Author Archives: Eugie Foster

I am having a week from Hell.

I think I’m seeing a trend with my new meds, although it might be too early for me to be sure. I take it once a week, split into two doses on Sunday PM and Monday AM. It hits my mood on Monday and lingers until Tuesday or Wednesday, casting a layer of depression over me for those couple of days.

This week, our car broke down, which didn’t help things, but our Prelude is an Older Car and we still have my Accord which is shiny and newish. And the fix-it price wasn’t horrible. So no biggie.

But then the hard drive on my laptop totally fubared itself on Tuesday. And all of the techs and all of their tools couldn’t put it back together again. I am not screaming on the floor in a padded room because I made backups, but only of the things that I would scream on the floor in a padded room about if I lost. Other Very Important files are gone to the place where deceased bytes dwell, leaving me extremely unhappy but not devastated. The techs I have been on the phone with and consulting since then inform me that it’s something that “happens” and that we’re nearing the life-cycle of these particular systems, which is why we’re scheduled to get replacements in a few months.

Oh why couldn’t the damn thing have held out on its brain implosion for a few more months?

Hardware/mechanical issues always leave me feeling powerless and depressed, and so I’ve got a double whammy going on in my head.

I had that laptop for something like five years. There was a LOT of data on that thing. All gone.

*whimper*

Well, I got home today and there was nice news and crappy news.

The crappy news was that our Honda Prelude broke down while Matthew was driving it to the grocery store. Fortunately, it broke down like a block away, so it wasn’t much of a trek for him to come back home. We’ve got towing insurance too, so we’re having it towed gratis to the dealer to get it fixed. But it will undoubtedly cost $$ to get it fixed. Crappola.

The nice news is that I was surfing the blog of the editor of Eggplant Productions, and she was talking about the covers of the ELP library works. She mentioned that she asked John Savage of Rumor Mill lawyer fame to create a cover for one of the entries. And the one he did was my piece, “Troubadour and the Moon.”

So I got a sneek peek of the artwork:

Neat. But our car is still broke, goddamit.

Yep, my shiny 2003 Taylup Calendar informs me that today is Limerick Day!

Poetry for the common man, eponymously named after the Irish town, a limerick is a five-line poem in anapestic trimeter, renown for humorous and bawdy content. Go, limericks!

And no, I’m not going to torture anyone with my doggerel efforts. I ain’t no poet. But don’t let my reticence stop y’all!

I just found out that the editor who requested a story of mine just resigned. Apparently she had editorial differences with the publisher.

Fuckity fuckity fuck!

And jeez that was fast. I mean she’d only had the position for a little over a month!

Well, there goes my sure sale. But the story in question is still at the original market I sent it to. Maybe they’ll buy it. *crosses fingers*

Happy Mother’s Day/Lunantishee everyone!

I slept in today. Didn’t get up until nine. Woot! Well, it’s an accomplishment for me.

One of the engines in our hot tub was making some really loud whirring noises, so we called the store that sold it to us and they sent someone out. It’s still under warrenty so we didn’t have to pay anything, but we were pinned in the house until the repairman came by. It’s all fixed now, but I wanted to go out and do some shopping yesterday, and that didn’t happen.

We did treat ourselves to a dinner out at a little Italian place nearby. I believe it’s called Ippolito. Had white pizza and black and white cake for dessert. Yummy.

Came home and watced Dave, the movie with Kevin Kline and Sigourney Weaver. Fell asleep during it with both Hobkin and Matthew snuggled against me, all warm and safe. Mmm.

Got an email invite to a Memorial Day picnic that the local Mensans are having. Guess here’s our chance to get together with them. Erm.

Didn’t get any more writing done yesterday, but I’m trying not to force word count.

Woke up this morning at 7 to Hobkin demanding his breakfast. Bleary eyed and groggy I fully intended to feed him and then go back to sleep. Unfortunately, once I wake up in the AM, it’s nearly impossible for me to fall asleep again. So I fed him and went back to bed, and proceeded to toss and turn for the next hour. Looks like I’m up. Now he’s asleep under his hutch, content with his full tummy and I’m wide awake. Sigh. Maybe I’ll have some coffee.

Had a lovely evening with britzkrieg and her S.O. Jaime last night. Much munchie snacking and excellent conversation. They have a beautiful house with the most decadent backyard populated by plump, playful squirrels and a colorful array of birds. It was just the sort of change of pace that I needed. Hope to get together with them again soon.

Feeling a bit more positive about the whole writing thing. I did 500 words this morning on a brand new fairy tale. Yep, still writing fairy tales, but I’m okay with it. It’s set in India and I did a bunch of research on it before I began. I expect to have it completed before the end of the weekend. It should be short.

Plan to write a couple more critiques this AM before I wake Matthew up, so off I go.

Happy Lost Sock Memorial Day, everyone!

Did about eight critiques on Critters. Got several more ear-marked for today or tomorrow (including yours britzkrieg!) Got a “thank you” note back from one of the people whose stories I critiqued that basically said “thanks but I don’t do rewrites.” WTF? What’s the point of using a critique group if you don’t rewrite? And this whole “I don’t do rewrites” thing is really hitting my eyes-rolling reflex in any case. I mean are there any professional writers who don’t appreciate the value of a rewrite? *snort*

In other news, Hobkin was quite a wild thing this morning. After breakfast he pawed at my legs wanting to get picked up, and then when I picked him up, he’d wiggle and squirm until I put him down. Lather, rinse, repeat. And once when I put him down, as soon as his paws hit the carpet he went charging forward willy-nilly right into the coffee table, bonk. Silly animal. Did that knock some sense into him? No, of course not. He went charging around the house, stomping and tail up. He pulled down some printouts and shredded a manuscript page before I rescued it, tugged at my dangling purse strap so it fell off the table for him to savage, and dug at the entertainment center, trying to open the doors we’ve got a baby lock on. But eventually he tuckered himself out, came to me to get picked up, and flopped asleep. So now I’m pinned at the computer with him snoring in my lap. He looks like a fuzzy little angel now. I can hardly believe he was such a demon beastie just a short while ago. Heh.

Happy Furry Day and Lost Sock Day everyone!

I’ve decided to hold off on trying to write anything new for a couple days. In the interim, I’ll critique a bunch of stories on Critters and get my MPC count back in the positive numbers (well, probably number, singular). I’m hoping that focusing on other people’s technique–both successes and failures–will get my mind off the dissatisfaction I’m having with my own.

Actually, on the subject of critiquing stories, I think one of the best things I’ve done for my writing is join Critters. A lot of times the advice isn’t all that useful, or it’s contradictory, but sometimes it’s dead on. And regardless, it’s helped me to acquire a nice, tough skin when it comes to feedback and rejection, something every writer needs to have. Plus, it gives me something writing-oriented to do when I can’t manage to get my writing gears revved up. A productive diversion. Yepper.

Well, actually, I don’t think it’s technically writer’s block because I’m still cranking out words. But I’m terribly dissatisfied with most of the words that’re coming out. Plus I think my muse is stuck in fairy tale land. I appear to have fixated on the children’s fairy tale/folktale shtick. And, while I really do love those, I’m kind of feeling like I ought to be working on other stuff and those other words just aren’t coming.

Part of my dissatisfaction is the dearth of top tier children’s markets. I’ve whined about this before, but with adult-audience stories, there’s so many top markets that as soon as I finish a story–from zero draft to final–there’s someplace I can send it. But I’ve been cranking out one 2000-word fairy tale every one to two weeks, and no first ranked children’s market has that fast a turnover rate. And there’s lots fewer of them in any case. Guess there are worse things in the world than having more stories written than markets for them, but I don’t feel like I’m being productive if what I write isn’t circulating in the marketplace, trying to find a home. Contributing to the backlog makes me twitchy and twitches make my muse skittish.

I’m also good and blocked on two longer works: my novel and my cyberpunk novella. Not to mention a handful of short stories I started that then petered out. Some of those I may pick up again, but a couple I can’t stand to look at.

I dunno, maybe I should just count my blessings and write another half a dozen children’s fairy tales. Maybe I don’t have the focus right now to produce longer, more insightful works and should be happy that I’m completing anything.

I’m also feeling the recent round of rejections more keenly than I usually do. Most of the time I can just shrug and toss the declined manuscript to the next market, but this is one of the longer stretches, numerically, that I’ve gone without an acceptance since I started selling. It’s not the longest, and it’s certainly not the longest if I calculate it by length of time (there was nearly a year between my first sale and my second). But for some reason, it’s weighing more heavily on my anxiety meter.

I suspect my head’s just not in a good place right now. The meds are certainly throwing me for a loop. I’m undoubtedly stressing over nothing and should just write–markets, rejections, and subject matter be damned. But that still doesn’t alleviate the stressing.

The weekend was fantastic. Salome was great. I adore Oscar Wilde. And before the show we went to the Roasted Garlic for tapas. There’s a Roasted Garlic like four minutes away from us that we’d never been to before. Neat.

And we went to the Botanical Gardens yesterday, and to the vegan Chinese restaurant for dinner (used to be called “Sam’s Gourmet,” it how has new management and is called “Little China”) after that. The Botanical Gardens were beautiful. A part of me has the urge to wax poetic here, but another part of me is too despondent to make the effort. I’m going with despondent me. Probably just as well as I have a feeling any words I try to string together right now would be clunky at best.

It was a lovely weekend and I should be refreshed and rejuvenited. But I’m not.

Instead, I’m having post-holiday blues. Doldrums or something. Or maybe it’s the meds screwing with my emotional state again. Started a new one this week: methotrexate. It has the unfortunate side effect of making me a bit nauseous. Lovely. It also has other side effects that require me to go in for blood tests every four months. And I can’t drink alcohol anymore. Not a biggie, as I don’t drink all that much now, and my doctor said I could still have a little bit as long as I didn’t tell him about it, but still annoying. Oh, and it’s a teratogenic agent, so no children for me. But, since I’m avowedly childfree anyway, that’s hardly a concern. It also, however, lists mood alterations as a possible side effect. And I’m still on the Prednisone, which isn’t doing wonderful things for my mental state either. Great.

I feel surly and depressed. And queasy. Mustn’t forget queasy.

Writing stats:
Blah. Finished a 2000-word re-imagining of a classic Indian fairy tale. Matthew didn’t like it much. Not sure what to do with it. Probably will just throw it up on Critters and let the reviewers have at it.

No new rejections or acceptances over the weekend, although I’m expecting some to come in this month. Still jonsing for another sale. It’s like an addiction is what it is. Addictions, no matter what their shape, are uncomfortable.

I should work on a fantasy piece I made a beginning on, but I don’t feel like doing much of anything aside from feeling snappish and sorry for myself.

Grumble. Stupid brain.