A bad day as far as my writing career goes. My manuscript to an agent was
returned as undeliverable. Apparently the address was wrong. I think I've
tracked down a good address, but still, that's a whole month wasted. I
also had a rejection from Strange Horizons for a short story I sent them,
and even though they've accepted a poem for publication, I haven't heard
from them with any of the details.
All this great news within ten minutes of waking up this morning. The worst
part is my insomnia prevents my from just going back to bed and writing
this day off as a loss. I can't even be depressed like normal people.
I sent the manuscript out in the mail today thanks to the encouragement
and help from my friends (Charlie, Kate, Cecilia--you're the best.) Now
all I have to do is wait for an eternity before I hear back on it. Everybody
keeps telling me I should email the agent and let her know why it's so
late in coming, but to me that seems pushy/unprofessional/un-Canadian.
Still, I can't help but feel like I've lost the momentum in getting it
out immediately after meeting with them at World Con. I really hate the
business end of this!
Never underestimate the power of an unexpected gift. I bought Pen a couple
of little Teddy Bears last night (really cute little things, dressed up
in Halloween costumes--one as a shark, the other as a lion) and left them
for her with the mail. The squeal of delight was priceless, and she was
on cloud nine the whole night. And get this, it wasn't even a make-up present
or anything? Of course, you can't do that sort of thing all the time or
they'll come to expect it--then it loses its value. The trick is striking
the proper balance--they're really should be a handbook on this stuff somewhere.
And in case you haven't noticed, I've added links to some of my friends
at the bottom of the page. Buy their books, visit their websites--you won't
be sorry. And don't forget to check out Jason's or Keri's website in the
Sock Monkey links--and then buy their books too. Heck, why not just send
me you're credit card and I'll order them all for you, no muss, no fuss.
Oh well, ya can't blame a guy fer try'n.
Life is so hectic nowadays you have to multi-task everything. Heck, I can't
even take a dump without shaving or brushing my teeth at the same time.
And maybe that ability to multi-task is the new survival instinct for the
species. I figure it's probably one of the reasons I'm so cool in an emergency.
I'm not the kind to stain my shorts at the first sign of danger (well,
maybe if I had a toothbrush or razor in my hand). After all, it's just
weekend really sucks. I mean, not only do I start back to work at noon
today, which means no Thanksgiving for me, but I should be at Context in
Columbus with Charlie. He's going to be on panels and everything! Of course,
that would have left me sitting by my lonesome out in the audience. I could
always heckle him, I suppose. Hmm, maybe he's better off with me working.
There's a lot happening job-wise lately (I'm in the military, after all)
but I'd rather not talk about it. If you want the lowdown on Afghanistan
go to CNN. I will say that yes, the Canadians are sending aircraft and
support personnel, and no, I'm not going. Not yet, at least.
And now for something completely different. I took the test at http://www.robohouse.com/myrobot/
to see what robot I am.
It must be human nature to leave things to the last possible moment. I'm
amazed at the number of people who've approached me in the last few days
wanting me to teach them martial arts--especially my particularly lethal
brand. Even those who've studied for years. Suddenly that sport karate
just doesn't cut it any more.
I have to admit I've noticed the press for time myself. I'd like to finish
Darkside 2, get the re-write done for Naejin, and put the finishing touches
on my short stories and get everything into circulation, just in case I
get shipped overseas for 3-6 months. Hey, I'm human too, you know.
I want to live beside Ned Flanders. I want to hang out with the Scooby
Gang and fight demons and vampires. I want to eat at Arnold's and go dancing
at P3. I want to see Dr. Becker when I'm sick and Bobby Donnell if I need
a lawyer. I want to be fired by Nigel Wick, hired by Dylan Hunt, and send
my kids to Starfleet Academy. But I'll settle for a piece of chocolate
I got a rejection letter today on Darkside from the agent that I met at
Worldcon. Bummer. I got a contract and a check from Strange Horizons today
for The Fright Before Christmas. Cool. I guess that only makes me a demi-loser.
Well, I'm at sick at home today. They shot me up with Yellow Fever, Typhoid,
Diphtheria, Hepatitis A and B, and a host of other boosters. What with
that and lack of sleep, my White Blood cells surrendered unconditionally.
The cowards. I'm thinking of renaming them Yellow-bellied Blood cells.
I sent another query letter and sample chapters for Darkside off to another
agent today. The fever must be making me giddy.
I've had this sty that developed on my lower eyelid where the eyelashes
are since just before Philcon, and it was really bugging me. So the other
night I took a sewing needle to it and bled it. Pen hates it when I do
home surgery on myself, but it does look better now.
I'm off until Monday at noon, Pen's going away this weekend, and the kids
aren't home. I should be able to get some crits and writing done--should
being the operative word here. You never know, that sewing needle is still
around here someplace, and I've been thinking I don't really need
I had to fast last night for my blood test this morning. Why is it that
every other night the TV is loaded with commercials about feminine hygiene
products, minivans and dot com enterprises, but last night it was all about
food? Ads for every fast food franchise in existence bombarded my TV screen
and assailed me in Dolby stereo surround sound. Thank god I don't have
IQ tests are flawed. Do you mean someone's not bright just because they
haven't been taught advanced math skills? And there's always a flaw in
their logic. "A tree branch can hold the weight of three people.
If John weighs twice as much as Sam, and Sam weighs half as much as Betty,
and Betty weighs half as much as John, will the branch support John, Sam
Umm...yeah. You just said it could support three people. Unless John's
really a Grizzly bear or something, how much he weighs is irrelevant. Of
course, by that logic, it could only hold three people even if Sam only
weighed as much as Calista Flockhart. And with thinking like that, how
is it that I consistently score in the genius range? Told you they were
I wrote another thousand words on Darkside 2 yesterday, and plan to write
a thousand today. Of course, I also plan to win the lottery, which is a
neat trick because there isn't even a draw today. What the heck, I might
as well plan on getting published today, too. So what if there's no mail
delivery. And I'll do the laundry and the dishes. Oooh, and a promotion
to Warrant--yeah, I'll skip right over Sergeant. And all my hair will grow
back. Yeah, right. Like I'd ever do the laundry and the dishes.
Work was fun. We went canoeing, and made macaroni art, and then we all
sat around the campfire singing koom-by-ya. No, wait. That was summer camp
when I was eleven. Work sucked. And worst of all, I just signed my IPS
offer yesterday, which means work gets to suck until I'm sixty if I want
it too. Why didn't summer camp offer me an IPS contract? I'd have signed
that one in a heartbeat--well, except for the macaroni art.
I'm free, I'm free! Well, at least until Monday at midnight, then it's
back to indentured servitude again. Work is crazy, as usual. PDR's are
due (personnel evaluations) and the PTB have decided that the guys going
to war also require a PER (really hard-to-write personnel evaluations).
To make matters worse the other guy on my crew who's usually responsible
for writing half of them has breathing problems and is gone to have his
nose broken, which means lucky me gets to write all of them. (I offered
to break his nose for him, but he said no. Go figure.)
Anyway, now that I've got a few days off I'm hoping to get some more writing
done. I've finished chapter seven and it's onto chapter eight. Now if only
I can figure out how to describe getting blown up in a car bomb in the
Note to self: If I'm getting off work early, make sure I phone Pen and
let her know I'm coming. The other night I walked in the door and almost
got crowned by a can of Pillsbury crescent rolls. I can see it now--a sharp
crack upside the head, the can splits open and poof! Crescent dough all
over my face. I'm only glad it wasn’t a real robber. I'd hate to be the
cop writing the police report on that one.