There's a whole whack of
folks that have my back, hoping you'll take me
on as a client.
There's my family, of
course (Mom, Dad, James--even if Mom always
did like him best--Janet, and their
respective spouses and kids.) There's my wife,
Pen, and our two kids. Oh, and my Grandma, and
my fifty or so aunts and uncles and their
kids and grandkids. (I could probably sell
through if everyone in my family bought a copy
of my book alone!) And of course all their
Then there's all my OWW
and LJ friends, many of whom have made
sacrifices to various and sundry gods (and we
all know you don't want to piss them off).
There's at least a few
hundred old recruits of mine, and probably a few
hundred more ex-students, and I'm sure the
Canadian Military would get behind me if I were
actually to get published (and even though
there's only about 50-60 thousand of them,
they're all armed--well, mostly.)
So it might be in your
best interests to--yanno--come across.
So I mailed the manuscript off to the agent
yesterday, and now I'm freaked. The woman who
worked at the post office had a big badge that
read "TRAINEE", and didn't seem to have a clue
what she was doing. She weighed the parcel
several times, couldn't decide how it had to be
sent, couldn't find half the paperwork and
wasn't sure how to fill it out when she did, and
did the calculations several times.
She assured me she knew
what she was doing, and that she was simply
being extra careful to get it right because she
knew how important this was. At least she didn't
have stamps and packing tape accidentally
plastered to her face.
The worst part now is
wondering how long I have to wait for a reply
from the agent before I query them to find out
if they even received the book.
So I took Velvet's advice and tracked the
location of my manuscript. It's currently in
Mississauga. That's right, it's taken it four
days for it to travel one hour from my house. Oh
well, at least I know it's on its way.
On a more funner note (I
are such a writer) the brain cell got together
this weekend to work out bookstuff on the novel
we're collaborating on, and much fun was had by
all. Okay, much fun was had by me--and after
all, that's what's important.
And, just a note, if when
you finally read this opus you find your
favourite character has been killed off, I'd
just like to go on record as saying that it was
all their idea.
According to Canada Post's parcel tracking
website my manuscript is still sitting at
the depot in Mississauga. What are they doing?
I only hope if they are,
that it's Canadian Customs reading it and not
Homeland Security--and not because of any
concerns that it may trigger some breach in
security protocols either, but because it'll
take them forever to read it what with all the
big words and all.
Maybe when they're
finished they'll send it along to the agent with
a reader review. I just hope they don't get the
terms Literary Agent and Secret Agent confused,
because I figure the agent will have a much
harder time trying to sell my book from
So I was chatting with a few of my old Army
buddies the other night, and they were going all
gung ho on me, putting the Air Force down as
usual, and feeding me all that
propaganda, to which I replied, "Yeah, well in
my entire career in the Air Force, I can
honestly say I've never left an airplane in the
And according to Canada
Post my manuscript was delivered yesterday.
Delivered where they didn't say.
I like to think I'm one of the good guys. Sure,
I have my shadowy bits, but overall I fight for
Truth, Justice, and the (mostly) Canukistanian
way. Still, I've often wondered just what it
would take to trip me over the line to the ways
For instance, there's no
way I'd have joined the Dark Side simply because
Darth Vader was my Pa. Unless it was the Dark
Then I'm totally there.
I've tinkered with my computer no end, and it
still won't show me the future. And no matter
how many times I rewire my toaster it won't open
up a trans-dimensional portal. I've even tried
melding my cell phone to my satellite dish, but
either I've got the area code wrong or the
aliens aren't taking collect calls, because
they're not answering. (Although I've not
discounted the notion that maybe they have call
display and know who is calling.)
Let's face it, I'm a
trained avionics technician, so how hard can
Why yes, I am at
work, and I am bored. How did you know?
So, does anyone know
where I can pick up a flux capacitor and an
oscillation overthruster for a 1997 Pontiac
Still nolove from the agent(s). Sure, I was
holding my breath there for a while, but then I
started to turn this icky off-white colour, and
hallucinating--so it wasn't all bad.
My boss at work gave me a
copy of 3D Max so that I can build my own
spaceships and stuff for a novel that the brain
cell is working on. (I'd draw it, but my
artistic talent is so nonexistent that even my
mom wouldn't put my stuff up on the fridge when
I was a kid.)
I've mapped out cities
and star charts before, and buildings and ship
interiors--I find it grounds me more in the
world I've created, and helps with continuity.
(Sometimes I even have lists of stuff--like what
does the main character have on her desk in her
Does anyone else do this?
Or am I still crazy.
posted this quote, which seems to resonate for
"I was not the most talented, not the most hard
working, not the one to whom writing mattered
most. I succeeded because I was the toughest."
-- Karen Joy Fowler
If only it were so. I
mean, if getting a big fat publishing contract
and a successful writing career were based on
the outcome of a no-hold-barred cage match, I'm
so there. I don't think there are many agents,
editors or writers that I couldn't take two out
of three falls.
(And yes, Miss Snark,
this means you. And that goes for your little
I'm not sure, but I think when
suggested that all the women-folk slush-bomb
F&SF, it was really secrit manspeak code for,
"Why don't all you ladies run over to F&SF so
that GVG and JJA can kick you in the uterus."
Because that's the only way I can make
any sense over all the kerfuffle.
*JJA on my decoder ring = 665. Close, but no
Next time would you
pretty please elect a president who has no stake
in the petroleum industry? Maybe then we
wouldn't have to worry about going to war, or
how hurricanes in the gulf, political unrest in
Middle Eastern countries, or the timing of the
birth of Brad and Angelina's baby will affect
the price of gas here in Canada.
Maybe you could elect a
president who's family and friends have a vested
interest in, say, the solar panel business, or
those electric generator windmill jobbies--or
even hybrid vehicles. I'm sure if the president
and his friends thought they could
a killing...pass legislation for the
betterment of humanity there would be huge
incentives to develop, manufacture and purchase
these environmentally friendly products.
Today I would like to go water skiing, or jet
skiing, or maybe parasailing, hang-gliding,
bungee jumping, sky diving or base jumping. I
might like to take an ultra-light up for a spin,
or take a hot air balloon ride. Or how about
white water rafting?
Then again, scuba diving
might be nice--maybe somewhere around Bermuda or
the Mayan Riviera. As a matter of fact, a visit
to either place would be great. I could laze
around the beach all day, browse the markets,
and go dancing all night.
Or I could fly out to
Victoria BC, get some Noodle Box takeout *wipes
drool* and check out the buskers on Government
Street, or the vendors in Bastion Square, or
along the Inner Harbour. Or maybe I'd go to
Burchart Gardens and catch a late afternoon
What I don't want
to do is go to another stupid meeting to argue
over points we decided on in countless meetings
we've already had, and then go back to work on
explaining the theory behind gallium-arsenide
oscillators, reflex klystrons, and magnetrons.
Oh, Lotto 649 Gods, why
have you forsaken me?
I don't feel like me anymore, which sounds odd
coming from a guy who has always known who he
is. Maybe the problem is I know who I was, and
currently I'm not living up to that idea. The
me-that-was exercised religiously every day,
practiced martial arts, rode a motorcycle,
wrote, took pride in his work, looked forward to
doing things. The me-that-is doesn't do any of
those things. I feel apathetic--at best,
Maybe it's the underlying
feeling that no matter how hard I try--how hard
I've tried--things aren't going to get better,
and I'm never going to get the things I want.
I think I've given up,
and I'm just going through the motions, although
I can't be sure. The me-that-was would never
give up, so the me-that-is doesn't know what it
Maybe this is it.
Anyone out there into astrology or tarot? If so,
I'm looking for an on-line reading. My birthday
is 20 April, 1961, at 06:35 AM. Trenton,
Any other info you need, just email me. All
readings will be posted to my journal, and their
accuracy verified or not, over time.
We'll consider it our
little social experiment.
Go ahead, I dare ya. *g*
What does your first name mean?
Steven means "Crown."
What does your middle name mean?
Kenneth means "Handsome," and Stanley means
What does your last name mean?
Perry means "Pear Tree."
So what does your name mean when put
What would you have been named if you were
the opposite gender?
Well, my sister is a year younger than me, and
her name is Janet, so I suppose...
Any other name oddities?
My initials--S.K.S.--also stand for the Russian
SKS semi-automatic carbine that was basically
replaced by the AK-47.
Do you like your name?
*Channels Hammy* "I like Steve. It's a pretty
What do you like best about it?
It's not hard to pronounce?
What do you like least about it?
There's already about a half dozen famous people
with the name Steve Perry--singer, sf writer,
producer...apparently I'm the only one with the
name who hasn't made anything of themselves.
It's also the reason I write under S.K.S. Perry.
If you had to change your name (witness
protection program, whatever), what would you
want it to be?
What, you mean again?
There are some people
that just need kill'n, and most of them are in
arms reach right about now. Only years of
practice and self-denial are keeping them safe
Little do they know.