Because No Pain is a Huge Gain

So this was a week of heat, rejections, reluctantly leaving the cool environs of the Arvo Job to trudge the hot city streets in the middle of the day because of hospital crap, and, of course, the actual hospital crap. Now, the heat has passed, the rejections I've filed away in my head to deal with another day, and the hospital crap (I even had to go into the city yesterday! On a Saturday! What a waste of precious weekend time!) has paid off because I stayed drug free today, and tonight, for the first time in a couple of months, cross fingers, I'll be off to bed without taking any pain killers. The downside is that, aside from a few must-do chores, I slept away most of today. But now I feel good. And did I mention that there's no pain! Major win.

So let me tell you this very simple truth, which those with chronic conditions will already know, but which you will not be aware of if you're fortunate enough to be as bouncing fit as I was up until two years ago: any day without pain is a good day. Most people don't appreciate that fact until it's too late. Take my advice, and take a moment to enjoy your body if it's humming along nicely. Savour the feeling. Revel in it. Really.

Anyway, hopefully after two more trips this week, I'll be good to get active and productive writerlywise again. And I'll appreciate it, believe you me. I will savour it. I will revel in it. J

End of the Month Report: November 2013

Submissions: 9 (3 to the same antho)
Rejections: 6
Acceptances: 0
Published: 1 (Winds of Change)
Stories out in the wild: 11
New stories completed: 1 (has already been sent out and rejected for the first time)
Mood: Slowly but surely, I'm getting more done writingwise. Will now slowly but surely get on with doing some more :)

Quicksteps

I'm usually a one speed person when walking - zip, zip, zip with an invisible, soundless horn that I mentally honk at the sloooooow people who always seem to be blocking my path. This is still my default setting the moment I step off the train and hit the pavements of Melbourne, and the one I ratchet up when doing medicinal laps of the local botanical gardens, but I noticed about six months ago that I'd finally developed a second speed for living in the country. It only took four years, but now, when I head off for local doings, I positively amble.

I'm very conscious of the change and quite enjoying it. I schedule more time to accommodate this more relaxed state. I used to stress out getting to the train in the mornings, but now I mosey along thinking things and admiring the gardens that line the streets. I used to step off the train at night and rush home so I'd have an extra five minutes for doing domestic whatevers, but now I potter along enjoying the stars, moon, creek sounds, trees in the darkness and whatever wildlife decides to jump out and scare me. Now, when I head off for a bills paying and shopping trip, I simply cannot make myself pour on the gas. This is good, as it also helps me blend in - I once met a local woman in Melbourne who, though a stranger to me, said she recognised me because she'd seen me speeding between shops as I went about my business in town.

So yes, I did some local ambling today, and thought about that ambling and what it meant, and also did much chatting with the girl in the fruit shop. I'm a Wednesday regular now. I did writerly stuff too - writing, of course, subbed 3 stories (one was a recent rejection which an upcoming antho held for close to seven months, almost took, but in the end decided it didn't fit the tone. I'm really starting to dislike that phrase. What's so untoney about my stories? Ah well, onwards...) and wrangled content for the great, individual contributor pages Carrie Cuin is busily setting up over at Lakeside Circus. For now, my page reads: This performer is still getting ready for the show. While you wait, try your luck at a game of chance. We hear the ring toss is not quite as rigged as some of the other booths. Issue One is out on Friday, so you can view my efforts then.

Naughty Writer

Writers like to think of themselves as the poor, suffering, misunderstood underdogs of the publishing industry (and we are! We really, really are!) but over the last couple of weeks I've come across a few examples of editor and publisher misery caused by... hmmm, my fellow writers.

There was an email from a publisher exhorting writers not to review their own work on Amazon, the reason being that Amazon's review policies prohibit writers from reviewing their own work and if said writer is reported, Amazon comes down on the publisher, which makes the publisher look bad. Apparently, this is an ongoing problem, but I'm at a loss as to why anyone would do such a thing. Review your own work? It's embarrassing to even think about someone being so unprofessional. What would you even write about your own piece? Something along the lines of This is a fabulous story of great depth and intelligence and humour and complexity and subtlety and anything else you want it to be obviously written by a genius, who just happens to be me...? :)

Speaking of reviews, there's always the perennial problem of the occasional unseemly Internet ruckus caused by oversensitive writers wildly responding to reviews they don't like (not having written them themselves, obviously). The best advice I've seen in ages on how to deal with this situation is over at Alan Baxter's blog:

http://www.alanbaxteronline.com/authors-responding-reviews/

Don't worry, it's succinct.

In the meantime, Lakeside Circus, which is just starting up and is dealing with a influx of material and wrangling many writerly egos, felt it necessary to post a piece about reading guidelines, because many writers are such creative giants  that they seem to feel they can skip such mundane constraints (in this case, among other things, sending non-spec fic stories to a magazine that deals in speculative fiction), and another about experimenting with personal rejections. The latter included a warning :

Here’s the problem, though: for every author who takes the notes in stride, we have another who feels the need to reply to the rejection. Saying, “Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that!” is okay–it’s not necessary, but we don’t mind hearing from you. What we do mind is the authors who reply to argue with the rejection, who insult our staff, or misread the suggestions in order to complain that the fault lies in our reading instead of in their writing.

Too many of those, and we’ll go back to form rejections.

It's sad that they felt the need to add that last warning. Personally, I cannot fathom why anyone would think that being aggressive is appropriate behaviour in this, or any other business. If you're a writer who can't deal with rejection letters, then you really need to find another creative outlet - they're part and parcel of the landscape, for most of us, at least. This post also helps me understand why so many publications do default to form letters. Of course, that just makes the personal ones all that more exciting and special.

Finally, there's the poor, beleaguered literary agent, and if you don't already occasionally pop over to Slushpile Hell, billed as One grumpy literary agent, a sea of query fails, and other publishing nonsense, do so now. You'll do a lot of groaning, but also laugh. And it's a wonderful example of what others in the industry deal with on a daily basis, and a lesson in how NOT to behave if you wish to establish a reputation for professionalism. Mind you, most of the examples used seem to be from the extreme end of wannabe writerly egos running amok and demonstrate a pathological lack of perspective. At least I very much hope they do.

So be good, writers. Do your homework, abide by the rules, be professionally polite, and save your rantings about the unfair treatment of writers for your Facebook pages or blogs :)

And if you truly don't like the way things are, there's always self-publishing...

Son of Punjab, Where Are You?

After starting yesterday with a Sunday morning rejection ( I really like this one but...) I headed off to the Melbourne Festival for a day of music, exhibitions, eating and fun, finishing off with an effervescent show constructed around the Australian-born Bollywood siren known as Fearless Nadia and her movie Diamond Queen.

Born Mary Ann Evans in Perth, she was a huge hit in India during the 1930s and 40s - her most famous film was Hunterwali -  and this show sought to pay tribute to her amazing feats of screen dare-devilry (she did all her own stunts) and sense of fun and adventure. It was a hoot. Not only did you have Nadia swinging her fists and leaping about all over the place, but there was also the in house fighting squad from of Wadia Movietone doing all sorts of crazy and comedic action stunts, and some of her regular, faithful, animal characters like the very smart, he'd-give-Silver-a-run-for-his-money wonder horse Punjab ka Beta (Son of Punjab, scion of Punjab, another of Nadia's faithful sidekick equines) and a baby Austin called Rolls Royce ki Beti (Daughter of Rolls Royce), a vehicle with much personality and a very independent mind. Alas, we didn't get to see much of Moti the wonder dog in this cut of the film.

On top of the movie hi jinks, there were live performances in keeping with what was happening on the screen inserted in between - Indian dancing, vaudeville acts, and feats of high-wire, musical daring. All of this and energetic, Indian-Western music that had people jigging in their seats played by master musicians who all seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

It was a fun evening that I've carried with me all through today at my less glittery and swashbuckling Arvo Job, doing a little Indian dancing here and there whilst daydreaming about Son of Punjab galloping into the office to rescue me. I saw myself swinging into the saddle, raising a defiant fist as Son of Punjab reared, and then we'd be off, the two of us, racing towards some distant adventure full of villains and stout-hearted, supportive friends.

The Chook Who Won't Be Pinned Down

I was actually thinking of posting about how it might be time to rename the Vagabond Chook and call her something like the Clockwork Chook instead when, sure enough, she's suddenly gone all weird and flighty on me. After seven months of staying on the mat, sticking to the backyard, and being extremely calm and regular and orderly in her habits, things are topsy-turvy again.

She no longer turns up loudly demanding her breakfast in the morning as soon as she hears me moving in the kitchen, but is instead doing mysterious whatevers up on the roof (looking at fields afar?) and loudly cackling about them. She's also off patrolling the neighbourhood during the daytime hours again, and when she deigns to stay home, she's very persistent about getting into the house and investigating stuff. Today I walked into my writing room and found her up on my desk intently studying the noticeboard which keeps track of rejected stories that need to be reworked /go out again. Perhaps she's a reincarnated writer trapped in a chicken's body? If so, given her stroppy character, I wonder which one...

Anyway, when I shooed her away, she crankily refused to leave the room, and when I stopped chasing her, she promptly fluttered up onto the spare bed and settled down there, much to Gus's disgust. It was very wet day outside, so I finally let her be just so I could get some work done. Plus, it was pretty cute (and for those who worry / wonder about such matters, she's wonderfully house trained. Not that I trained her. As a chook of independent mind, she trains herself.)

So, whilst the rain hammered down on the roof overhead and the Querulous Chook contentedly snuggled amongst my annoyed cats, I edited 3 stories, subbed two of them, and worked on a piece that an editor rejected but said that she would, based on my past work, look at again if I slowed down and fleshed the story out, which was a nice of her to say in so many ways and I felt quite chuffed when I read the email. Someone out there in the big wide world knows my work! And my usual standards. Imagine that. I have to admit that in so enthusiastically stripping down this particular piece to what I thought was an easier-to-sell length, or rather shortness, I probably went too far, so I appreciate the chance to plump it up again.

Back to Basics

My writing felt flat on Monday, I was utterly uninspired by my WIPs, and my mood was a bit down over a couple of recent rejections, so it was time to initiate the usual contingency plan for such times - take a sanctioned writing break and do more fun, randomised reading so as to remember why I do what I do and usually love it.

I got through two, very different books. The first was Dodie Smith's genteel I Capture the Castle, which I had somehow managed to not read in my youth. The two sisters in it were so much more worldly than I'd expected, real bohemians when it comes to their surprising frankness about sex and religion, and also far more calculating. Their scheming about snagging a rich husband would be off-putting if they weren't so charming about it. I loved the non-whiny attitudes and resourcefulness of all the characters despite their appalling poverty - you'd be hard put finding a modern character eating cold broccoli and rice and simply being grateful for the way it so satisfactorily filled their stomachs. The characters are all well delineated as individuals yet work well as an ensemble, and mostly remain intelligent, gracious, funny, breezy and tough, each making the best of their lot while trying to better their lives and help others as best they can. The descriptions of the English countryside reek of nostalgia (then author was living in the US when she wrote it), and the village scenes evoke a dreamy, slow-moving era now long gone. There's a lot of kindness in this book. Whether real or imagined, it was nice to read about such gentle folk.

The second was Scott Westerfeld's Leviathan, a real page-turner which had been stuck in one of my TBR stacks for ages. I'm now kicking myself over not reading sooner, and will have to get my hands on the sequel ASAP.  Alternative history with famous names popping in and out of the story, WW1 politics with a twist, genetic manipulation on a grotesque and often unsettling scale, grittier, more grinding and more oilier than usual steampunk, brave and resourceful main characters, action scenes galore - it's got the lot. Ten pages in, I found myself wishing I'd written it, which is always the first sign that I'm on my way to being cured of a bout of writing apathy. By the end, I'd fully recovered and was eager to get going again.
 
So, with my enthusiasm for writing fully restored, I shall hit the keyboard tomorrow, and hit it hard.

End of the Month Report: July 2013

Submissions: 9
Rejections: 9
Acceptances: 0
Published: 0
Stories out in the wild: 10
New stories completed: 2 (1 amusing, 1 dark and sad)
Mood: Starting to get antsy about rejections, as is per usual for me after a few months of No, thank you, but please try again emails. Longing for a sale to break them up a bit. Variety is, after all, the spice of life.

Talking About Fight Club

What I call rah-rah rejections (in the nicest and most appreciative way), Elizabeth Bear calls rave rejections, and she has posted some advice here on how to move from these almost-there stories onto the next stage in one's writing career.

She evocatively equates apprentice writers with garage-band guitarists that all sound alike or like rip-offs of more experienced musicians - anyone who has ever been "lucky" enough to live next door to a budding rock star and his/her hard practicing pals immediately knows what she means -  and she counsels writing, writing, writing and then some more writing, as well as working on each story's voice and narrative. Solid stuff.

For me, the greatest pleasure, in a deliciously naughty he-he-he way, came from reading a line that a lowly scribe such as myself cannot risk writing without it sounding like sour grapes or an unprofessional tantrum, but which an established writer with major credentials can blithely put out there:

(Plenty of salable stories aren't actually really good--but without the push of an established name, a new writer's will probably have to be. Sorry about that, in the immortal words of Rowlf the Dog.)

 

We all know this to be true. We all know that when starting out as a newbie in most spheres of life, you have to be just that little bit better than the old guard to break through the established hierarchy, or to jump up and down energetically in often undignified ways whilst bragging about your amazingness to be noticed, or to have the support of someone powerful to move up the ladder. Then you have to back up that lucky break with hard work and talent, of course (unless those network connections are really powerful), and keep that hard work coming and that talent sharp lest the next newbie to come alone bumps you from your spot.

It would be unrealistic to maintain that the Writing World exists within a hermetically sealed dome populated by unprejudiced and unfailingly fair-minded folk who remain unswayed by friendships, sticking with what and who they already know and feel comfortable with, personal tastes and sales figures, but we mostly don't like to admit it. We want to think the Writing World functions as a meritocracy of the purest sort, but I doubt any human organisation can attain that level of idealism or professionalism. People are people. As soon as you have more than one person in a room, politics of some sort always comes into play. And some play the game better than others. That's just life. Every day, in both the Real World and the Writing World, we suck it up, and we deal with this often frustrating truth as graciously as possible. Those who can't handle it risk becoming bitter and twisted souls.

Anyway, what I take from this post, apart from a good giggle, is not a swollen sense of injustice, but the lesson that we low-level writers just have to be like the characters that Elizabeth exhorts us to write about - the ones who love something, who hold fast to a dream, and who fight for what they care about no matter how hopeless the odds seem.

And yes, I just received one of those rave rejections. The pro sale that might have been and almost was now won't be.

I've already sent that story somewhere else.

Fight on.

Bad Idea

I just clicked the link provided by a certain anthology to check the status of one's submission and discovered my story is number 973 in the queue. Given that the deadline has passed and they've already been reading for a while, and that most places will be going to commissioned writers, well, wow, I'm not sure even my dreamiest optimism can sustain the hope of a sale there. I should have let it be and simply wandered about in blissful ignorance thinking that maybe, just maybe I'd come home one night to an email...

No matter. It's June! That means that the Aliens:Recent Encounters anthology will be out in 2 weeks (hurrah!), and that the Bram Stoker Awards will soon be announced (go, Dark Tales of Lost Civilizations, go!). Who knows what other good things might happen? Well, not another ASIM sale, not this month anyway - I just got a bounceback there.

Anyway, onwards and upwards.

973. Wow.

End of the Month Report: May 2013

Submissions: 6
Rejections: 4
Acceptances: 0
Published: 0
Stories out in the wild: 8
New stories completed: 0
Mood:  Feeling much perkier after this past month of medical crap and ready to seriously hit the old writing keyboard again. I've been slowly getting back into the submitting game this week, and am presently rereading and mulling over the readers' feedback - which is always much appreciated and seriously considered - from the traditional Friday night rejection I received yesterday for a short story (2110 words only) that I'm particularly set on getting published some time this millennium. The first reader enjoyed this very much. The second reader reported that It's a great concept and the writing is brilliant - very clear and I got a real sense of the characters and the world they inhabit. liked the POV, but wanted more conflict and drama. The third reader started with An ambitious idea for a short story.  but, as the least enthusiastic of the group, then wanted more back story for the second non-POV character and possibly to make that character the "real story" rather than the old gent I have telling the tale, and was quite insistent that I provide a more in depth explanation of a certain belief system. 

So should I expand the story? Change the focus? Change the POV? Add a few dreaded infodumps? Whip up a religious thesis? Slip in some hand to hand combat and a spot of gunfire? Regale at length about my characters' lives up until the point where they meet? Have them argue more? Take another look at the ending? There's a line I could add that might ratchet up the tension... 

Hmm, things to ponder and honestly weigh up, always remembering, of course, that you can't please everyone, so ultimately...

But that will have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, there's a Dr Who Season 7: Part 2  Episodes 6-13 box set waiting for me in the lounge room. And the 2012 Christmas special, which I haven't seen yet because my ABC reception has been atrocious out here in the country ever since we went digital. Yay!

No Happily Ever Afters

Strike Princess Number Two from the race - she was rejected this morning. So, one anthology, four princesses, and not one of my girls made it. Ah, the shame! They were not Gothic enough, methinks. Still, it was worth a shot or two or four, and it was good for my royal layabouts to get out of their hard drive palaces and loiter in the Real World for a while. Now I'll tuck two of them away again (sssh, into the bottom drawer they go) and the other two - I haven't given up on them yet, especially not my steampunk princess - will have to face the multiple glares of a few more editors before I question their worthiness.

Princessly Update

As of this morning, we're three down (warrior-dissing-her-Emperor-dad princess just got booted), with one princess to go. The stories I've sent for the princess antho have been rejected in the sequence I sent them chronologically, but they've skipped my second submission. Possibly the princess behind Door Number Two is in with a chance? Stand by for the thrilling conclusion to this ongoing plethora of princesses saga :)

Timing is Everything

Honestly, I should try checking dates and looking in a diary every now and then before I make profound statements, what with my brain still sporadically cheesing out on me - the Spec Fic Festival isn't next weekend, but the weekend after. I only just worked that out because I was looking at train schedules and whatnot, and finally glanced at the actual festival program again. Duh! Give the girl a gold star for finally getting there. All I can say in my defense is that these days I tend to take life in one week blocks and am keeping things as simple as possible.

And yeah, wouldn't you just know it, the story that I would have liked to send off to a themed issue of a certain publication came back as rejected on Friday, the very next day after the deadline for the themed issue had passed. I soooo knew it! I could feel it in my bones. I would have bet money on it, actually. Whoever is scribbling the script of my life is, on occasions like this, such a predictable hack. A better, more imaginative cosmic writer charting the course of my writerly adventures, that's what I need. That, or more editorial control.

Mind you, I quite like it when the hack slips in the unlikely and unexpected triumphs against the odds...

Juggling Stories and Stuff

So there's a certain story which, although of humble and simple construction, I consider one of my better efforts out in the world with a magazine that usually returns my submissions within a couple of weeks, but this time, so far, they've held it for 7-8 weeks, which may not mean anything in the greater scheme of things, but then again it might! However, if they're going to reject it, I really wish they'd reject it quickly, like sometime tonight would be good, so I can send it off for the themed issue of another magazine, deadline tomorrow. Alas, it probably won't happen so conveniently. The temptation to simultaneously sub is overwhelming, but bound to lead to trouble if I succumb, so I shall resist. Drats! Ah, all this waiting for outcomes, sometimes it drives me batty.

Today I should have been putting up my tent for an airing and getting my gear ready for a weekend of horse riding through the Victorian High Country, the one I'd been "training" for on our last two rides, but unfortunately my sister has just this week been struck down by illness (get well soon, Cindy), so we've had to postpone the trip for a few months. Because I thought I was off on a strenuous ride in a few days, I'd more or less reluctantly (but not wholeheartedly quite) dismissed the idea of heading off to the Spec Fic Festival in Sydney I posted about a while back - I'm still not well enough for consecutive weekends of pushing the energy envelope -  and it's probably too late to organise things now. Another drats!

So I Finally Dared Do It

Today I gave the big SF no-humans-just-aliens story I wrote over the Xmas break a final polish and a pat on the head, and then sent it off out into the big wide world. Not just to any publication, mind you, but one of the Big Three. Might as well aim insanely high.

I haven't sent anything off to pro publications for a while, but I'm gearing up for more assaults on those divine heights this year. I'm still weeping over the near misses last year - so close, so close - but moping about what might have been ain't gonna get those mountains scaled, so off we go again.

In other news, as if to counterbalance the new story going out, one of my princess stories for the bad princesses anthology has just been knocked out of the royal race (I have to admit, this particular princess's royalty credentials are pretty tenuous, and of an alien nature, so fair enough). Anyway, that's one princess down, with three (sexy-evil princess, morally-ambiguous-ending princess and rebellious, steampunk warrior-princess) still in the competition. It still amazes me that I had so many princess stories tucked away on my hard drive. And I have one that's still a WIP, although technically the protagonist is a queen, and as we all know, queens are a different kettle of fish altogether.

'Snore' and 'Ouch'

Compared with my usual Saturdays, I've pretty much frittered away the day so far with sleeping in until I woke followed by a leisurely pot of tea and long, long read. I did get the washing started, but then I had breakfast out in the backyard on the Xmas swing, after which, seduced by the cosiness of that nook and susurrus of leaves overhead, I promptly fell asleep again and didn't wake until 14.00. Then I had to scurry around to finish the washing.

Ah well, in such cases, one just has to accept that one obviously really really needed the nap time and take it from there. It has been that kind of a week. I've been constantly tired, mostly, I surmise, because I'm almost off the serious pain killers and am no longer enjoying their get-up-and-go chemical kick or pharmaceutically induced happy feelings. I'll have to be more realistic about my energy levels from now on, which is both good and bad, but definitely preferable to having a drugged up brain dazedly chugging along at quarter speed. Still, I do find myself yearning to pop a power pill every now and then. That's okay. They've served me long and well, those tablets, and it's only natural I should miss them. It's only an addiction when you give into that yearning. I won't.

Anyway, just as I did on my nap-filled Wednesday, I've caught up on my two days of Arvo Job and commuting sleep deficit and am quite perky now. I also did get in some daydreaming time whilst staring at the canopy over the Xmas swing this morning, so I shall try to squeeze in an hour at the keyboard before I head off for an evening of company, culture, and possibly fingerfood.

Apart from tiredness, napping and rationing drugs, this week has mostly been about rejections. One slipped by without causing more than the usual oh, darn and drats, I would have liked to have made it into that antho reaction, but the other one, well, I'd foolishly let myself get to the point where I was expecting at the very least one of those nice rejections. Alas, and oww, oww, oww!, the one I received from the editors was anything but. So why did I abandon my usual phlegmatic wait-and-see approach and let myself build up hope? Well, 'twas the fault of the report I received from the initial three readers, which was so positive and enthusiastic and full of phrases like well written and intelligent , pieced together extremely well, fun and interesting style and good flow, funny and sharply put together, the unusual structure works well, I enjoyed it, etc etc etc, I could go on and on quoting, believe me, because they were so darned spirit uplifting and had me smiling for days. The readers all agreed the story needed further tweaking, which is why I thought it would probably be rejected, but in the needs more work kind of way. At worst, a it didn't grab us was on the cards, I thought. But the editors' combined verdict was much harsher. I shall abstain from quoting. It never ceases to amaze me how very differently people react to the same story. Luckily, I have both the readers' reports, and previously received positive comments to keep me from hurtling said story into an abyss. I shall simply buck up, pull out a spanner and tweak the story some more, and it will go out again.

After all, possession of an often irrational stubbornness perseverance in the face of repeated rebuffs is a character prerequisite for writers. And 'keeping on keeping on' is our writerly job description.

That Friggin' Frosty Splinter

So today I have a Date with Destiny.

For the last week, my focus has dramatically narrowed, and it's just been me, the 25th September, and the tunnel that leads me to that upcoming meeting with my medicos.  I did absolutely no writing last week. The brain is not up for it. Other things have priority.

My perception is presently split into two - the part that is doing the living and not particularly enjoying the situation, and the part that is observing my own reactions and watching the way people around me are behaving, viewing the whole thing with writerly interest. The doing-the-hard-yards part of me has no patience with that attitude and wants to king hit the pretentious Graham-Greene-wannabe part and then grind her underfoot. Hopefully the two parts will reconcile soon.

Anyway, I need to get to this meeting so I can get through this meeting and then move on to the other side of it. Then I can make plans again.

Oh, and of course there was a rejection waiting for me when I got home from the Arvo Job. They always know when to hit you with them for maximum effect. And this one was in the works for so long and was soooooo close. I really thought... It was a nice rejection though. Not to worry - I'll get over it.

Dead Men Up and Walking

So late Sunday night I finished and emailed the final edit of The Snowy River Feral for what is referred to somewhat ignobly as The Dead Men antho in the contributor emails buzzing back and forth. The answers for my author interview to help promote the book went off over a week ago. The cover art has been finally finalised - looking good. I've been peeking at the other stories - they look good too. Things are falling into place and hotting up. Now I just have to sit back and try not to fidget too much as I wait for October (not so far away), for that is when the antho finally comes out in all its glory and with its full title rightfully restored. I feel like a kid gazing longingly at a bike-shaped package under the Christmas tree, itching to unwrap it and take it for a whizz around the block.

Given my glee, it was only to be expected that the Real World, which constantly, above and beyond the call of duty, I sometimes think, goes out of its way to keep me humble, tried to stuff up my good mood with a two-rejection Monday night. But hah, I can take it! There's a book full of zombie and vampire stories on the way with my name in it, so suck it up, Real World, suck it up!

An Unmade Day

So that make or break my day email finally arrived (not the humorous antho. This was a different obsession.)

I fiddle-faddled around for ten minutes before I finally opened it.

*sigh*

Nearly, but not quite.

It would have been soooo great.

Ah well, onwards...

At least there's only a few minutes left of this day, so the damage to its well-being is minimal. My writerly pain will soon be over :-) And tomorrow, as we all know, is another kettle of fish altogether.