4 Mar
          I played with a set of Roland V-session electronic drums while I was in Ottawa. Just something else to put on my "When I win the lottery" wish list. They go for about $4,500 U.S, which is roughly $7,300 Canadian. Believe me, that irks me no end. What? Canadian musicians make so much more money than American ones? Nope, it's just our undervalued freak'n dollar--the one the Canadian gov't purposely keeps low so that Americans will spend more money in Canada--and so will Canadians, since it's not worth anything anywhere else. Not that I could afford $4,500 anyway. Argghhh!
          And I went back to work last shift, which means: constant exhaustion, no time for family, writing, exercise...I was off for almost two months and lost 14 pounds, and felt great most of the time. It only reinforces how bad my job is for me. It's pretty bad when you have to get injured so you can be healthy.

5 Mar
          Remember that tree in my backyard? The one that teases me by cycling through the seasons, reminding me that I haven't made a sale? I swear it's playing with my head now. I mean, it's bare--I know it's bare--yet at night when I look out my window at it, the damn thing is in full bloom. The light from the streetlight shines off its leaves like it was Ygdrasil or something. And it's been like this for a couple of months. Maybe it's trying to tell me something, like success is just around the corner. Or maybe I'm just a blooming idiot.

13 Mar
          The power went out in my area Saturday night at 8:30PM and didn't come back on until Sunday at 3:00PM. Apparently there are some places still without electricity. The outage was very selective; the power on my street was out, but I could see the lights on in the homes across the way. 
          Luckily, Ryan and I were the only ones home that night. Pen had gone to Niagara Falls for the weekend. We lit candles, but there wasn't much to do except sit around and watch each other by candlelight. We tried to watch a DVD on my laptop, but the battery died. No wonder early pioneers went to bed so early. 
          We couldn't cook, so we ordered pizza and laughed our faces off as we paid the delivery girl while holding a flashlight and counting out change. (I think I freaked her out because when she came to the door I held the light up under my chin and made that spooky Halloween face.) Ryan had to go to work early in the morning, and by the time I woke up the house was freezing. When he got home I rushed him out the door and we went to the nice, warm cinema and saw The Time Machine. By the time the movie was over, the power was back on. 
          I think I'm going to invest in a nice battery powered lamp. Something I can read with. Of course, Ryan's still screwed. :-)

14 Mar
          Of course I'm sick. I'm on days off. I'm sure I'll be just fine by the time I have to go into work tomorrow at noon. At least the week has been productive. I finished two of my short stories: Joy Ride, and Harbinger. (Although Harbinger is almost 10,000 words long, so I wouldn't exactly call it short.) Now if I could just sell them. And the two books. And all my other short stories. 
          Hey! Maybe I'll auction them off on E-Bay. I probably stand a better chance of them making me any money that way then by going the traditional route. Especially if they think I'm that other Steve Perry. :-)

15 Mar
          Okay, so I was wrong. I went to work today but only managed to tough it out for five hours before I came home sick. If I'm smart I'll stay home tomorrow, too. Maybe the PTB are punishing me for having the audacity to finish two short stories in one week. I'd almost rather they did it in their usual way--by sending me a rejection letter. I said almost. If they really want to mess with my head they'd send me an acceptance letter and a big fat check. (Do you think reverse psychology works on the PTB?)

19 Mar
          What to do, what to do. I've got a couple of short stories that should go out in the mail, but I was hoping for a little feedback on them first. Even if none comes before I decide to send them out, it's always good to give it a few days. Put the story out of your mind for a bit, then give it another read. You'll be surprised at what you might find that way. Hopefully it's a good surprise, like--Wow, this really is a good story--and not a bad surprise, like--does this ever suck. What was I thinking, writing the entire thing from the POV of a narcoleptic, rubber-fetish, crack-addicted, cross-dressing cat, and in wingding font on pink paper to boot. Well, okay. Maybe not that bad. (Pink paper. Hah!)

On a sad note, Pen's grandmother passed away on Sunday. My best wishes and condolences go out to all the family.

20 Mar
          I mailed Harbinger off to WotF today, which means I can forget about it for at least three months. I was hoping to get a little more feedback on it before I sent it off, but their deadline was coming up, so c'est la vie. I think I'll post Joy Ride to the workshop. 
           In an interesting note, a lot of people have been visiting my website lately looking for that other Steve Perry. (The SF Writer, not the singer. That gets really confusing.) I'm getting emails from people telling me how much they liked the sample chapters of Darkside, and wondering where they could get a copy. I even had a couple of guys ask me if I could send them Naejin (although I think they were from the DROWW.) It's pretty cool when your books have fans and they've never been published. 

21 Mar
          I have to go do the dishes soon. There aren't many, and doing such a simple task keeps me in Pen's good books. I generally make sure the toilet seat is left down, pick up my socks and underwear, and don't leave my toys lying about the house. Women have divorced men over less. 
          See, guys just don't get it. I mean, it's just a pair of socks, right? But to a woman you might has well have taken a dump in the middle of the living room. They have to twist it and make it all about them. Obviously you don't care enough about them and their feelings to do something as simple as pick your socks up off the floor. Or worse yet, you figure they must be some kind of maid. 
          The reality is, you don't expect them to pick up your socks. You don't care if anyone picks them up. Ever. You're a guy. And even if you pick your socks up 29 days a month, that one will come back to haunt you, I guarantee it. So you have to find some way to offset it. 
          That's why you have to tell them that you love them, and buy them flowers out of the blue occasionally. It messes with their minds. (This has been a public service announcement brought to you by M.W.S.K.B.--Men Who Should Know Better.)

22 Mar
          I have six short stories out to publishers at the moment, and one novel. I've been waiting for word back on one of the short stories for five months now, and over a year on the novel. That doesn't include query letters.
          I donít know how these topical writers do it. By the time a publisher gets around to accepting or rejecting your story, never mind actually publishing it, your story is hopelessly out of date, the next ice age has arrived, and man has evolved into a higher life form (who still gets confused if you write in omniscient POV.) Hmmm, maybe I can market some of my sci-fi stuff as historical fiction.