Pen's off to Vancouver until next Wednesday, so I'm batching it. (That's
batching with an "A", not an "O.") That means doing the cooking, cleaning,
laundry, and chores all by myself. Of course she stocked up on groceries
for me before she left so I wouldn't starve, and left a can of Easy Off
oven cleaner on the counter. I wonder what she's trying to tell me?
And I've given up writing. That's right, from now on it's strictly typing
for me. I figure I stand a better chance of being published if they can
actually read what I write. Okay, published or committed. Either way I
get new clothes.
So I just finished the final day of a four day Conflict Management Course.
I still don't see what the big deal is; you just have to be organized.
"All right, all you big conflicts on the left, medium conflicts to the
right, and we'll stack you little conflicts up in the middle." What's the
big deal? Now solving the conflicts--that's another problem. You
have to find like terms, and carry the one, divide by zero--math was never
my strongest point. That's why I generally resort to my tried and true
method. People who say violence never solved anything obviously aren't
very good at it.
I bought Pen a pair of Ralph Lauren sunglasses as an early birthday present
because, well, she needed them now! Someone stole the pair of Gucci(s)?
out of her car on New Year's Eve, and she's like a vampire in bright light--day
blind. Heck, she even unscrews half the light bulbs over the bathroom mirror,
because, let's face it, she doesn't have to shave.
Anyway, these Ralph Laurens went for about $120. Personally, they don't
look any different than the $20 sunglasses I usually buy for myself. (I
lose mine frequently.) As a matter of fact, I'll bet they're all made at
the same factory, except when they come off the line one pair has Ralph
stamped on the side, and the other pair has...um...Fred. Of course, there's
no way Pen would be caught dead in a pair of Freds.
On the writing front, I emailed BAEN this morning, just to make sure they'd
actually received my novel this time. They'd contacted me back in
February to let me know that there hadn't been an attachment with the submission
I'd sent to they're slush pile.
Their reply: "Yes, we got it." Short, and to the point.
Not as illuminating as, "Yes, and it's currently under consideration."
Or, "Yes, and we printed off a copy to line the bottom of our bird cage."
But it's a start.
Second Hand Lions is now officially one of my all-time favorite movies.
If you haven't seen it, you should. If you have seen it, why didn't you
tell me about it? I thought we were friends? You really don't want to see
me pout now, do you?
Oh, and I can't wait to see Hellboy, and Van Helsing looks cool, and The
Day After Tomorrow, I Robot...um...Alien Vs Predator, Spiderman 2, Resident
Evil: Apocalypse, Troy, King Arthur...oh, oh...and the Chronicles of Riddick.
Hmmm, I'd better start saving my pennies--the gold plated ones.
What do these movies have in common with Second Hand Lions? Absolutely
nothing. Why do you freak'n ask? You know, just because I let you read
my journal doesn't mean you can get all up in my face. Sheesh!
I had a few errands to run today. It was no fun at all. No one tried to
hold up the bank while I was there. Terrorists stayed clear of Canadian
Tire. Zombies never attacked while I was buying Pen flowers. (It's the
first day of spring--I won't make the mistake of forgetting that
one again!) I didn't even notice a femme fatale, never mind have one try
to seduce me, although maybe the fact that I was carrying flowers for Pen
kept them at bay. Yeah, that's it.
If a portal to another world opened up, I missed it, which is strange because
I'm usually rather observant. No vampires, ghosts, werewolves...nothing.
All right, the vampires are excused. It was daylight after all. But the
rest of you...
All in all, it was just another boring day, much like the last...oh...3000
of them. Heck, even my theme music was playing so low I couldn't hear it.
I tell you, I don't know who's writing the script of my life, but they're
I saw a special on J.K. Rawling the other night, about how just a short
five years ago she was a single mom on the dole, surviving on Kraft Dinner,
and shopping Harry Potter around to various agents and editors all of whom
kept rejecting her. Now she's worth over a billion dollars. I couldn't
help thinking about how closely her life parallels my own.
I mean, five years ago I was a Master Corporal in the Canadian Forces,
constantly passed over for promotion and barely making ends meet, shopping
my novel around to agents and editors and constantly getting rejected.
And now...Hey, wait a minute!
It's Pen's birthday
today, and she's...um...cute. See, it doesn't really matter how old you
are when you're cute. Want proof? Okay, here.
See, I told you so. Anyway
P P Y B I R T H D A Y P O O K I E !!!
So much for the manly
image again. Now I'm going to have to go out and kill someone. Hey, you!
Are you looking at me?
I got a rejection letter yesterday for Joy Ride. Funny thing is I don't
remember submitting it to that particular market. You know you've hit rock
bottom when editors start rejecting your stuff before you even send it
to them. Now I'm worried I may have started a new trend--The Pre-emptive
Dear Mr. Perry,
We've heard of you,
and to save us both time and expense, the answer is No. Please refrain
from sending us anything, ever.