Me sick. Staying home. 
But I liked Buffy last night. Except, um, is the redness of Willow’s hair like a litmus strip measuring how “earth-mother magic” she is versus how evil she is? It was pretty, but veering into the anime color scheme . . .
*cross posted to
Just got this letter in the mail today. For all you Atlanta locals, try to swing by the book store and give it a little business. It’s the best SF genre book store in the city. It would be a real shame if it had to shut down!
Well, this day has sucked. Nothing major, nothing dire. Just a bunch of little things, all work related. From system problems, waiting for an essential project person to call me who never did, to being asked to do something really tedious while I wait for him to get back to me, everything’s just piled up and left me feeling crappy.
Grr.
And now I really don’t feel like going to dance class. More than anything in the world, I just want to go home and squeeze husband and skunk. I know that once I got to my class, I’d probably enjoy it. And I know I need the exercise. But I’m going to give in to my inner crapitude and skip out on it in liu of hubby and Hobkin huggins.
Again.
Sigh. It’s the season premiere of Buffy:tVS tonight. Hurray?
Having a bit of a block these days. Hesitate to even call it “writer’s block” ’cause it’s more like a lull than a block. But I can’t seem to get motivated to produce any new stuff. I’m re-working old things that I thought had potential but didn’t quite pan out the way I wanted them to, but I’m not actually putting down new plots and story ideas. Glurg.
I’ve noticed that I do tend to write in fits and starts. I hammer out a bunch of stories in a short time frame, spend the next chunk of time re-writing, revising, and assembling submission packets for them, and then I have a lull where I don’t create much.
Argh. So much for a steady level of productivity. It’s annoying is what it is.
And now for something completely different:
Starting a new belly dance session today. Taken just about the whole summer off from it. I suspect I shall be quite sore tomorrow.
I’ve been dwelling on this for a while, but I’m going to quit the troupe. This hiatus has pretty much kept me out of recent troupe events, but I realized that I just don’t have the time for it. When all’s said and done, dancing is a lovely hobby for me, but nothing more. After husband, Hobkin, and writing, priority-wise, it takes bottom rung. So, while I’ll continue taking classes for now, I’m going to bow out of the troupe.
Excellent weekend, overall:
I’ve begun work on re-writing another story I tabled last year. My previous attempt at that seems to have worked out well, so hey. Although I’m a little stymied on this one. I think the prose is strong, as is the theme. But the plot is a little sketchy. Urg. Can a story carry itself based upon strong prose and strong theme? I dunno. And the ending needs work.
Tangent: As I commented to Matthew, I recently realized that I never feel “creative.” This observation is no doubt spurred by the little “current mood” option thingum on LJ. I see other LJers who, after a bout of writing, graphics toying, and/or web development, indicate that they feel “creative.” But even after (or during) a marathon writing session, all I feel is “productive” or “accomplished.” Weird. No pangs of angst here, as productive and accomplished are good enough to keep me going, but I just find it interesting.
Also, I sent out several query emails to various markets to check the status of pieces that appear to have been sucked down a black hole. I hate querying ’cause I don’t like irritating editors who may be waffling on whether or not to buy something, but some places have had a story of mine for six or more months without even a “we’re holding it for consideration” e-blurb! Getting excessive there. Plus, in my experience, most of the time when I query, I really needed to have, as in “we didn’t get it” or “we sent you a reply four months ago.”
Also did some networking on the Speculations Rumor Mill as I haven’t heard squat about my SFWA membership since . . . May. Apparently, I’m not alone. The SFWA is plagued by membership delays and complications. But I got the name of two people and sent them email requests to expedite the thing, so I’m thinking I’m finally getting somewhere. I want my Bulletin dammit!
Saturday we went to see “Taming of the Shrew” at the Shakespeare Tavern. A very strong production, as they do tend to be there. And came home to have a pleasant after hours with yakdog,
Yesterday was a lazy Sunday, my favorite kind. Spent it lounging around the house and squeezing Hobkin (as he was a bit miffed with us for locking him away for most of Saturday PM). We watched Ocean’s Eleven, the George Clooney remake one. It was . . . okay. Glad we rented it rather than paying to see it at the theater.
And now, back to the grind. Blah. Thank goodness it’s my short week.
Ann Crispin called me last night to personally congratulate me on having “All In My Mind” chosen as a Phobos finalist! She then suggested that I run the contract–wasn’t that awesomely sweet of her to assume I’d be a winner?–by her and Victoria Strauss when (if) it comes so that I can go into contract negotiations backed by their expertise. Ann’s a big writer’s advocate and she and Victoria do Writer Beware so know what they’re talking about.
Ann rawks!
I’ve got this looming “always a bridesmaid” feeling hanging over me. There’s just so many fiction projects I’ve got in the “you made it out of the main pile, and now we’re thinking seriously about giving you the big prize” category that my head’s about to issue sparks and fly off my neck in a pretty, blue and red fireworks display.
Listing them, to aggravate my torment:
– “All In My Mind” – Phobos Finalist
– “The Scent of Their Voices” – passed second reading at ASIM.
– “The Few, the Proud, the Leech Corps” – passed initial slush at Dreams of Decadance, email reply to query from the editor saying that she’s holding it for consideration and “quite likely to buy it.” But no further word since May.
– “My Friend Is a Lesbian Zombie” – shortlisted for the Launchpad anthology.
– “The Reign of the Wintergod” – held for two months at City Slab where anything held longer than a month is in “serious consideration.” Or maybe they just lost this one and I need to query. Eep.
I keep telling myself not to get too worked up over strong maybes ’cause down that path lies earth-shattering disappointment.
But I’m just dying over here from all the waiting and hoping. And the dreary, dreadful fear that all I’m going to end up with is another pile of rejection letters.
AGH!!
My patience reserves have gone the way of the dodo.
On an up note, I am looking forward to seeing yakdog et al. this weekend. Something to take my mind, however briefly, off my anxious twitching.
Omygodomygodomygod! Phobos just called me! Actually, they called my house, and I’m not at home–being at work currently. But my husband picked up, and I’m a FINALIST in their fiction contest!!
My cyberpunk story “All In My Mind” is one of the top 20 going on to final rounds!
*hyperventilating*
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Except, damn. I can’t remember what’s going to happen now. I remember that top entries win $500, and then the top three win another $500. Did I make the first $500 or not?
Dizzy with elation. Must. Look up. Contest rules. Now.
(Edit: Just looked up the rules. I haven’t got any money yet (pook). A panel of judges–including Orson Scott Card and Larry Niven!–are going to read the 20 finalists and then pick twelve winners. Those 12 get the $500 bucks and from their number come the top three. Did I mention that Orson Scott Card is one of my favorite authors? I repeat “EEEEEE!!”)
Received in my email when I got home regarding the story I re-wrote over the weekend and then sent out:
“Just informing you that you story has passed the
second round of readings at Andromeda Spaceways, so
we are seriously considering using your story at
some point.”
Now I know that stories passing the second round with these folks aren’t always picked up, but I’m still very pleased to have made it this far. Boing!
I think my left breast is bruised. And it didn’t get that way in any sort of fun, interesting fashion either.
Last night there was much storming–lighting, thunder, deluge of rain. Hobkin, being a small animal of wee brain, was a bit disconcerted by it. So I picked him up to comfort him, and he was hiding his head under my arm, clinging in the fuzzy, clingy way he gets when in stressful circumstances.
Then, for no reason that I can see, no sudden bang of thunder, no big flash of lightning, he gets too freaked to hold still and leaps off me to go scamper under the hutch in the kitchen and cower there. Using my breast as a launching point. Ouch.
And the odd thing is, the last thunderstorm didn’t phase him at all.
Silly beastie.
And ouch.
