This is the second time that I start Jonesing for a sale and I get one! After a query, I discover that Abyss & Apex wants to buy my flash story “Inside the Witch’s Oven.” Hurray! 
Hobkin appears to be on the mend. He ate his dinner, midnight snack, and breakfast with good appetite. Although he’s still finicky. Over time he’s been gradually reducing the type of veggies he’s willing to eat. Sigh. But at least he’s eating without veterinary intervention.
Watched The Jackal last night. Dry but interesting. The ending was awfully sudden. And there really wasn’t anyone to root for, except maybe the detective that was called in to help catch the assassin. Except he had such limited screen time, it was hard to get a feel for his POV. Glad to have seen it as it’s one of those “must see” films, but not clamoring to repeat the experience.
Also watched Hitchcock’s The Trouble with Harry which was funny in a matter-of-fact, vaguely macabre sort of way. Apparently it tanked when it first came out because people expected a Hitchcock movie to be a thriller, but I wish he’d done more comedy.
Writing stuff:
Watching the Abyss & Apex submission commentary at the Rumor Mill. They apparently had some major gremlin-in-the-server email issues. So, jumping on the wagon, I queried the editor about a submission of mine they’ve had since March.
Probably should re-query Neo-opsis as the “if you haven’t heard from us by this date drop us an email” date has passed a la my last communication with them. They seem pretty cool about being queried. Maybe I’ll give them another couple days before I pester them . . .
After the flurry of rewrite and marketing activity last week, I find myself suddenly high and dry. Muse conspicuously absent. No rewrites to work on. Dangit.
Did a little critiquing in order to pretend I was doing something productive on the writerly front, but it’s an unsatisfying substitute. Maybe it’s time to crank out another folk tale. I keep dwelling on my longer fiction goals, but it seems to inhibit me from producing anything which is all bad.
I’m beginning to Jones for another sale. It’s been over a month since my last one. *twitch*
Went to CompUSA yesterday and bought a Cable/DSL router. Both our computers are now networked to the Internet, but still not to each other. @#!$& Not one for either hardware or networking, I let Matthew fiddle with it for several hours. He managed to get our old system to acknowledge that yes, a network existed, but our new computer would have nothing to do with it.
Uppity computers. What next?
I’m also quite concerned about Hobkin. He’s really off his feed. Turned up his nose at both his midnight snack and breakfast. I gave him some of his anti-nausea meds and coaxed him to eat a little Pepto Bismol on bread, but he’s turned his nose up at every veggie I’ve offered him as well as a veggie biscuit. I did get him to eat a couple peanuts, and a bit of hard boiled egg, but he needs to get more fluids into him. Going to let a little time pass for the meds to kick in, then going to try hand feeding again.
Had a little excitement yesterday before dinner. Matthew was putting cans of Mountain Dew into the ‘fridge when he dropped one. The can ruptured and began spewing fizzy liquid all over the kitchen, up the cabinet walls, and over everyone. Think one of those fireworks that spin around throwing sparks in a flashy spiral, except Mountain Dew instead of sparks.
Matthew was bent over going “ow!” (I thought he’d dropped the can on his foot, but as it turns out, the first spray had shot him in the eye.) Hobkin was watching the show, only a few steps away from ground zero. And the wounded can was still hissing and spitting its insides in a wide spray. I grabbed up the nearly-empty can and deposited it in the sink, plucked up the Dew-covered skunk and deposited him in his area, and then took stock.
Husband red-eyed and blinking, but fortunately none the worse from being shot in the face with high-pressure citrus soda. Kitchen covered in sticky liquid. Husband covered in sticky liquid. Self covered in sticky liquid. Skunk covered in sticky liquid, wanting to get to the sticky liquid puddles lying on the floor. Dinner continuing to cook on the stove.
Eep.
Matthew and I took turns cleaning the kitchen and showering off the Dew. Tried to dry off Hobkin with paper towels, salient word being try. We all had our abbreviated dinner. Then it was skunk bath-time resulting in no-longer-sticky but most definitely miffed and damp skunk for several hours.
The funny thing is, Hobkin was right next to Matthew when the can fell and exploded. Normally, I would have expected him to startle and puff his tail up, maybe run for cover, but he took it all in stride. It’s weird what will set off the little fuzzhead and what won’t.
So we’re mostly recovered from our mishap. But the kitchen floor is still sticky.
Hobkin was very sick after dinner last night, the poor little guy. I’m wondering if it’s something in his dinner meals that’s setting him off. I just wish he could talk to us!
It’s so odd. He’s violently ill, and then a second later he’s hungry. And he gives every indication of being fine right afterwards. More than fine. He proceeded to go careening through the house, and insisted upon having a prolonged session of “wrestle mommy’s arm” with me. Maybe his post-sick enhanced energy levels are endorphins kicking in?
One thing I greatly appreciate about our little fuzzbump is that he does his very best to be good when he’s not feeling well. He was flopped on the couch next to me when he suddenly realized he needed to be sick. With haste that would make an over-boozed frat boy proud, he scampered to his area and sicked up on the towel we’ve got down in front of his litter pan for just that purpose. He’s such a good boy. Dammit, I wish I knew what was making him ill!
Writing stuff:
Rejections received:
16-day signed form from Alchemy.
108-day unsigned form from the new regime at Asimov’s.
Fooie.
Quiet night. Hobkin has shown no signs of tummy upset these last couple nights, thankfully. Although he has insisted upon me lying on the couch, serving as his own personal cushion, and he sulks if I don’t comply. He is so spoiled. But when he sprawls with his belly up and all four paws in the air, I go all gushy and can’t put him down. At least last night I had the foresight to get myself organized with my laptop so I was able to get some work done as he flopped on me.
Writing stuff:
Got five more critiques from Critters before my story rolled off this week’s queue. I was feeling pretty confident with my rewrite and actually thinking of packaging it up last night to send out, but thought “I might get a few more crits trickling in. I can wait another day.” Boy, am I glad I did. One of the last crits to come in pointed out a typo that I, Matthew, and twenty-four other readers had missed. Yikes. But now, really and truly, it’s ready. I think. Out it goes!
Received an “open letter to our authors” from the Phobos Books editor. I don’t know what information contained in that email is supposed to be public, so I’m not going into details here, but the upshot is that they’re releasing a bunch of manuscripts they’ve been holding, including a novelette of mine they’ve sat on for over a year. I don’t think I’ve done more than glance at that story in two years. I opened it up to see if I wanted to do anything to it before sending it out again.
Holy Mother of Bob!
I lopped off three hundred words in the first pass alone. Apparently I’ve learned a lot about writing tighter in the last couple years. So, yay, I’ve got proof that I’m improving as a writer. But there’s a certain trepidation I have about opening files of older stories to read through again, especially the ones I’ve sold that are waiting for publication. Will I cringe when I see them? I hope not.
Anyhoo, did several more passes and the novelette, now at short story length (barely), is ready to go out again. *shove*
And finally, here’s a bit of blurbage from C. Dennis Moore’s review of Ascendancy of Blood from The Swamp:
“Foster’s got this style, this way of phrasing that makes you forget that you know what’s going to happen, and instead get lost in the flow of her words . . . . She’s a very good writer and I hope we start to hear a lot more from her.”
La!
Apparently Hobkin was tuckered out from his earlier berserker activities last night. He snarfed down his dinner and then climbed up on the couch, looking for me. So, of course, being the sucker I am, I left the work I was doing on the computer, went to the couch and sat down beside him, whereupon he flopped asleep and pinning me there for the remainder of the evening. There was much napping.
Hobkin did, considerately enough, hop down a couple times to stretch and use the bathroom, giving me the opportunity to brush my teeth and get ready for bed, before demanding I return to the couch so I could be his pillow.
Yup, I am naught but a skunk pillow. And I am covered in skunk fur. Apparently the heat has brought on a bout of shedding. It’s not that bad, not nearly as bad as, oh say a black, long-haired Spainycat’s fur dispersal, but it’s still indisputably shedding time. Hobkin is looking rather scruffy from the mismatched fur lengths, so during our brief waking episodes, I decided to give him a brushing.
Hobkin does not like being brushed. We came to a “no bite!”/”no brush!” peace agreement eventually, but it was a painfully won truce. Ow. And he still looks scruffy.
Writing stuff:
– Wrote a review of the Sci-Fiction story “Family Bed” by Kit Reed for Tangent and sent it off to my editor.
– Mailed off naamah99‘s signed Ascendancy of Blood chapbook.
– Sent my story inspired by Suzanne Vega’s “The Queen and the Soldier” to its first market. Good luck little story!
– Received a copy of C. Dennis Moore’s review of Ascendancy of Blood. It’s right glowing. Hurray! Not sure when I’m allowed to post blurbage from that, but will do so as soon as I can.
– Received an email from Nathan, my Scrybe Press editor with a bit of news and a sneak peek at some cover art. I really like how much communication there is between us.
– Worked on the rewrite of my current Critters story. There’s been much carnage in the rewrite. But I think the operation just might be a success. Well, as much of a success a story I haven’t sold can be. I’ve now received twenty crits on it (including yours, britzkrieg!) which is a good number for me to run stats on without feeling overwhelmed. Got a wave of positive crits towards the end which restored some of my faith in it. Going to do a couple more passes to incorporate this latest set of comments, then send it off tomorrow. That’s the plan, at least.
Last night was not chock full of sleepytime goodness. Hobkin had a sick tummy again. Interesting timing on that, considering how terrible I was feeling for most of yesterday. Is the little fuzzbump picking up on my misery, or is it just a coincidence? But, after sicking up his dinner, we fed him a Pepto Bismol sandwich and his anti-nausea meds, and he rested quietly for a bit. Then, to express his gratitude at our loving caregiving, he decided to engage in acts of skunkie demolition in the wee, early morning hours.
An amuck skunk, streaking through the house like a furry cannonball, and stomping at everything with his tail fluffed straight up, is not the most soothing stimulus to sleep to. As if that wasn’t disrupting enough, I was also awakened periodically by being traipsed over by the fuzzy chaos fiend as he considered my head merely an obstacle in the path of his lawless rampage. Once he reached the dangling strap of my purse, stored on a table supposedly out of his reach, and pulled the whole thing down with a loud “thunk,” spilling credit cards, medical identification, and my drivers license across the floor, and of course waking me up with a start. And he wanted to wrestle. How did I know this? Because he climbed up beside me, pounced on my arm, and commenced mauling my (unresisting) limb into submission. My forearm looks like I plunged it into a barrel full of pins. Ouch.
At least he’s feeling better.
I, on the other hand, am a good candidate for walking deadhood. This morning my eyes were red and bloodshot, my brain felt like marshmallow goo, and until I had my first cup of coffee, I was having difficulty remembering what day it was. It’s going to be an early night.
Writing stuff:
Received signed copies of Natalie’s Grove by Mikal Trimm, Slipstream by Doug Hewitt, and Murdered by Human Wolves by Steven E. Wedel from Scrybe Press, hurray! These are books I’ve written cover blurbage for, so I’m right pleased to hold the finished copy in my eager little paws.
Also got naamah99‘s copy of Ascendancy of Blood to sign. It’ll go out in the mail tomorrow.
Started the rewrite on the current Critters story. Ugh. Major overhaul time. I got some feedback from folks who didn’t seem to get the mythology behind it and so were pretty lost, thinking that I had loaded the story with far too many characters, when really there’s only two characters and a lot of archetypes. Obviously, my main characters weren’t popping from the page. This story isn’t going over well in general. But I like it and think it’s salvageable. So far, I’ve chopped out a couple hundred words and added in a lot more characterization. Haven’t removed the sutures yet. When I do, will I what I’ve got left be a solid story or more closely resemble a literary Frankenstein monster? Sigh.
Received confirmation via the SFF.net newsgroups that both Ellen Datlow and Gordon Van Gelder are reading my reviews on Tangent. I’m being read by big time editors! My glee is offset by the probability that it might be the only time GVG reads my words as my submissions to F&SF keep getting smacked down by JJA, his editorial assistant. Rah, err . . . I mean dammit, um, I mean . . .
Eugie’s brain confused. Naptime please.
I am done being ill, please. Headache and nausea are a supremely unpleasant combination. Almost was reduced to tears at work from the stomach-churning pressure behind my eyes. Wanted to come home, but I’ve taken far too many sick days this year already. I think my current bout of hell-on-earth is sinus-related. Gulped pills, including two, red mana-from-the-gods, also known as Sudafed, and slumped with my head in my hands over my keyboard for a bit until the over-the-counter meds could smooth the pointy edges to a tolerable level. There was prolonged misery, but it gradually improved to mere discomfort.
So I am mostly functional now. Although still quite irked at how my body rebels against the notion of good health and wellbeing. What more does it want? I give it multiple servings of caffeine–wrung from the fresh grounds of burnt plant life–every day, lounge on the couch evening after evening, so it doesn’t have to suffer the ravages of exercise, and periodically get it hyped up on overdoses of pure, flavored sugar. Oh. Wait . . .
Writing stuff:
I know I’ve made a story title too long when I keep having to refer back to my own documents to remember what I named the bleeping thing.
Ten critiques so far on the story up on Critters. I haven’t had enough patience with myself to read through the comments as carefully as I usually do. I’ll go over them syllable by syllable when I start contemplating the rewrite, but for now I’ve just been skimming them to get the overall gist. Overall gist: good writing, not enough characterization. Sigh.
Decided to bundle together two, short folktales and send them up the queue. They’ll take their place at the end of the line when this story rolls off.
Also did the long put off rewrite of the story inspired by the Suzanne Vega story britzkrieg introduced me to. There’s so much subtext and symbolism to this one, I really don’t think it’s a good fit with the usual suspects, so I’m sending it to more “literary” places. Not mainstream literary, as it’s too Fantasy for that, but Specfic literary. An interesting niche to try to market, one that seems to pay particularly poorly in money, but exceedingly well in prestige amongst the highbrow SF circles.
I did some very depressing calculations as I went about my writerly procrastinating over the weekend. I added up what the Cricket Magazine Group will be paying me for the three stories I signed the contracts to last Friday. Each story was close to or over the maximum word count for Cricket, hence a good average of the maximum amount that market will pay all together. For those three sales, I will make almost, but not quite enough, to pay for one month of our household expenses (mortgage, bills, food, etc.) At the princely rate of a quarter a word, I would have to sell a story a week to survive at our current rate of spending.
I’d bang my head in frustration, except my noggin is still rather fragile, and quite unhappy with me as is. But at a quarter a word the notion of a short fiction writer making a living off their wordsmithing is utterly unrealistic. And to put things into perspective, there was a huge flurry of debate and objection when the SFWA raised what qualified as “pro” rates from three to five cents a word this year. So five cents a word is considered “good money” in the SF writing world. Obviously, five times that is damn fine pay.
Okay, I’m not in the writing gig for the money. I do it because I love writing. I’m an addict. I love when the words flow from my mind’s eye, through my fingers, and appear on the screen and I lose every sense of the real world around me, and become totally immersed in a story of my own creation. I love the feeling of accomplishment I get when I finish a story I’m proud of. I go through writing withdrawal if I don’t put words on the page for an extended period of time. And I’m vain enough to love seeing my name in print. But damn, it would be nice if the pay were better.
After coming back from Van Helsing and downing a cup of French vanilla coffee, I managed 1000 new words on the SF piece. Ideas are cropping up, but I’m having a hard time getting them to translate well to the page. I think it’s the present tense. I’m inexperienced with doing present tense in prose, and I think it’s coming across as too disjointed.
Also, my review of “The Voluntary State” by Christopher Rowe in Sci-Fiction is up at Tangent.
