Skip to main content

I don’t even see the code anymore;

I'm getting ready to send out my submission packet. Send my baby out into the big wide world to be rejectamacated. A bit light at first, just two: one to a publisher and one to an agent. I'm planning on having this baby go through about 75 or so rejections before I shelve it.

I've read the same 50 or so pages like five times already. After a while, all the jokes kinda fall flat. I don't even know what the hell I"m reading and why I'd be bothering anyone with it. Yeah, I know, angst angst, slit slit. It's kinda like video games. After a while, the neat little graphicy explosions and stuff just fade away, and all you really experience is the gameplay. I call it my Tetris theory. And if any of that made sense, congrats, you are a nerd.

After reading the same stuff over and over again, you actually sort of memorize it, and your brain just glosses over it. I think that's natures way of telling me to just send it off already. Why nature would butt her nosy little ass into my business of horrid novel writing, I have no idea. Apparently the whole Intelligent Design dunderheads aren't keeping her busy enough. I'm not sure why some neo-con political group in the US would affect an anthropomorphic metaphor for the biosphere and all the macro and micro interactions that make up what we call the Living World (not to be confused with the Unliving World, which makes for excellent fodder for zombie flicks, zombie games, and justifications of the Goth Lifestyle(tm)).

They say a writer is never done editing a book, he just abandons it. And that's what I'm doing. I can only read my own tired writing so many times. I'm itching to get a new novel started. It's also getting pretty depressing to find myself doing tons of fricking work every single time I edit. It's supposed to be LESS editing each pass. I guess I can take comfort in the idea that few of my writer heroes ever got their FIRST novel published, it was usually their second or third.

Well, the two submissions are all addressed and stuff, and ready to go. Fire in the hole, as it were.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Good luck, good Owl! May your work find a home and that the whole process doesn't tax your soul entirely.

Onwards and upwards!
Anonymous said…
Dude,

I wish I'd known about your blog earlier!! Good luck and such things as may appease you in the dark corners of your mind where you fear rejection in all its myriad forms!

No, seriously, good luck mate. :)

Popular posts from this blog

Insults From A Senile Victorian Gentleman

You SIR, have the hygeine of an overly ripe avocado and the speaking habits of a vaguely deranged chess set. I find your manner to be unctuous and possibly libelous, and whatever standard you set for orthodontal care, it's not one I care for. Your choice in news programs is semi-literate at best and I do believe your favourite news anchor writes erotic literature for university mascots. While I'm not one to point out so obvious a failing, there has been rumour that the brunches you host every other Sunday are made with too much lard and cilantro. If you get my meaning. There is something to be said about your choice of motor-car fuel, but it is not urbane and if I were to repeat it, mothers would cover their children's ears and perhaps not a few longshoremen within earshot would blush. How you maintain that rather obscene crease in your trousers and your socks is beyond me, perhaps its also during this time that you cultivate a skin regime that I'm sure requires the dea...

People You Meet on Transit #5

Thanks to Jay Morrison for the photo. Transit Drivers Bus drivers are an archetype in North American culture. In the imagination they are generous in girth, have staunch opinions about unions and eat 300% the recommended intake of red meat. The odd one adheres to a strict conspiracy theory, which they manage to work into the most innocuous conversations. At least, that's what's been ingrained in our collective subconscious along with "Han shot first" and "Dukakis, 1988". But transit drivers, like everyone else, are individuals. Unique, utterly one of a kind from the 5 billion others who roam this spinning mass of molten iron with the cool, carbon life-form infested shell. Sure, you see the reticent ones, who have a 100 yard stare and coolly watch passengers get mild hypothermia while they take their union-sanctioned 15 minute break inside their cozy bus. But there are other, more colourful characters as well. In my city, there is one that calls out every st...

Cyberpunk 2077

 Like a late 90's webring, replete with link back and hints at an actual relationship with other authors, this is a piece I'd like to say in.. rebuttal is too harsh a term, in reply, to my very long standing internet friend, zompist, where he posts his various gripes with that great sprawling hot mess, Cyberpunk 2077. Now I say hot mess because that's what the internet at large thinks of it, but me, playing on the worringly over-powered computers on GeForce Now, have experienced nearly no problems. Or at least not problems that bother me enough. Keep in mind I'm the Homer Simpson when it comes to critiquing alot of things. I just like, alot of things. Cheap date, as it were.   It might be my hundreds of hours in Bethesda titles and regularly having to look up console commands to debug yet another janked out quest, but it takes a rather large bug to befuddle and begrudge me. Like if a bug repoed my car, maybe, or  told me how much weight I had actually put on during ...