I finally got up the nerve and called the agent who had DARKSIDE today.
I actually spoke to them in person. They said theyíd just finished
it over the weekend. They thought it was a great book, and loved
the humour, but...they thought humorous fantasy was difficult to sell,
and didnít think they were the ones to get behind it 100%. They did
offer to give me the name of an agent who might be interested, which I
thought was nice of them.
Obviously Iím extremely disappointed. Itís still out at a publisher
right now, and as soon as they send me the agentís name, Iíll query them.
But the truth is Iím no closer to seeing DARKSIDE published now than I
was two years ago when I finished it, except that I now have a list of
three people who:
1. Thought the book was very entertaining;
2. Think I'm a real talent;
3. Though it was a great book and loved the humour;
4. Want absolutely nothing to do with it.
So, I went to the gym, did some weight training, and ran a few miles on
the treadmill. Thatís my life: running in place and never getting
anywhere. Whatís worse, when I got home I sat down and wrote another
thousand words on Darkside 2, because writing is one of the few things
that can make me feel better. Is that pathetic or what?
Pen treated me to the movies last night. We saw Pearl Harbour.
Itís a pretty good flick, but at three hours long stay away from the large
soft drinks unless you plan on bringing a catheter, or some Depends.
She also bought me a nice case for my laptop, so now I can take it anywhere
and write stuff no one will publish. Howís that for progress?
Life sucks, but that's no reason not to go on living it. You never
know what might be just around the corner. It's like when you go
to your mom's house for Thanksgiving, and have to choke down that dry turkey.
You can't just not eat it, because it's your mom, and let's face it; it's
the only game in town. Who else would go to the bother of preparing
all that food? And besides, once you're done with the dry turkey,
there's always desert to look forward to. Unless that sucks too.
Then there's take-out.
What I'm really trying to say here is that there's always options.
Just because you don't get exactly what you want right now, doesn't mean
you never will. So you have to be ready.
I finished another chapter of Darkside 2 today. I'm averaging at
least 500 words a day, sometimes more. Midnight shift is pretty much
a wash out, but that still leaves me 24 days a month to write in.
So, on to Chapter 5.
I got back from my run this afternoon and there was a rabbit sitting there
on my back lawn. He froze, doing that rabbit trick where they figure
if they donít move, you wonít see him. I ignored him and entered
the house. We have to leave our little woodland creatures their illusions,
I wrote 2000 or so words on Darkside 2 yesterday, and another 500 today.
Five hundred a day is my goal--anything more is gravy. I start midnights
tonight, so it might slow down a bit, but I'm determined to give it my
I got the letter from the agent today, recommending another agent, so I
printed off a query letter and itís all set to go out in the mail tomorrow.
I donít know if her recommendation will do me any good or not, but it canít
hurt. After all, agents have to leave us aspiring writers our illusions,
Pen and I saw Moulin Rouge last night. Wow. That's what life
should really be like. Oh, not the tragic tale, but people breaking
out into song and dance in order to express themselves. Creative
people, living a creative life. I think the reason writers and other
artists are so often depressed is that they are forced to live in a same-same
mundane world, when the one they envision is so much more alive.
Then again, if you've ever heard me sing, or seen me dance, maybe it's
a blessing things are the way they are.
My sister's birthday was June 10th. I can say she's old, because
she's younger than I am. Sort of takes all the fun out of it.
H A P P Y B I R
T H D A Y J A N E T!!!!!
Life sucks, and then it sucks some more. I have two years left on
my Military service contract. My Boss told me that the military had
offered me an IPS, which basically means I can stay in until Iím 55 years
old. All he had to do was go over the paperwork--which he
put off for a month. Yesterday he called me into the office to sign
it, only to realise it wasnít an IPS, but a three year extension.
Which means it extends my contract just long enough to allow them to post
me one more time. I havenít decided whether or not to sign yet.
On the writing front, Iíve started another short story, even though I have
four others I havenít finished yet. Well, you canít say Iím not trying.
The maple tree in the field outside my bedroom window mocks me, a testament
to failure. Every night before I got to bed I hope that maybe tomorrow
will be the day. The day my luck changes. My big break. Maybe I'll
get published, or win money, or meet someone that will change my life for
And then I look out the window and see that tree. I've watched as it bore
witness to my silent mantra through the seasons for three years now.
The leaves colour, falling one by one until the tree is barren and lifeless--much
like my dreams of success. Its branches bend, burdened by snow and ice--depression
and despair, until spring heralds new life and budding hope--a request
for a manuscript, an Editor's Choice Award.
The agent I was referred to isn't interested in Darkside. Another short
story was rejected today. The cycle begins anew. The maple tree laughs
at me. Foolish tree. I have a chainsaw, and I'm not afraid
to use it.
I mailed another short story off today, and sent Darkside off to another
agent. Can you say, ďPipedreamĒ? Iíve got a list of another three or four
agents that Iíll send a query to in the next week, and if they donít bite,
Iíll find more. Hey, Iíve got all these stamps; why let them go to