Yesterday was National Chocolate Chip Day. To celebrate, I made cookies from scratch. Not being an experienced baker, there was a certain mess factor. The cookies came out pretty yummy, if I do so say so myself. But I didn’t know you need to remove them from the sheet as soon as they come out of the oven or they stick. So getting them off–after giving them several minutes to cool–was an exercise in mangled cookies. And our resident fuzzy chocolate chip did not make things any easier. We’ve never given Hobkin chocolate chip cookies because, of course, chocolate is as toxic for skunks as it is for dogs and other animals, but somehow the smell of baking cookies was enough to get him in full beg mode. So while I tried to transfer torn and crumbled cookie bits from the cookie sheet to the plate, Hobkin was dancing around at my feet, ready to snap up any crumbs that fell. I managed to keep him from ingesting any chocolate, but at the cost of a greater mess on the counters. And because he had such a hopeful look on his little face, when we had our choco-chip cookies, he got his own treat–safe, non-chocolate chip, veggie biscuits. I know, I’m such a sucker.
fosteronfilm and I gorged ourselves sick. And there’s plenty more cookie-blob for dessert tonight. Mmm.
Watched Cat People on DVD a la Netflix, which I’d only seen on television before. The TV version is apparently VERY cut. The whole ending is edited out, as are some rather key scenes. It was as though I’d never seen it before. Unsurprisingly, it’s a much better movie uncut.
Got an email from the corporate recruiter, checking up on me. I can’t get a requirements document that isn’t jam-packed full of proprietary information. If I try to clean that information up, it makes it nonsensical. Grumph. I explained the situation to the recruiter and he’s letting me send in a writing sample instead. I hope the substitution doesn’t knock me out of the running.
Writing StuffHeard that a previous sale I’d made to an anthology is dead in the water. I can’t say I’m actually disappointed. When I submitted to the antho, it hadn’t found a publisher yet (not a project situation I usually trust, but I’m on friendly terms with the editor). Then he sold his anthology to Cyberpulp, leaving me ambivalent overall about the project. I’ve heard some questionable first-hand things from reputable writers about them. I didn’t want to pull the story from the project and leave the editor high and dry, but at the same time I knew I would need a pretty solid contract in writing from Cyberpulp before I allowed them to print anything of mine. And my alarm lights flashed big time when the editor asked for a short email sentence to give permission for Cyberpulp to publish my story in lieu of a contract, to the effect of “I give permission for Cyberpulp to publish my story in XXX anthology.” No discussion of rights transferred, payment, or royalty statements. So I emailed the editor back and told him I’d need something more substantive than that, and I wanted it in writing. But it appears I wasn’t the only writer with reservations. In the end, only eight of the accepted authors responded (perhaps the others, like me, were concerned about the absence of a contract), and the editor killed the anthology. While I’m bummed at having a story newly orphaned, I’m a bit relieved.
Popped my “edits are a-okay” letter into the mail to my Cricket editor.
And I got another piece of fan mail today on “The Storyteller’s Wife.” I’m so very delighted that it’s being so well received.
