asleep for at least three or four days with no nourishment! You are obviously alive which means I won the bet!”
The smell of food turned his stomach. “Water!” his voice croaked.
“I have some wine, will that do?”
The taste of wine filled his gaping mouth. The moisture revived his speech. “What happened? Where am I? Why am I in chains?”
“Do you recognize me?” The voice asked.
“No, the old man answered, “Who are you?”
“I am the captain. I came down to personally check on you and bring you some food. You knew my grandfather, Daniel, very well. Do you remember him?”
“No.”
“You once lied about him to Nicodemus when you were in Jerusalem with Yeshua.”
“I don’t remember. Who are they?”
“Do you remember your name?”
“No, what is my name?”
"Wait here and I will send someone more familiar to you.”
The captain’s footsteps ascended the stairs and in a few moments footsteps descended again, this time lighter, slower, more tentative.
“Yosef?" A thin, frail, soft voice called out. “Do you recognize me?”
“I can’t see you or anything.” The old man called to the voice in the darkness, then begged, “Is my name Yosef?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Miriam.”
“Do I know you?”
“Yes, Yosef, we have known each other for a very long time.”
“What happened? Why am I in chains? Why am I on a boat?”
“If you don’t remember then you are blessed.”
“Blessed? Why? Do you know what happened to me?”
“I am forbidden to speak about it with you until we are both interrogated in Rome by Flavius Josephus.”
“Do I know him?” Yosef asked.
“You knew him when he was a small child. You used to call him the Little Pomegranate Kicker!”
He heard a quiet laugh. It sounded familiar … I know that laugh! “Are you my wife?” He asked.
She laughed again.
He remembered a feeling. Somewhere … some time long ago.
“No, Yosef, we are not married. You never asked me!”
A deep, powerful voice boomed down into the space from the top of the stairs. "Time's up, you must come back up on deck now!"
“No, not yet! Don’t leave me! Tell me what is going on! Please!”
He felt a light hand patting his chained arm. “That is the Centurion. I must go now, Yosef.”
He heard her light footsteps ascending out of the dark, dusty grain bin and she was gone.
The fat wooden goose-shaped vessel waddled westward toward the harbor at Valletta Bay, on the island of Melita. Fully trimmed she sailed as close to the wind as she was able as she leaned far over and strained to maintain her course. Tacking back and forth across a stiff southwesterly breeze she had thus inched her way for weeks across the Mediterranean Sea. The goose came about a final time and slid into the shelter of the harbor. As the crew quickly dropped the mainsail and foresail, she slowed and glided to a stop. A many-oared tugboat intercepted and towed the heavy ship to the wharf until the hull of the great boat gently kissed the weathered sun-bleached planks of the dock. As the crew secured the dock lines, they had accomplished - and survived - another leg of the voyage.
The captain granted all passengers immediate shore leave. As there had been no sight of land since leaving Crete two weeks before, all were desperate for the sensation of placing their feet on something that was not in perpetual motion.
The Centurion counted the ragged, dingy survivors as they scurried down the gangplank to shore. The old woman was petite with brown, calloused hands and hair as white as lamb’s fleece. Her face, deeply etched had been sculpted over time from countless smiles and worries. The younger woman, evidently the mother of the five children, had long dark hair that parted in the middle to frame a vigilant face. The oldest child, a girl of perhaps thirteen, was sturdy, her arms appeared strong from labor, her skin darkened from working under the desert sun. The mop of thick curly hair on her head looked unruly. Her eyes, dark like her mother’s, kept a constant watch over her family. She appeared ready to fight anyone who threatened them. The younger children, small and pale, peered about with the eyes of so many frightened fawns after getting their first glimpse of violence and death. Two women, and five children, two boys and three girls … seven. Lastly, the stooped frail frame of ancient man trudged down the plank to the wharf, his long white beard and wisps of hair fluttered in the onshore breeze. Eight, the Centurion noted. That is all of them. He had no concerns about the prisoners trying to escape on the small island. There is no place for them to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment