Author Archives: Eugie Foster

Slept something like twelve hours last night and I’m totally out of it. I feel like my brain is coated in a viscous cotton candy swamp and I want nothing more than to go back to sleep. But I really think twelve hours ought to be plenty, dammit.

The bed looks awfully comfy, though.

Anyway, 1100 words (give or take) on the novel. Got briefly stumped on a scene I wanted to write but didn’t know how to approach. Then had a conversation with Matthew about something totally off the subject and it clicked. Words on the page commenced.

Can barely think. Want to sleeeppp . . .

Just read in the SFWA online update that they’re planning to change the qualifying pay requirements for a market to be deemed “pro” from three cents a word to five cents. The decision needs to be confirmed by the counsel to be finalized, but the membership board unanimously passed it.

On one hand, it’s high time the rate change is made. Three cents a word has been the minimum “professional” rate for decades, in defiance of basic economic realities like cost of living and inflation. Frankly, calling even five cents a word a “professional” rate is laughable, much less the previous three cents. A writer would still be way below the poverty level if they were to try to earn a living based solely upon short fiction sales at five cents a word. Hell, it’s nearly impossible for a novelist, much less a short story writer, to make a decent living these days.

On the other hand, it’ll make it much more difficult for earnest SFWA applicants and borderline markets to qualify. Some previously qualifying markets will probably lose that distinction unless they increase what they pay writers, which may strain already shaky markets into bankruptcy. And the SFWA risks being viewed (moreso) as overly elitist by its potential target members.

I dunno. On a personal level it doesn’t impact me all that much. I’ve got two solidly qualifying sales at any criteria level (Cicada and Cricket) under my belt and two other sales that may qualify, pending committee review. Although they look less likely if this increase passes. Paradox pays three to five cents a word. They may up their rate to five cents, but they’re a very new publication. I worry about the financial stability of any beginning publishing enterprise. Phobos Books already pays a minimum of six and a half cents a word (more depending upon length of story) for their contest winners, but I’m pretty sure they only pay four cents a word for their Galaxy anthology. But again, they may increase their rates if this passes in order to qualify.

But even if Paradox and Phobos don’t end up qualifying, I fully expect to make a solid third sale eventually. I’m pretty confident I’ll qualify for active membership in the fullness of time. It might be a little fuller than I had first thought, but it’ll happen. So I guess it’s not an impossibility for a veritable unknown to rise to the ranks of active membership even at the new increased rates. But it just got somewhat harder. Not sure what to think about this development.

Shunting aside the business and political end of writing in favor of the important stuff:
New words on the novel: 1300, anti-words: 200

And I’ve pulled down a couple stories from Critters to review. One of them is the first two chapters of a novel from a regular critter and a person I consider a friend. I always look forward to his submissions in the queue. He frequently manages to surprise me. I always think his efforts are going to be solid Fantasy, and then I discover there’s a major Science Fiction element underlying the whole thing. Neat.

This is really sad, but I have to say it. I like programming. It’s not a 24×7 thrill ride or big, shiny endorphins firing round the clock, but as far as day jobs go, I’m okay with it. There’s something terribly satisfying about being presented with a problem or task, creating a process that didn’t exist before, and then watching it run successfully. Plus there can be a certain elegance to a well-written program.

On the writing front I made another 2000 words of progress on the novel. And again, I’m pretty sure they’re crappy. But at least they’re coming. I’ll spit polish and sand the damn things into shape later. But as long as the words are coming, it’s good.

On the mother-visiting front, Matthew pointed out we need my mother’s husband’s last name (and I assume her last name now) to make their hotel reservations. We appear to have mislaid the wedding announcement and are tearing the place apart looking for it.

It is terribly surreal that I can’t remember my stepfather’s (and probably my mother’s) last name. It’s one of those things I feel I should, I dunno, know. Hell, I’m not sure I have the proper pronunciation of my stepfather’s first name down. Damn it. This is very weird.

(edit: The hotel was okay with us making the reservation without their last name. Whew.)

Monday kicked my ass at work again. Tipped over on the couch early last night and woke up to Matthew handing the phone to me. It was my mother calling from China. Between the wretched overseas connection and me being dazed from waking from a sound sleep, I don’t remember much of the conversation. Except she wants us to make hotel arrangements for her visit.

Not sure if that triggered it or if it was just not my night for peaceful slumber, but when I went back to sleep, my nightscape was filled with really disturbing, really vivid dreams. Nothing horrifying or nightmarish, just unpleasant. Yuck. I hate that unsettled, surreal feeling in the morning after a night of freaky dreams. Morning is when the dreams go away, dammit.

In better news, my muse has returneth–with a vengeance even. Did about 3500 words on the novel. Yes, the novel. I’ve got the whole thing outlined, but I can’t gauge how long it’s going to be. I’m into chapter ten out of twenty-five, which would seem to indicate about halfway with 20K words solidly in the bag, but the major plot complications are yet to come. It feels more like I’m a third or even a quarter of the way into it. I dunno. It’s going to be shortish as novels go in any case, unless I’m really underestimating chapters eleven through twenty-five, which I probably am.

I need less speculation on the novel’s structure and more writing, dammit. This is very different from writing short stories. 3.5K words would be the bulk of a short story and this was just a bitty-teeny plot/character development portion. It doesn’t help that I suspect the new word countage is mostly crap. I hit flow so didn’t bother going over my initial words-on-page, which are usually extremely raw. I need several passes of my internal editor before my prose even approaches zero draft status. I’m a bit anxious about how bad it probably is since I haven’t produced anything new since Dragon*Con. But, at least I got words on the page.

Also finished the rewrite of my “squicky” story and it’s out. Cut about two hundred words and added in a touch more dialogue for clarity. Let’s see if I can sell this baby. Fly, my little one! Fly!

I’m making writing progress. Rah.

Finally! The listing on Shocklines.com for Asylum 3: The Quiet Ward is no longer listed as “out of stock” and now says “usually ships within 2-3 business days.” I don’t know what sort of shipping situation Prime Books had with their printer, but I’m glad it’s working itself out now.

‘Cept it’s still listed as “unavailable” on Amazon.com.

And I have yet to receive my contrib copy. Grumble.

Got an email from my mother today. She and I don’t exactly have a close relationship. She lives in China; I live in Georgia. We send each other birthday cards once a year. Recently she re-married and the first I heard she was seeing anyone, much less engaged, was the wedding announcement.

She and her new husband are planning to swing by America in October and they’re thinking of spending a couple days in Atlanta. She wants to know if Matthew and I are free then to entertain. I can deal with a couple days of my mother’s company. Really I can. And I am curious to meet her husband. Apparently he has a couple sons. I have a pair of step-brothers. Huh.

I haven’t seen my mother in years. I’m not sure how many. Less than ten, more than five, I guess. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again and I was okay with that.

Weirdness.

The three-weeker on Critters ended Wednesday and I’ve got . . . fifty-one critiques of my “squicky” story. GLAH! Too. Much. Information. I think my “gore and violence” warning at the top of my manuscript attracted people instead of scaring them away. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. But now I’d like to start on my rewrite, but before I can do that I face the daunting task of trying to run my usual stats and review of all the critiques. My God. Fifty-one opinions is a lot of opinions to wade through.

At the beginning of the first week, I was pretty caught up. I’d already logged and broken down sixteen of the critiques. Normally, that’d be the majority of them, leaving room for maybe five or ten more to trickle in. But the tri-week and Dragon*Con increased my crit number and decreased my attention-paid-to-crits, respectively.

There’s a limited returns factor to this. When I’m procrastinating on doing actual writing because I don’t want to go through the sheer mass of critiques, that’s just plain counterproductive.

Hmm. I’m complaining about getting too many critiques. That’s just wrong. Gurgle. Okay. This weekend I’ll sort through the critiques and hammer out my rewrite. I will send this story out on Monday. Dammit.

In totally unrelated news, our 2nd season Angel DVD set arrived yesterday. Hurray! Angel-viewing marathon to commence. Rah!

On Spec has had one of favorite stories since late March. I finally got my courage up to query them on Monday–after all if I’ve been biting my nails and obsessively checking my mailbox for six months, I’d really like to know if it even got to them–and they inform me that yes they got it, and yes it’s still under consideration. The general editor even said that “no news was good news” and apologized for the long wait.

Gleep. Trying desperately hard to keep my hopes reined in. On Spec has quarterly reading periods and a sort of committee editorial process, although according to their website, consensus isn’t necessary to buy a story. But what that means is the longer a story is held by them, the more seriously it’s being considered as it makes the rounds from editor to editor.

I would LOVE for On Spec to buy this story. Aside from the obvious “woohoo, another sale” thing, I’m extremely fond of this one, and On Spec is the premiere Canadian Spec Fic magazine. They’re a wonderful publication with a prestigious history. It’d be such a wonderful home for my little tale. My fingers are so tightly crossed they’re turning blue.

Gulp.

My day job kicked my ass today. How dare my project folks heap gobs of work on me on a MONDAY? One rewritten module, two updated JCL jobs, and a brand new process (still in development) later, I looked up from my monitor, stunned to realize it was still Monday. Wasn’t that enough work to take me through the whole week already?

On the night job front, after my brief burst of writerly success, I’m slapped back to earth. Got a BFoD from RoF in the mail for one of my very favorite stories. I love this piece but can’t seem to place it. Out it goes again, but I’m quite bummed. It didn’t even make it past Carina, RoF‘s first reader. Damn.

I just don’t understand what sells and what doesn’t. I know I’ve said this before, but the marketing/editorial mindset is just a big ole mystery to me. Stories that I consider light, rattled-off pieces have sold, sometime to pro-markets their first time out, while my favorite, really polished, really meaningful works languish, piling up the rejection slips. It’s enough to make a writer seek a pointy edge to head-thump in frustration. Although I guess I would be more distraught if nothing of mine sold at all, so on that note I’m pretty grateful for the vagaries of the editorial world. Still puzzled as all hell.

Still no muse sightings, although I think I scented her perfume today. She’s skittish, so I’ve put some coffee out to lure her back. Waiting . . . waiting . . .

And it appears I’m back on the caffeine wagon. Not a surprise. I expected to be after Dragon*Con. Just wanted to make sure the big C worked during the convention itself. Now I need it to get me through the aftermath.

I need another holiday.