Ryan McFadden

Here’s the latest rejection letter. Kind of similiar to all the rest (with a twist). Send the query letter, followed by three chapters, followed by the manuscripts. And then I receive this back:

Unfortunately, while I found a good deal to admire in your work, I’m sorry to say I will not be able to offer representation at this time. You’re clearly a natural born storyteller, with fantastic hooks for each of your projects. Of the three, THE NAMELESS had the most potential — I really enjoyed Logan’s voice, and you established a great sense of mystery through Logan’s mysterious dreams. But I’m afraid that overall I never really clicked with the writing, which didn’t feel dynamic enough to truly engage me in the various narratives.

Why is this one different? Because for once the agent actually preferred the character to the writing. All the complaints thus far have been about the characterization. I’ve really been working on that. Since I sent her the chapters, I’ve revamped the NAMELESS again…to such an extent that I think the characters are the best I’ve ever done.

I’m currently at 82,000 words. I’m thinking this novel will come in around 100,000…so I’m actually pretty close. This is a difficult one to write but I think that I could generate some interest in it (don’t I always say that?).

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The beginning of another idea I had. Kind of like film noir, but without the noir. Not light-hearted but with tongue firmly in cheek. Below is the beginning:

Kieran was living in an old 50’s movie. Moonless night, hot, humid air, his shirt drenched from the sweat of shoveling. His wife, Erin held the coleman lamp above him, looking over her shoulder as if expecting some killer filmed in black and white to sneak upon them.

He leaned on his shovel, taking a breather.

“Maybe you should just keep shovelling,” she suggested. She had the lamp down so low that it barely did any good. Erin was always there with him but she simply didn’t have the nerve for these types of affairs.

“Do you mind if I take a breather?”

“Actually, yes. Take a look at this place. It gives me the creeps.”

“You’re being superstitious, that’s all.”

“You know, Kier, for once, you can just admit that this is a little bit weird.”

Truth by known, this was a little bit weird. But he didn’t want to let on because that would only further shake her nerves. And he couldn’t do it without her.

Grave robbing was serious business and he needed help.

“It’s all part of the job, honey. Nothing unusual about a man working for a living, is there?” He began shoveling again, wishing that he would’ve hired a few Hispanics to help him make this job easier.

“Digging graves is not your job.”

True. But he thought her statement made it sound more like this was a hobby. And that wasn’t quite right, either.

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Bullet Holes. The title of my next story. Novel, short story, screenplay? I’m not sure. It would be best as a screenplay, but I don’t want to condemn it so that the only person that ever reads it is me.

Bullet Holes is only tentative…and only because I like the title. I don’t think it really has anything to do with the story. It would be a Dark Fantasy (real world with elements of the supernatural). Below is the basis:

There is one absolute truth that has mostly been forgotten or lost. A precious few have rediscovered this truth but mostly it sends them careening into madness and destruction. The only ones who can stand to witness it are those who are already slightly insane, or those filled with ultimate antipathy(thus, the good guys are all slightly bonkers and the bad guys are truly evil)

Most only discover the Grand Ultimate Truth at one point in their lives: at death.

That’s where Sam Madigan comes in: Sam Madigan works at a chemical plant scrubbing out old tankers. Mind numbing yet dangerous job. A bad combination. He’d seen men have their environmental suits fail, their lungs liquifying and spewing out their mouths. It didn’t upset Sam. He’d seen worse.

In Mogadishu, in the blood of the anarchy, he saw the truth. And the truth didn’t set him free – it sent him slightly mad. But the pills only mad him worse…suicidal, murderous. The things he did when he was on his medication…no, it was better to be slightly crazy.

Of course, I have a whole cast of characters: Goblin (his disfigured handler); Judas (the first Vampire); Nicholas Colby (the only surviving member of Sam’s military unit back in Mogadishu).

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Ryanmcfadden.com has been relaunched. Frankly, for the past few months this page has been broken so I haven’t bothered to post. Not a thing for I think 6 months

So where am I at?

Sadly, mostly the same spot. Still no agent, no publisher…nada. What have I done to achieve my goal? Nada. You mean if I don’t do anything agents and editors won’t automatically want my work? Odd that.

I’m still working on the Nameless. Will I ever be done? My new goal is by June 1st. Because in June, all my spare time will be gone…again.

June 1st…the count is on.

I’m at 78,000 words…but mostly this novel had undergone extensive re-editing and restructuring. Hell, I changed all the characters. Three times.

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