Still Standing

So I realized last week that I had less out than I've had out all year. The trickle of rejections hadn't really registered as work coming in. So the last week has been spent sending shorts out again.

That and, well, starting another novel.

It's probably a bad idea. I mean, I have one not sold, one not finished an another outlined, but I have this thing in my head...it's why we write, isn't it?

It may be horror. In my head, it's hearkening back to the classics I read as a child. I don't know if I can pull that off, let alone if I can pull it off in contemporary publishing. But I know it needs to come out and be on a page.

I also have a new short story. I was going to have another go at "A Shattered Tear", because the lone image I have is beautiful, and fascinating. I know there is more to it than I had at the beginning of the year. This was my first shot:

A Shattered Tear

The roses were the last of the summer garden, saved from the first frost, given a life extension: one more week. Perhaps they would have chosen to be killed by the swift, cold hand of winter rather than Emily's warm caress. But she prolonged their slow decline into sweet-scented oblivion, avoiding the thorns with ease. Red blood on white flowers would fit her mood, but the roses were yellow and the thought of her own blood repulsed her. So she arranged the vase with practiced ease and pictured the stained flower as she worked.

A single drop of water fell from her eye. Colored lights played through it for the briefest moment before it shattered on the white tiles. Emily looked at the dead tear among the rose petals and longed for the numbness to return. He did this to her. Or she had done it to herself. Or they had done it together. Emily had been so sure that this longing was far behind her. This was never supposed to happen - she had promised herself she would be rational. Sublime. Independent. She rested the palms of her hands on the tiles, finding solace in their cool solidity.

A ghost of herself was reflected in the vase. She thought she looked pretty when she was out of focus. In her mind, he stood behind her. She hoped that a wish would have him there, at her side. In a moment the sweet smell of roses could be his clean sharp scent, a dropped petal the soft skin of cheek. The glint of the dead tear changed to the rare flash of his smile.

Emily remembered him in all his intensity. His need to care for her, to protect her. His need to do small things to please her. And he did please her, more than any man she had known, more than she had let any other man. By now he should have rejected her for being obnoxious or too ferocious in her independence. But he liked her, this man she called friend and thought of as lover.

Vase full, Emily started to clear the flower remnants, crushing petals together in her hand, relishing the moment of destruction. She tried to be a creative soul, but suspected that for every small thing she created she destroyed something else. Emily feared unintentional destruction more than anything. The end of the unknown, the death of a tear.

This man, he was worth the risk of destruction, he was even worth self destruction. Emily surprised herself with that thought, but that was what she was risking. And that was what she feared. Destroying herself before she had time to bloom, before the moment when the light would shine through the tear and let the colors shine.

And this was my second, or the start of the second:

Yellow roses scattered the kitchen. The last of the summer filled the house with the scent of decay. The grey outside the window tainted the petals with a deathly hue. It would freeze tonight.

Claire’s tears shattered on the tile, creating diamond fragments. She watched as they hardened, enclosing their continuously refracting rainbows. Despite the beauty, more tears fell. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, aware as she did it that much-needed money was being absorbed back into her skin. But Claire didn’t want to cry today. It was her time, her place.

The world became a distant place. Claire removed herself from the room, focusing on a petal, a yellow oval with a drop of moisture pulling it towards the tile. Her emotions dulled as the petal bent and the droplet fell from the petal, spraying the tears with a layer of water, softening their hard edges. She gathered the hardened tears and put them in her purse

So I think the second is more my genre, but the first more in style. I'll play with it later.

The one I'm writing until I work out what's going on is Science Fiction. I have to give a nod to Ann and Hesperia and Glory. She inspired the seed for the next bout of insanity. A man this time, and science fiction. It was a reminder that I don't have to be reliable, even if it is hard.

Electric Velocipede asked to see something else of mine. I'm going to bite the bullet and send them something I think is risky. Because you never know.

Kittens

Small problem, outlined below. Suggestions welcome.

Teabringer found some kittens under the back deck (again). He's a soft touch, and they had the cogged eyes Odin's kittens had, and we had ointment left, so he made them see.

I think he was the first thing two of them saw. He called me while I was out, and told me they were at the back door, scratching and yowling for him. They wouldn't go back to their mother. They are horribly underweight and underdeveloped. One still needs hand fed.

I built them a temporary pen in the basement for tonight. Tim is down there with them now. Odin and Loki are happier now the kittens aren't scratching the back door, and Tim is happier not to have a house full of upset cats. However, this is not a long term solution.

This can't continue. The kittens are cute (they are, after all, kittens). One black, one black and white and one a mix of beautiful browns and oranges. If you would like an almost weened kitten, call me tonight or tomorrow morning. Otherwise they go to the humane society. Unless someone has a better plan.

Turns out the light at the end of the tunnel isn't a train coming the other way

So I've been quite stressed. I think most of you caught that, but I'm actually winding down a bunch of things now, and I'm feeling much better about the world in general. I even had my ten o'clock appointment cancel this afternoon, so I can sleep in a little tomorrow.

The market has gone well in general. Two more Saturdays left. Despite the minor hiccup that was last Saturday, I think I did everything I could as well as I could do it. There are bigger and better plans for next year; I'm already in meetings to arrange them.

CLB is still offering an interesting opportunity. I'm going to go and play with some stuff on Thursday and see if I can make it tick. They won't want too much extra work yet, but I want to have the research lined up anyway.

The Triangle - otherwise known as the job I love to hate, has a meeting on Thursday. In the words of my Vegetable Journalist Friend, I believe I need to fire myself. It's a waste of my time and their money. I'm getting an interim report finished along with media, customer and member databases, as well as a projected marketing plan to take them through January. I can't do any more than that. The Jaguar event was exactly as I feared it would be: lots of people, very few customers. They can't keep spending funds on things like that. I hate the waste.

I crave fiction - both writing and reading. It's beginning to return to me, and I feel like it's spring for my mind. I often feel that way in the fall, but I'm so looking forward to time next month. I have short stories to go back into circulation, a novel to finish, Belinda to re-send, and a new comic project to start. Draws Stuff and I are going to be busy and having fun with this one. No pages in which we will be shutting our eyes as we complete them. Black's Magic is still at three potential homes. I think B is down to one now (I suspect the mail never got there). I had two articles in Uptown this month and they even looked quite pretty.

Meanwhile, I have been absorbing myself in game - probably a little too much. V is on the up and up, but my true joy at the moment is the brokenness of my Ashes Ghoul. She seems to drift into my thoughts the same way Simon did back when I started Black's Magic. I suspect I could write some awesome fiction with her, but I don't think it would be too publishable, given it's dependency on the WW universe. Maybe something to read for WUTA on a quiet night.

Fencing was great. I need to get back to that too.

My Student won an award at the Literacy Round table Banquet. I'm proud of both of them. The both Aced their tests, and are testing out higher than I had placed them after a year. That means their progress is more than a grade level in the year. I hope they stick at it. Classes are tomorrow.

There was some discussion about "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime" at the dinner. Apparently is was bought for all the high school students in U City and is causing a lot of controversy. It has profanity in it (which I had totally forgotten about), and apparently some of the teachers don't believe the students can relate to it. I am throughly confused. This is one of the best books I have read, it allows issues to be brought up that are usually avoided in a classroom environment. It's a quick and easy read, so no trouble for the slower students, it has challenging concepts for the brightest of them. I'll be going in to talk to one of the board members about it tomorrow. Hopefully he has read it now, and will stand more of a chance of seeing the other side of the coin. But perhaps the current novel is skewing me away from those who wish to protect their children as long as they can.

A Scattered Update

Because it is time.

First a thank you to all of you who remembered my birthday. For the first time this year I felt like I wasn't stuck in the far, far away. I had a great lunch with Anarky (this has become tradition), and the Viderick whisked me off in a car (which will be a Cadillac in my memories) to see friends and to drink Real Beer (TM) in Springfield. I felt very happy and spoiled.
I also have two articles in Uptown magazine in the next issue. This pleases me as I haven't had anything in print for a while. It isn't good for much more than clips, but it makes me happy. I needed something to make me feel like a writer, rather than general dogsbody, again. (WUTA will get chocolate on Tuesday).
There will be a Jaguar show in Clayton next Saturday, from 10-4. I'll be running it. I don't know how many people will show up, but I am trying to build a street team, so if you're interested in earning $100 for being only slightly evil, call me. Incidentally, I believe this will be my last gig with them. I can't make this organization work. It's a waste of my time and their money.
The market will be running an extra four weeks, and I'll be on Fox 2 on the 12th of October to do some publicity. I'm not sure how much exposure Friday lunchtime talk get you, but we need something.
On a very sad note, Lillian died last night. I buried her under the Magnolia tree. Her and Bertie kept me company for many long hours when I first arrived here, and I'm very sad to see her go. As is Bertie. He's been calling for her all day.
I spent most of the day trying to get everything in order. I have had two more job offers that I want to consider, but while the Triangle is still going, I hardly have time to breathe. I need to re-organize my whole life, not just my calender and paperwork. What I really want to do is get back to writing. I have a few projects burning and no time or inclination when I am done with the day.
Ashes is Awesome. Ask someone.

MBA thoughts

So I got the new job at the market, and it's going really well. I mean really well. I've had an average of a job offer a week since it began. Some I've taken. Almost all of them involve advising start-up companies in one form or another, which is fine and has worked so far, but I feel a bit of a fraud. I don't have much experience, and I don't have any qualifications.

Hence MBA. Wash U is interested in having me, I just need to sit the GMAT and get a decent result. I hummed and hawed for about a week and have come to the conclusion that I should just sit the test - if it goes badly, I'll write off the whole idea. If it goes well, then I have a cunning plan...

On a completely different topic, I leave to sell the comic book at 6.00am on Wednesday. The portfolios are looking good, and there are only a couple of small things to do to make it fly. I want this to work so very much.

In summary

- New York was fun, but much like London. It was wonderful seeing Amy. I crave her company often.

- Tim has shaved his head and looks a little like a convict.

- I have a new job running the farmers' market in Clayton. It's working so far. I am quietly obtaining St Louis notoriety.

- Odin is having kittens.

- Peter, and his cat Missi, are staying for a short time until he can move in with Linda. Interesting cat times abound.

- We have a comic book! (more work to be done, but essentially there).

- Teabringer has had lab results! I could tell you what they were, but I'm not entirely confident I would do that well.

- No agent yet. No recent publications. Actually managed to do writing this week for the first time in three weeks.

- Jessica still need front forks.

- The British Ladies are coming on the first Saturday of next month for a garden party.

- Teaching is going well. I thought one had got away, but he came back.

- I'm seriously contemplating a whole month back in Britain come the middle of December.

- Game is going well. For the most part. Much fun was had last night.

- The Welsh choir has no more engagements until July. The coup continues to hold in church, therefore I am still on strike.

- Sorry I'm such a hopeless case. If I owe you a phone call or letter, I really will try to get hold of you soon.

Must listen

You only have seven days, but this is hilarious.

Mark Thomas on the demonstration laws in London's parliament square.

A quote from this 'The police can, on the day, impose restrictions if, in the defense of surrealism, you do anything silly.'

Spring Cleaning

Of mind and house needs to be done. Over the last couple of weeks the sun has shone through the windows revealing corners in need of scrubbing, and every time I open a cupboard or drawer I'm aware that they need bottoming out. My trouble is where to start - the library is worst, probably because I essentially live in this room, despite having a whole house.

Writing also needs something of a spring clean. I have 15 (!) short stories to finish, and 8 to re-send; although I have no markets selected. I'm also about halfway through the agent query process now, with seven sent of about 15 (there are still a couple I haven't decided about). I should also sort my rejections and acceptances into some sort of filing system which is viable for the long term. At the moment I have a plastic envelope which is beginning to bulge. For the first time yesterday I fantasised about a filing cabinet.

My copies of The Blotter Rag arrived, so they are with the Kinships Magazine awaiting Wanderings before I organise and send one copy of each home...see? My piles of paper have piles of paper.

I should also write letters. The Doctors are having a baby, the English-American is getting married and I have any number of letters from friends which should have been replied to already.

This need to spring clean was precipitated, I think, by the arrival of the wonderful new monitor, which resulted in the computer-graveyard effect in the library. I have found the old one a home, but it is the last level of mess I can stand. Tonight I have a meeting, but tomorrow I think I will start organising.

The garden is beautiful, though. Everything is coming back to life. We're going to put in a new bed outside the living room window.

Oscar Wilde

I have discovered that whilst listening to good writers when writing is often inspiring, but listening to brilliant writers is perturbing to the point of making work impossible. I shall never listen to Oscar Wilde Whilst trying to write again: to live up to standard is quite impossible, even for the most inflated ego.

Rejection

Okay, so Belinda came back with a 'thanks but no thanks' form letter; which initially was upsetting, as I'd been making all the other rejections not matter by telling myself the big thing was still out. But on the up side I think it probably did a lot of good, as now I'm going to go agent hunting. Which I wasn't before, because I thought I could handle the marketing thing.

Ho hum. The marketing thing. Well, I'm better at it than I was. I've learnt a couple of tricks and decided that some things just have to be left to try, try and try again. There is more than one thing sold now, and a short list of places I've been published. Nowhere big or impressive, but places have published my stuff and I even have a nice comment next to a piece I can use as a review.

Essentially, however, an agent is what is required. I truly don't have the time I want to write in. There are too many hours put into: 'Who might like this?' 'How does it need to be formatted?' 'How will I re-phrase the covering letter to make it jump out?' and the eternal 'Please, get me out of the slush pile!'

Now I must leave you and investigate Miss Snark on how to woo the agent of my dreams.

Biological processes

Because it is very cool, and people who haven't see it should, I give you The Life of A Cell.

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The Creative Profession

It's time to do a quick update on the writing thing. In short, it's going okay. I have a publication record of six rejections to one publication (not too bad) and a few publications under my belt. There is one novel finished and sent, and this week John and I completed the thumbnails for the first issue of the comic. We've settled on 32 pages in black and white, with a couple of bits of red. We're both seem to be improving and we've found a good pace.

First title: Black's Magic - The Things We Do For Love

I have also entered a few competitions. My submission at Escape Pod isn't doing nearly so well as Anarkey's, but going over there and seeing what was doing well was enlightening. No word back from any of the others yet.

There should also be a confession here, and that is I haven't turned around the few rejections that I've had, and I haven't managed to complete either Hawk House or The Exit Generation yet. They both have great potential, but they seem like monstrous tasks just now, and all my excitement is with the new novel - Jamie's Secret. YA and quite angst-filled, but it deals with a lot of subjects I want to address and I'm enjoying writing it. I'm having a small problem getting a positive chapter in early though, as there is a lot of setting up of things to come. Almost all my characters are starting from difficult or unpleasant situations in one way or another, and I need something happy to make the arc readable. I suspect this will have to be done by putting in another character.

I've also been trying to do more editing-based stuff. It's much easier to find the flaws in my own stuff if I'm used to spotting it in other people's work. To that end, I read The Ad Hoc Leader's Rich Guy novel, did a farce plot and helped out with some smaller editing tasks. I've discovered that a lot of people seem to have the same problem plotting; it's tough to get the slope to the climax right. Beginnings are easy, middles can be written through climaxes are easy, but the chunk before the climax is tough, and knowing when to stop the wind down at the end is hard too. This seems to result in there being too much middle, then a climax which isn't well lead up to and a drop-off which is either too detailed or leaves the reader going 'But what happened to...!'. I've seen this problem in both of the short stories I haven't fixed, and in a couple of stories I have out. It is something I need to work on.

On the bright side, I got a really nice acceptance letter which came with an invitation to read the piece in North Carolina. Fortunately the editor was happy to do that for me. Mum also sent me an e-mail from Nigel, who wrote the last post I made. We're going to talk about re-writing for a more specific market.

Now I just need to stop being distracted by pretty new projects and get on with the shiny ones I already have.

Something to keep the submissions going

The Toddler's Guide to Perseverance
By Nigel Risner
(And I hope he forgives me for publishing it here, but as it came in a mass-
mail care of my mother, I think I'm okay)

My brother in  laws two-year-old daughter asks for ice cream about one
hundred times day.  You think I'm exaggerating for effect, but I am really
not.  She starts when she first gets up in the morning, requesting it as
her breakfast. She asks mid-morning, several times. She asks for it as an
appetiser to her lunch, asks for it when my mother in law is caring  for her
as well asks at snack, dinner, and about 70 other times during  the day.
Sometimes she employs tactics of terror, kicking and screaming  until our
very nerves tremble. Sometimes she flashes the sweetest  smile.

And of the hundred times she asks per day (I made it a nice round number,
but I suspect it's probably higher than that) she gets ice cream maybe once
every two or three days. Sometimes she wears us all down once a day for
a few days. Now, before you start thinking this is an article on parenting
techniques (as in, what NOT to do), I'm actually using this headstrong toddler
as an example. An example of what TO do. Yes, an example  for even you
to follow.

Because what is her success rate? On a good  day, it is one per cent.
ONE PERCENT.
She FAILS 99 per cent of the time. She tries a variety of approaches, and
finds that 99 times out of 100, they do not work. And yet, she gets a bit of
what she wants just about every day.

Why? Let's examine. First, she makes it very clear what she wants.  She
tells us the colour, flavour, in detail, in her request. She starts early in the
morning and doesn't let up until night time.  She actually hits up her father
more than her mother knowing he's more of a softy, so she knows the
proper venue for her request.

Lesson to be learned: Be  REALLY clear on what you want. It's hard to
expect the world to give you what  you're looking for if you don't quite know
what it is. Define the colour and  flavour of what you want.

Second, failure is not any kind of deterrent  for her. She is the embodiment
of the old adage, "'No' just means try again  later." She puts no negative
spin on herself for the 99 times she fails to get what she wants. She doesn't
say to herself, "Oh, I've failed. Maybe I'm not meant to have ice cream.
Maybe I should just learn to like this broccoli stuff.  Why - oh why - do I never
get what I want?"  She just asks time number  83.
And 84. And 85...

Lesson: Failure simply means TRY AGAIN. It does not mean anything
about you, that you are not worthy or not special or not  meant to have what
you want. You just have to keep trying.

Third, she learns from her mistakes. I notice she's refined her request time
to times when she considers us most vulnerable. She gets us when we are
tired  or otherwise occupied, or when there is someone else around and
I'm not as likely to stand firm.

Lesson: Learn from your failures. You'll eventually  be able to cut them
down if you learn what NOT to do.

Fourth, she's  flexible. At times when she sees we are  steadfast in our
refusal to provide her drug of choice (ice cream, before you go off to
summon the proper authorities), she starts to negotiate for an alternative. 
Lollipop? Chocolate? Raisin? She usually gets us with the raisin.

Lesson: Be flexible! Maybe you can't get EXACTLY what you want, 
but you can get an approximation. Ask for raisins!

Fifth, she eats like a pro. She eats broccoli, seafood, any crazy health
food we decide to feed her.  It makes me more likely to give her ice
cream when I see she's  "paid her dues" and eaten all the good stuff
I want her to.

Lesson:  Pay your dues. Life rewards the hard working and the diligent.
Eat your  broccoli and you're more likely to get the ice cream.

Lastly, she loses  with a big smile. Sometimes it turns into a joke and we
laugh. So even when I "win" (and I don't really suspect I ever truly do),
we stay friends and go on  to negotiate another day.

Lesson: Take life's bumps with a smile. You  never know when life is
just two requests away from giving you a great big  ice cream cone.

New Year's Resolutions

A little belated, but a good thing to do. They are all work based this year.

1) Get something resembling a proper income for writing. It doesn't have to be much, but I need something to show for the work I'm doing.

2) Finish another two books.

3) Finish and market the comic book.

4) Keep the short stories out, rather than languishing unedited or just unsent in my machine.

January will mostly be spent trying to get those languishing tales out, so I can organise myself properly. I'm not as good as I should be at marketing myself and my work - this is a skill I must obtain to be a successful writer. I have been trusting to luck for too long.

And now I've told people, which may well help me keep them.