I've been a bad writer. Not that I write badly--at least I hope not--but
I've fallen into bad habits. I go weeks without writing anything,
my journal is sporadic at best, I haven't kept up on my query letters,
and I haven't thought about suicide once this week. All that will
have to change.
Mind you, my New Year's resolution this year was to not make any more New
Year's resolutions. I never stick to the darn things anyway.
Okay, I've decided my New Year's resolution is to write at least 250 words
a day. Even extremely busy, deathly ill, or uninspired, I should
be able to manage that. Anything more is bonus. Of course,
if I manage to be all three at once...
Well, it dumped another load of snow on us last night. Not that light,
fluffy stuff either, but the heavy, hernia inducing wet stuff. The
damn snowplough driver doesnít even have the decency to wait until youíve
finished and are back in the house before he ploughs you in now, either.
He drove by when I was only half finished, and gave me the finger.
The jerk beat me to it. Oh well, now I've got enough snow to make
a snowman, or add an addition on to the house. A two car garage would
Whoever it was that said women were the weaker sex definitely doesn't hang
out with the same women I do. Not only do women outnumber men roughly
2-1, but they live longer, and get all of our stuff when we die.
I'm fully expecting a revolution any day now, and in preparation I'm stocking
up on chocolate and pantyhose. Hey, it worked in WWll. What
do you mean they already rule the world? Oh, man. I'm so screwed.
Yippee!! Today I received my first rejection letter of the new year.
And the winner is: The Urbanite, passing on The Shadow Side of God.
Congratulations to all the other finalists, and thanks for playing.
We now return you to our regularly scheduled program.
Today I found out that Iíll be attending a course from 12 Feb - 30 Mar.
That means itís back to straight days for a while. Totally messing
with someoneís sleep cycle is an effective method of softening up a subject
for interrogation or brain washing purposes. If you ask me, they
missed the boat. They should have washed my brain back before I lost
my marbles and there was more of it to scrub. As for the interrogation,
does anyone really care anymore where Jimmy Hoffa is buried?
I seem to be in writerís limbo lately. Iíve got several stories and
novels in the works, and Iím at a point in every one of them where I donít
know where to go next. I havenít heard anything back about the seven
stories I have out right now, nor from the agents I queried about Darkside.
I just emailed one of them, asking about the status of my manuscript, but
I dread the response. I know thatís not positive thinking, but hey,
thatís just the kind of depressive, schizophrenic psychopath that I am.
official. Karin Lowachee has won the Warner Aspect First Novel Contest!!
We're all so proud. *sniff*
Iím all out of American stamps, which means I canít submit anything to
the U.S. because I donít have return postage for the SASE. Oh, sure,
I could buy a couple of IRC coupons, but the Scots blood in me rebels at
the very thought of it. ďHere you go. Hereís eight dollars;
go buy yourself three 34 cent stamps and keep the change.Ē My grandfatherís
ghost would haunt me for sure--provided I covered the round trip fare from
heaven and back.
Well, thatís another midnight shift done. I must be getting too old
for this, because lately Iíve been exhausted, and about as sharp as a beach
ball. (ďSteven, donít run with that beach ball. Youíll fall
and put your eye out.Ē Okay, so mom was a little overprotective.)
I finally got up the nerve a while back and sent a polite inquiry to an
agent and a publisher who seemed to be holding on to various works of mine
for dear life. I donít know why I get so worked up. They--in
typical agent/publisher fashion--totally ignored my query. February
is coming up; maybe I should send them flowers on Valentines Day to get
their attention. Or better yet, a groundhog for Groundhogís Day.
I received another rejection for a short story today. This one in
particular depressed me, because from the tone of it, the editor really
liked it, but the publisher vetoed it because he had a very specific type
of story in mind, and mine didnít fit. This almost making it is killing
me. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. (Of course, since Iím
a guy even that bridesmaid thing is kind of creepy, when you think of it.)
Okay, the last shift was a rough one: An eight hour day, two sixteen-hour
days with only eight hours off between them, then another twelve hour day.
I have to stop writing things in this journal like how even with my busy
schedule I should be able to manage 250 words a day. The world seems
to conspire against me to make me out a liar.
Luckily, Iíve taken a shift off, so I have twelve days leave time to write.
Iíve got a couple of short stories I really should finish up, and I need
to get back to work on Darkside 2. I just decided last night that
the first section of my sword and sorcery short would work a lot better
with a POV change (thatís Point Of View, for you non-writers). I
donít think Iíve ever re-written a short story before Iíve even finished
it. Hey, maybe I really am growing as a writer.
On the Sock Monkey front, Steve Nagyís short story, ďSorrow Fruit,Ē
will be published in William P. Simmons forthcoming e-anthology --
Maiden, Mother, Crone: Three Faces of
the Goddess. Congrats, Steve!
Iím sitting here late at night, wondering why I just donít go to bed, and
suddenly the answer hits me. As long as I stay up, itís just the
same crappy day. If I go to bed, however, I have to wake up to another
crappy day. Now is that fuzzy logic or what?
To say that today was just another crappy day would be an understatement.
Today was crap extraordinaire. First off, we had rain, freezing rain,
sunshine, sun showers, and snow flurries. You find me the weatherman
who called that one right, and Iíll personally start his fan club.
Next, I went to the gym, did my usual weight routine, then ran for an hour.
You know how sometimes you get muscle cramps in you legs, or your toe?
Well you know youíve overdone it when your abs knot up. I didnít even know
that was possible.
To top it off, when I came out of the gym my car battery was dead.
I had to walk a mile and a half home, sweat soaked, in the rain.
Someone warn me when they decide to bring the MIR space station down, will
you. I just know thereís a piece of it up there with my name on it.
I sent off a query for Darkside to Lucienne Diver, and a short bit of nonsense
to Fantasy and Science Fiction. Then I ran out of envelopes. Iíve
got a whack of stamps now, and nowhere to stick them. (Keep those
comments to yourself.) As for the rest of my day, I shovelled the driveway,
spent two hours at the gym, did two loads of laundry, the dishes, fixed
my brother-in-lawís computer, did the banking, went to the market--just
your average holiday. Oh well, tomorrow I get to go shopping for
envelopes. Sheesh, maybe I should just go back to work!