It took me seven years to finish writing my first novel, Don’t Flush The Condom. Finding an agent is hard. I can’t figure out what genera would contain this story. Creative non-fiction? The story is based on my real life. Fiction? Okay, but for whom? It’s definitely not chick lit or a rom com. It’s not action filled. It’s not a mystery. It’s not fantasy or science fiction. Cross genera is about the best I can do picking a label. Writers have to match their work with agents who represent writers who are in the same genera. There’s no genera named: Damned If I Know What Genera This Is.
Putting 43,000+ words into one sentence that will make an agent want to read my work is harder than writing the novel. One of my writing teachers said the goal of writing a novel is to get it written not to get it published. Fine for him, but I want my work published. I have something to say, and people need to hear it.
The story is about a Jewish, bipolar, widowed criminal defense attorney who is in love with a police officer. She’s Wonder Woman with insecurities working for an unnamed law firm and is supervised by an unnamed, inept supervisor. Her neighbor is shot and killed by police and one of her homeless clients is murdered. The story takes place in a fictional town in New Mexico. Included is a nearly verbatim recitation of what happened when I crashed my mother’s funeral. There’s also an explanation about why I can’t get through airport security without getting manually searched. I left out the part about how I deal with TSA. If I’m going to be felt up, I’m going to give the person something to feel. I never wear a bra when I fly.
Soon after I finished the first novel, I started writing the second novel. The first novel contains bits and pieces of my life as a criminal defense attorney. The second novel will likely be about the mental health toll working for a public defender department takes. I wanted it to be about the female character proposing marriage to the male character while dancing on the bottom of the earth, but that story can’t be written. I haven’t yet visited the South Pole – somewhere I badly want to go. I want to dance on the bottom of the earth at the geographic South Pole.
I’m extremely careful not to mention the name of the law firm where the female character works because I don’t want to get sued. The public defender department is top heavy with vindictive, petty, incompetent managers.
A bit of irony. Eventually, I managed to piss off just about every manager I dealt with. One day, I put up a major fight for a client. He had a sex offense conviction from California and the prosecutor wanted to convict my client of not registering as a sex offender. The pertinent statue, Molest or Annoy a Child, is so vague that if you make your child eat broccoli you can be convicted and have to register as a sex offender. I lost. I filed an appeal. I won. The prosecutor filed an appeal. The NM Supreme Court decided in my favor but had to toss in a number of hoops through which prosecutors have to jump. Said hoops are based on the rationale I used in the original appeal. Eventually, a manager who I happily pissed off used my case to further his career. Except his career went nowhere. As a friend says, he was kissed by karma.
Deb's Art 