But I found music.
Everybody likes music, yes?
Her name's Blair, and My Old Kentucky Blog features a couple of her songs. To my ear, if you like Jenny Lewis of Rilo Kiley fame, you'll probably like Blair.
Enjoy.
Apr 282007
Apr 252007
Well, I've slept on it, and hours and hours have passed, and no further email has appeared in my inbox telling me it was all a wicked joke…
So I guess I've just sold a story to POSTSCRIPTS.
Needless to say, I am thrilled (if a little stunned). But heck, I was pretty stunned when my query earned a "send the story along" response1. So when the second email appeared in my inbox, I avoided it. They'd only had the story for a day, after all. Bound to be a rejection. Plenty of time to catalogue what kind of rejection in a moment.
Except this time? Apparently not. 
The story in question is, yes, the one I've been wrangling recently, "The Wages of Salt". No idea when it will see actual print, since I understand POSTSCRIPTS is bought up a fair way into the future at the moment.
An enormous shout-out (of the I owe you a beer or beverage of your choice kind) to my Rimfire crew: Nike, Rju, Ben, Andy, Kaaron, Matt, and Rosaleen, who gave me such constructive feedback on this story I had to rewrite it from the ground up. Which means they won't recognise it any more, but they helped make it what it is.
- I hate querying. I have always maintained I can't write queries. I guess maybe I can't maintain that any more? [↩]
Apr 212007
No writing for the past couple of days. Part procrastination, part lack of focus, and a very large dash of overwhelming !fun with the car.
After a semi-breakdown on Thursday morning, the car spent the night at a mechanics for fixing. I picked it up late Friday afternoon, "fixed, hopefully". Turns out the mechanic was a little too optimistic: not ten minutes later found me broken down in a 701 zone. Of course the mechanic was closed by this point, so I had to have the car towed home instead of someplace where she could be fixed2. Blerk.
In other news, remember my search for suitable rabbit hay? I found some. And guess, go on, guess, who's allergic. Yeah. There's a reason it's called hayfever. I only have to look slantwise at this stuff and my entire face swells closed. I think I'd rather live with a fat rabbit than a lean, hay-fed rabbit.
Apr 162007
I need a new tag or category or something: writers is nuts.
Two weeks ago, I finished the beta draft of the novel. For values of finished = I couldn't stand the thought of the manuscript. In an example of avoidance excellence, I was getting to the point where, if anyone said "novel" in my presence, I would develop a bone-crushing weariness and a deep and abiding compulsion to nap, there and then. So, finished.
And now? I have the first comments back from one of the beta-readers.
And suddenly I am itching to work on the novel again, even though I know if I start before I have all the comments back I'll only have to go over old territory yet one more time.
Like I said, writers is nuts.
In other news, the short story? Still not finished. But close! Oh, so close.1
- I hope. [↩]
Apr 142007
This past week I have:
:: committed follicular folly — I have a fringe. (I don't know if Americans would call it "bangs" or not, as I've never quite wrapped my head around what bangs, exactly, are.) It's one of those fringes that's too long to be worn as a fringe and has to be swept off to the side, but yes, fringe. It tickles and itches. It also draws compliments. It requires styling so it dries right. It also draws compliments. The eternal dilemma: looking good for others, or laziness.
:: eaten far too much chocolate. In one spectacular fall from grace, I actually managed to consume an entire red tulip white chocolate rabbit — 200g — in one day. Not my cleverest move.
:: been rather stunned by the question What about work? Don't you meet any nice men through work?.1
:: discovered a distinct lack of availability in oaten hay. How is the powerbunny supposed to maintain a trim figure if the pet stores insist on selling only lucerne hay?
I don't really like not having a novel to work on. There's all this extra space in my brain, and nothing quite fills it up right. I've been wrangling that short story in the meantime — just like the original draft, and every other attempted revision, it's taking longer than I thought possible. It also now bears little to no resemblance to the original version, which is a strange and slightly jagged thought. But sometimes, what you need to get the story started, isn't needed to make the story live.
- To fully appreciate this, you need to understand I work at an IVF clinic. The men I meet through work? Are trying to impregnate wives and girlfriends. [↩]
Apr 082007
Lolling about with an Agatha Christie novel, mindless and unhurried shopping errands (the car has new! wiper! blades!), and absolutely nary a thought about any of my stories…
So that's what a couple of days off, guilt-free, are like.
On the whole, I approve. Once I fought my way through the restless jitters, and the belief that I really should be doing something, turns out it is possible to relax into the flow of things. I should do it more often.
Mind you, I didn't manage the "nary a thought about any of my stories" part quite so well. One day, in fact. One day without needling at plot issues for the next novel hiding in the back of my brain, and then yesterday I was back at it, plaguing myself with questions. (The "why?" game is quite tedious when played with a child; when played with your own mind, it can be just as tedious.) Still, a day off is a good thing.
In the meantime, I think it's time to read some more awesomeness. I have a brief window of opportunity before whatever I write next rises up to consume me and demand I read nothing, and my to-read shelf is bereft of novels.
So: suggestions? What is awesome? What should I read next?
Apr 012007
We have book. We have book delivered to beta-readers.
We have author, stuck in post-novel restlessness. (The ennui either hasn't hit yet, or has passed already in those last two nights I spent virtually comatose. Only time will tell.)
It's a strange, and largely useless, state of mind. I want to work on — and finish! finish! — everything I have. But of course I can't settle. And my focus is just slightly skewed. And I keep skipping back and forth, writing snippets out of order. (My writing peeps will be horrified. All their good work, trying to stop me writing scattershot, and here I am falling off the wagon. Again.)
I've been working on a short story I originally wrote in Octoberish last year. I've started revising it a couple of times since, but had to put it aside because it just wasn't settling right, somewhere inside my head. I don't know if today's efforts are more of the same or if they're working at last. I'm going to hope for the latter. Writers is nuts, and writing is nuts.
Also? It's the end of summer. My right arm is (slightly) tanned, and my left arm is not. Guess whose car windows aren't tinted?