OMG!

HOLY CRAP!  I'm halfway there.   I've got to go back to maiming myself with too much typing, so I'll just put up something silly for your amusement.  Here you go:



The Difference Between Cats and Dogs.



Have fun.  I've got writing to do.  Oh, and the laundry is folded and I even washed the floors, so, you know...Yay me! (Okay, so Magnum did the folding.  Why the hell do you think I keep him around?)

Deadlines and Attack Laundry

Holy cheese on a cracker, have things changed this week.  Through pure happenstance, I have been plunged headlong into writer's hell...or heaven, depending on how you look at things.  While I can't really go into details -- yes, some of my private life must remain private -- I am now working under a deadline. 



Now, before you go jumping to conclusions, I haven't gotten a publishing offer or an agent or anything.  (If you'd already started jumping -- come down from there before you break something.  Really.  It's unseemly.)  This deadline is mostly self-imposed.  Nonetheless, I need to meet it.  So, for the next month and a half, I will be in full-on writer mode.  Procrastination in other areas is inevitable; has, in fact, already begun.  It's in the same old places, though, so there's some comfort in that; even if there is no comfort in being unable to sit on the couch without being attacked by a large pile of waiting-to-be-folded laundry.  But procrastinate about writing, I will not.  (Hey, I sounded a little like Yoda just then.  Heh.)



The goal is to pour this story onto the page by June.  It has existed in my head for over a year, now.  Time to get it down.  Progress will be on the ticker. 

Again

Yet another rejection in my inbox today.  I'm noticing they're getting harder to take as they mount.  Probably that voice in the back of my head that keeps whispering, "They're rejecting you because you suck.  Quit while you're ahead."  Now, I'm trying to prove that voice wrong, and I'm taking steps to better my writing, but it's just so damned insistent.  And it's getting louder.  I wish Walmart sold mental earplugs.  Ugh.  Sorry, you didn't need to hear all that.  I'm going to go write some more because, honestly, there's nothing else I'd rather do.  Also, it's the only way to get better, and I am not so crazy about the sucking.  Wish me luck.

Open for Criticism

If you've bothered to look, you may have noticed that there is a new little tab up at the top of the page that says, "Harbinger of Spring."  Clicking on this particular tab will bring you to the rejected short story of which I spoke in the last entry.  You are free to peruse it to your heart's content as it probably will never be published anywhere else.  Here's the deal, though...it's not for kids.  The theme is a bit harsh and the f-bombs are plentiful.  Fair warning -- NO kids (in my world, kids = under 18).  If you do take the time to read it, please feel free to leave your comments at the end of this entry, good or bad. But if it's bad, do try to be constructive. "You suck" helps no one and is likely to get you deleted. Decorum, people -- that's what we're looking for here.  So, have at it and be honest.  In the words of Johnny Fever, "Give it to me straight, Doctor.  I can take it."

Ahhhh... Rejection.

Got another rejection today, which sucks in general, but was not unexpected.   The letter (email) that was sent had some very specific criticism.  I take that as a positive for several reasons.  First, it shows that the story was actually read.  In fact, given the statements made in the response, it had to have been read all the way through.  Considering the fact that most editors are buried under piles of submissions, and considering the fact that this was particularly long for a short story, the fact that it was not tossed aside after only a few pages is a wonderful compliment. 



Second, after critiquing the story, the editor included this little nugget, "Nonetheless, it was solidly written, and I enjoyed reading your work... ."  He goes on to say it just wasn't right for his particular publication.  Most editors will not bother with such a statement.  Don't ask how I know, just trust me on this.  In fact, many don't take the time to send more than a form letter.  I don't blame them a bit for that.  They're exceedingly busy people, I'd do the same in their position.  But he didn't.  He gave me some very good reasons why my story was not up to snuff and then told me that I was, nonetheless, a solid writer.  That is too cool for school.



Now, this is probably the end of the road for this particular story for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that I can't find anywhere else to submit it.  It's a bit weird and a bit harsh and it just doesn't fit most places.  That was pretty much my last ditch effort.  But, the reasons he cited for rejection were valid and permeate most of my writing.  So, the next step is to figure out how to fix those issues and keep on submitting my other work.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Well, What Do You Know?

It actually happened.  I had a mid-week lightening bolt of inspiration.  Not for the blog, mind you, but for the novel.  I made great strides today and, even though no one's reading this, I had to post about it.  I was that psyched.  Progress is on the ticker.

On a different note, I've noticed recently that this is becoming a blog about writing rather than procrastination.  I think that's okay, though.  I mean, how many times can you listen to me say, "Today I cleaned the kitchen even though I didn't want to do it.  Win."  Or, "Today there is laundry on the couch again.  Fail."  Even though these things are both true, they were never really the main targets of my procrastination.  The targets, I am coming to realize, have always been those things that are scariest.  Those things that, in starting them, I risk failing at them.  Writing is chief among these.  If I'm being honest with myself, it's the only type of work I've ever really wanted to do.  But I talked myself out of a creative writing degree in college and I convinced myself that I couldn't fail what I never tried.  That's a crock of shit.  Not trying is failure on its grandest scale.  I have never tried anything.  I am a huge freaking failure.  Or rather, I was.  Not anymore.  I ceased to be a failure at the beginning of this year when I stopped telling myself that I can't and got off my ass (or, at least, moved it to a more comfy chair for typing) and began writing down the stories that have been knocking around in my head.  I'm trying.

It's been fun not being a failure.

Maintaining

This past week has been odd.  My kids have had activities and obligations coming out the wazoo.  I really didn't think I'd get anything done, but I did manage a little.  My word count is up and some sewing got done, but not nearly enough in either department.  The house is relatively clean (there's still the issue of the insidious, couch-hogging laundry, which I swear is out to get me, or at least drive me insane very slowly, sock by unmatched sock...but I digress).

What can I tell you?  A week of the crazy but mundane ending in a holiday does not make for great blogging.  Not that the blogging here was ever great....  Still, you get the picture.

I wish I had something more pithy or witty to say right now, but I'm all tapped out.  Sorry.  I promise to do better next time.  Perhaps I'll be struck by some mid-week bolt of inspirational lightning.  You never can tell.