Some of my favourite moments from recruit school so far:
"Recruit, do you need
help with that drill movement?"
(Timidly) "Yes, please?"
"Polite, but wrong.
Yes MASTER CORPORAL!"
Said to a recruit who's
beret looked like the hat the swedish chef wore on the muppet show:
"What is that
on your head?"
"It's a beret, Master
is a beret (pointing to my own). That is a lump of wool. I suggest
you reform it tonight."
"How do I do that,
"Soak it in warm water."
or my head, Master Corporal?"
*Sigh* "I'd say both,
but you'd probably drown yourself trying. Just the beret, son."
I read Amber's blog today, and I sympathise with the poor girl/woman/goth
chick/editor/friend and all around cool person. Coming back from a con
was always a big letdown for me. After spending a few days immersed in
the writer world, going back to the mundane job is almost unbearable, no
matter how much you may like your mundane job. Let's face it, if you always
wanted to be a rock star, and for one weekend you got to go up on stage
and sing in front of thousands of adoring fans and got invited to all the
cool rock star parties, everything after that pales.
And Amber, cool is having the courage to be who you want to be and dress
the way you want to dress because you like it, no matter what anyone else
thinks. That makes you cool in my book.
I was at work yesterday for 0700 to inspect the recruits at 0720. Unfortunately,
I was also Duty NCO yesterday, which meant I wasn't off work until 0800
this morning. I thought, hey, since I have to be at work all night, why
not bring my laptop and write. Yeah, right. Not a word.
And I was talking to my daughter, Chantel today. She's going to a toga
party (don't tell her mother) tonight. She went to a concert a couple of
days ago, a movie the night before last, and a party last night. Heck,
now I want to go to university. She told me that they marked big black
X's on her hands last night so that they wouldn't serve her alcohol because
she's underage. I told her not to worry. I'm sure they'll wash off before
she turns nineteen.
Well, I sent out the 11 query letters a while back. I got a bunch of "Not
Interested", four who didn't bother to reply (yet), and one "Sounds intriguing,
please send sample chapters." What kills me is the agent that asked for
sample chapters responded to my query in about a week and a half. It's
been about a month and a half sent I sent the chapters and nothing. Why
do they do this to me? It's a plot to drive me mad, I tell ya.
Oh, yeah. Notice how I didn't even mention 9-11?
Make that a whole bunch plus one "Not Interested." Apparently the agents
don't think they can make DARKSIDE a "commercial success." Aaarrrggghhh!
Remember that old joke that goes: What do you call 1000 lawyers at the
bottom of the Ocean? A good start. Well, I think those lawyers should move
over and make room for some agents.
And by the way, I'm convinced there's a gym in Hell. One brimming with
90 year old guys that make me look bad by benching 350 pounds for three
sets of ten, and run a full marathon every other day. And some woman body
builder that keeps telling me if I eat right and work really hard, maybe
someday I can look like her.
I worked on the sequel to Darkside last night for the first time in months.
It was like pulling teeth to get 500 words. How the Hell can I be having
trouble with James Decker's voice--the guy is practically me? Maybe somebody
is trying to tell me something. I also got a rejection today from F&SF.
It's still signed by GVG, so I guess that's something. (Evidently my moving
to Victoria didn't confuse him.) And I'm running out of American stamps
again, which puts a crimp in my ability to submit stuff. Hey, maybe someone
really is trying to tell me something.
I was on the treadmill at the gym tonight and I realised that there's just
way too much noise in my head. Too much "I need to do this" or "I have
to get that done" or "I wish" or "I want" or "if only". The thoughts just
bombard me, coming at me like those little blocks in a Tetris game without
ever letting up. I need to find a quite spot in my mind. You wouldn't think
it would be all that hard, my head being empty and all, and it should be
warm enough with all that hot air. All I need now is a nice, comfy chair.
I hope Leon's delivers.
And I sent the story out that GVG rejected to Shawna McCarthy at Realms
of Fantasy. I don't think she's actually rejected me yet. Well, not unless
you count DARKSIDE when she was working at Warners, but I can hardly hold
that against. Oh, wait a minute. Yes I can!
Speaking of Warners, I was showing a friend at work my webpage today, and
when he came to friends books at the bottom of the page he asked me where
Warchild was. D'oh!! And then there's all Keri's books. You'd think if
the damn voices were going to nag me, they could at least remind me of
the important stuff.
One of the guys at work has started reading this journal (yes, Master Seaman
Underhill, I'm talking about you) so I guess I should watch what I write
here. Naaahhhh. Of course, this means he's got access to all of your
journals too, so you'd better mind your P's and Q's or you'll have the
might of the Canadian Navy to deal with. That's right, piss him off and
he'll row our dingy up to you and splash you with his oars.
Actually, he's an aspiring SF&F author, so in the spirit of camaraderie
I'd like to offer him these words of encouragement: GO BACK, IT's A TRAP!!!
And so it begins. Cyprus Platoon's first recruits began to trickle in today.
I'm on duty tomorrow to handle the expected flood of newbies, and then
back in again Sunday night at 18:00 hours when the fun really begins. That's
when their recruit training officially commences--well, at least that's
when we start harping on 'em. If I'm lucky, I'll get a day off next
Sunday. Of course, if I win the lottery tonight, they're on their own.
I managed to write
about a thousand words on DARKSIDE the last couple of days, but its been
like pulling teeth. Not my teeth either--someone else's teeth, and I had
to chase 'em around, tackle 'em, hold 'em down and pry their mouths open,
and...well, you get the picture. Of course now that my platoon's starting,
odds are I won't have time to write anyway. And just when I had my muse
scheduled for a root canal.