Dear Me Take Two

Dear Me,

All right, so the 2007 Dear Me Contest proved that pumpkins and outragously bitter sarcasm aren't what the judges are looking for. Judging by the reviews I got, I guess people want me to be nicer to you, to fluff your delicate little ego with praise and hollow compliments while you bask in my praise like a sun-starved lizard. They want me to be easy on you, to give you time and make sure you know you're loved, cherished, and respected. They want me to pat you on the head and give you a cookie.

Tough.

We do things my way. Your head is so puffed up out of proportion after making that pro sale to Cemetery Dance that it could use a little stomping on.

First off, let me say I'm actually proud of you.

And now let me define proud: You only bungled HALF the goals I set for you for the 2007 Dear Me Contest, and you ACTUALLY MANAGED TO GROW A PUMPKIN.

Oh, wait. That's right. It was your grandmother that grew the pumpkin. You just stared at it in open-mouthed awe when she brought it home for you to oogle. Strike what I said before. Dweeb.

So, back to the drawing board. Goals for 2008 will be a lot tougher than 2007, since I'm figuring with your track record, the more goals we set, the more you'll do, shotgun-style.

First, you will not just PLACE in the Writers of the Future Contest, but you will WIN the Writers of the Future Contest. No excuses. It's your time to put that feeble mamalian brain to work earning bacon.

Second, once you have won WotF, you will make two more professional sales. The one to Cemetery Dance was nice, but you're not in SFWA yet, and that's where you'll meet those wonderful like-minded individuals who actually make a living doing this stuff...and who know who Joss Whedon is.

Third, you will get your butt to Clarion. So they didn't take you the first time. Boo-hoo. Maybe it had something to do with that ridiculous cover letter you wrote them in which you told them you were an Alaskan going stark raving mad with cabin fever and couldn't wait to meet them. Brings up images of old bearded men with hatchets, if you ask me. Hell, I think you even mentioned your damn pumpkins in there somewhere. This year, I'll write the cover letter and you will watch.

Fourth, you will write a thriller. All these sci-fi novels are starting to bore you, and we can't have that...we know how easily you get distracted. Time for a change, and maybe a penname.

Fifth, you will write a new sci-fi book in a new series. Enough of that Congie crap. Aliens are nice and all, but you're starting to get stuck in a rut. If you stay there much longer, it's gonna take a fire crew to get you out.

Sixth, let's get some numbers out on the table, since 52 somehow became 32 in your eyes. Granted, 32 short stories written and submitted to spec-fic magazines--four of which have ended up in sales so far--isn't that bad of a track record, but I told you one a week, dammit. It's the principle of the thing. Let's see. Since I've loaded you up with two novels, Clarion, and Writers of the Future, I want you to write...52 short stories. One a week. Starting today. What, did you actually think I would change my mind based on your whining? Pfft. You know me better than that. Moving on.

Seventh, you will write book 2 of Millennium Potion. You've delayed long enough.

Eighth, you will read 25 novels. I've gone easy on you this time, knowing that you failed so dismally the last time I gave you a reading goal. So, out of the goodness in my heart, I've pared it down just a little. Of the novels, you should especially look at good science fiction, good horror, and good fantasy. Those are your areas of interest, so start taking interest.

So that's 3 novels, 2 pro sales, 1 contest, Clarion, 52 short stories, and lots of reading. Are we getting nervous yet? Bah. We're shotgunning, remember? I only really expect you to hit ALL of them.

Okay, and here's the biggest one of all, the one you can throw out all the others to achieve:

One way or another, I want you to make $25,000 writing. This could be a remarkably simple goal, especially if your agent comes through and sells your sci-fi series. Then again, it could be a battle where you're struggling tooth-and-nail just to stay afloat.

But, it's also necessary. One way or another, you need to make this writing thing stick. 2008 is the use it or lose it year. Your lovely padded cushion has been yanked out from under your butt, and now you've gotta scramble to figure out where you're going in life.

And, since we've both known where you're going in life since you were four years old, I'd suggest you get crakin' and make it a reality. Time is running out, sister. We both know you've got what it takes, and we both want to see you get there. Whatever you do, don't give up. I'm rooting for you.

Aw, that ended a lot sappier than I thought it would. Guess I went a little easy on you, after all. Oh well. You'll hear more from me again next year.

Signed,

Your Self

-Sara King
http://www.kingfiction.com