One year ago today Miss Snark's blog went dark. The sad part for me was that I was late to the parade. I hadn't even considered the next step at that point. I was tiredly still pecking away at a manuscript that was months from being completed. Still, when I did begin my hunt for how to get published, she was the first help I found. I spent hours and hours and many late-night, wine-induced hours reading her blog. My husband complained that when I got testy I began to channel her. I learned more from her blog than any other resource I found before or since. She was my indoctrination into the world of publishing, and I felt sad that I missed knowing her, looking forward each day to her posts and checking minute by minute for comments, and pathetically obsessing over whether to put myself on the line and write her.
She introduced me to the dream that is walking Manhattan in red stilettos. She kept me from being clueless and a nitwit when I began querying. Mostly, in times when anxiety and doubt wracked me, she made me laugh.
Check out the comments in Patricia Wood's tribute to Miss Snark... add you own... think about how many words and phrases you use daily that she devised. Or, even better yet, go back to Miss Snark's blog and relive the memories. Maybe even learn something new. About publishing, writing, and a little even about yourself.
Oh man, I actually wrote to her twice. Once she put my question on the blog and answered it bluntly and efficiently. Didn't even abuse me. I swooned.
ReplyDelete(I found your latest Nathan-is-a-masochist-contest entry. That is some good writing. I really am looking forward to reading this book some day!)
Thank you for that huge compliment!
ReplyDeleteI bet you were over the moon when she answered you! Isn't it funny how we make celebrities out of regular people? Not that Miss Snark is in any way regular! :)
I followed the comments on Pat Wood's sight last night long into the night, just to keep up with Miss Snark's comments there. It was like she was in the room with all of us commenting. I kept thinking, "It's really her!"