I don't write like Hemingway. But then again, maybe I do. My writing does not imitate the style, subject matter, basic philosophy, genre, or time period typically associated with Hemingway. But when I read Hemingway's descriptions of how he writes, it sounds like what I do. More so than when I read what other writers say on writing, a lot of the time. It's hard to be sure whether I should be proud of this, or worried. Given my career up to this point, it may not be as encouraging as I once would have considered it.
I currently have a manuscript on submission with an agent. There have been many attempts and many failed queries to get me to this point, but I haven't moved beyond this point and I've been waiting since January. One time, I nudged this agent, and was informed that the agent had not received my manuscript. I also became aware that this agent prefers email attachments (unusual, I know), so I sent one of those. That was in May. I'm starting to see potential mistakes in my correspondence with this agent everywhere, but I'm not entirely convinced I'm to blame here.
It may be time for me to get serious about the plan I had early on in this process, which was to self-publish online. Hence the blogging. Hence the more writerly approach to the concept of this blog. Hence my infinite apprehension about how well I will do, out there on my own. Will I obtain representation and have my book in stores? Will I soar to the heights of self-pub stardom, forcing myself to a grueling schedule of at least one book every three months? Or will this all be a dismal failure, with little or no profit to show for my considerable effort -- my words on the computer screen and my blood on the keyboard. This is the blog where you can find out. Posting will be highly irregular. Check in periodically or subscribe.