The universe spoke to me yesterday. I dropped a full can of soda on my big toe–and proceeded to clutch my foot while attempting to stifle profanity which would have otherwise ignited the air–while my concerned husband and a perplexed skunk looked on. And my knee is stiff and painful from when I bruised it in a violent clash with the coffee table (the coffee table won). So yeah, I hear and I comprehend; the universe sez that movement is overrated. And hey, who am I to argue with the cosmos? I glued my klutzy self to the couch and wrote all day. Now my wingstubs ache.
When can I sign up for a new housing for my brain, please? This one is defective.
Campaigning for the pity vote, obviously:
Warning: There is some nudity on the voting pages. Not safe for work or kiddies!
Received a 7-day rejection from Ideomancer: “While well-written and intriguing, the story ultimately is buried beneath its own weight.” Oo, ouch. Now my ego is bruised too.
I did a Critters crit in the hopes that it might mollify whatever karma-gods have it out for me. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to start sacrificing virgins.
New Words: ?
In my pursuit of an utterly sedentary lifestyle, I pumped out words. “The Better To . . . ” is a bridging scene away from zero draft, but I lost track of my word count. Something like 1K new words were smeared on the page (screen), give or take a couple hundred, and a massive seek-and-destroy on bloat summarily eradicated many of them, as well as some of their hapless kindred. Then more words were brutally shoved, screaming and sobbing, onto the page. Net word count: Who knows? Today, more carnage. Mwahahahaha!
Predictably, my original estimate was off.
You call that feedback???
Jeez Louise. My condolences on the crummy rejection.
Re: You call that feedback???
Eh, it smarted for a moment, but then I put a metaphysical band-aid on and forgot about it. My ego’s pretty calloused and thick with scar tissue when it comes to rejections. This one is not, by far, the worst I’ve gotten.
How does a story get buried under its own weight? Was there a sudden avalanche of meaning? A premature burial? A hillside displaced by a tornado and dropped onto the page?
Erm, printed on construction paper, secured with an iron nail, and attached to a brick? Oh, wait, it was a virtual submission. Oh well. Next market! *thud*
If I were guessing, I’d say too many details, too many characters, simpley too much stuff in the story.
That’s what my guess would be, too. It’s just not as much fun. 🙂
Erm, well in this case, the story in question is 1500 words with two characters, one of whom is dead and so has very few lines . . .
:bursts into uncontrollable giggling:
Geez that must have hurt!
And I wouldn’t have wanted to open the can afterward, either!
Oh man, it really did! My toe got all red and started swelling, but I plunked some ice on, and now it just looks like a nasty bruise. And, err, I put the can back in the ‘fridge. So, um, the next time you’re over, you may want to forgo the citrus soda . . .
Ow! Ow! Ow!
I’m so sorry you were having such a crappy day.
Thanks, sweetie. I figure if I just sit in one place today, whatever malevolent force I attracted will get bored and go trouble someone else. It’s gotta be a better day today, right? (Oops, aren’t those classic Famous Last Words? Eep!)
I certainly hope it’s better today. 🙂
(Spent yesterday in house-renovations hell, myself.)
If that doesn’t work, I’m going to start sacrificing virgins.
Where are going to find any of those?
Good point. The local Virgins R Us?
Maybe an abstinence rally at a local high school…
If it makes you feel any better, I voted for you, and even pimped you out on my livejournal!
But you should have put the angel wings pic in your gallery.
Thanks so much for both the vote and the pimpage. And you’re right, I really should’ve included it. Doh!
Guess they’re looking for a writer who channels Hemingway. Still, that comment is a hair’s-breadth better than, “Sorry, not for us.”
who has forgotten his LiveJournal password already.
You forgot your password? Already? That’s adorable. You’re an absent-minded doctor!
I’m pretty sure LJ will email it to you if you ask them nicely.
From Ideomancer I scored a “better written than the vast majority of stories I see but…prose seems to be trying too hard,” which was simultaneously amusing and vexing. Got a send us something else, so I guess prose-that-could didn’t totally blow it.
Curse words are Nature’s medicine. When applying ten-ton heavy things to toeses, drop several F-bombs. Better than ice; though chocolate may solve all. (And if broken foots leads to productivity, I’m having Nik stomp on my toes.)
Uh, so is Hobkin a virgin? Cuz otherwise, the “untouched” will be hard to find.
Hope your day picks up.
I did get an invite to submit there again, so at least I’m not banished from ever darkening their slushpile again.
“Uh, so is Hobkin a virgin? Cuz otherwise, the “untouched” will be hard to find.“
Hobkin went to the doctor when he was little and they made sure he wouldn’t be interested in the girl skunkies. ‘Course I’d never sacrifice him, unless he pulls down the contents of the coffee table–glasses, mail, and pill bottles–again.
So, the general consensus seems to be that I should re-think the feasibility of virgin sacrifices. Burnt offerings is next on the list. Except I’d need to clean out the fireplace first.
Ouch! I hope that can of soda didn’t land on your bit toe nail.
Nope! It landed on the first joint, which was painful enough. Broke the skin though. Ow.
“I did a Critters crit in the hopes that it might mollify whatever karma-gods have it out for me. If that doesn’t work, I’m going to start sacrificing virgins.”
:blinks: Thanks for the advance warning. Do you think you could hold off on that until I finish the Tangent Review?
Oh, Keesa, don’t be silly. Tangent reviewers are automatically exempt from sacrifice victim duty. Bet you didn’t know there were so many perks to being a reviewer, huh?