Things.

• Crackfic / WAKING MAGIC is now 11k and growing. If this turns into another book, I will be disgusted with myself but quite happy. I mean…seriously. Pissed-off warrior-fairy with shark teeth, gender-swapping, combining magic with bioengineering…what the hell was I drinking when I came up with this?
• Agent blogs are not conducive to finishing work. (Neither is this one, but I waited until I was caught up to post. So nyeh.)
• I’m currently dripping from countless orifices (well, okay, only my nose and eyes). It’s like being a baby again. All the little buggers do is sit there and drip all over everything.
• I’m at once amused and disappointed that so many people retweeted this post, but only one commented. Thank you to everyone who retweeted, though. I wasn’t expecting that kind of response.
• I’ve decided that I’m going to enter ABNA 2010. Probably with the crackfic, not SB – assuming I can finish and edit the crackfic in time. SB…I’m still up in the air about what to do with that, pending response from agents with fulls.
• Still haven’t started proofreading the rewrite. Been too busy reading friends’ manuscripts, plus I want a little more distance from it. Okay, I’m scared of it. Just because it’s rewritten doesn’t mean it’s better, and who knows, this version may end up on the scrap heap.
• Kerry is a bloody awesome writer. I’ll be finishing her manuscript today, after work. There are penguins. Quiver in fear.
• Going to Cirque du Soleil tonight. I’m not sure what to expect, but the show previews had a definite Vaudeville feel. Looking forward to a night out, especially when it appeals to both my cultured and baser pleasures: theatre, well-stocked with man-candy.
• Charles de Lint’s THE BLUE GIRL is a gorgeously written book, and I’m enjoying the hell out of it.
• Everyone’s so quiet. Sihaya, Lessa, Indikaze, etc…granted, it might help if I said something worth responding to.

That’s all.

Hybrid.

This crackfic shouldn’t be so fun to write. I almost wish it was one of my “serious” projects; if only they all came this easily. Then again I often think if it’s easy, I’m doing something wrong. Part of the fun is the work; writing is one of those things where I enjoy the struggle. I enjoy driving myself batshit, glaring at things, stomping around muttering under my breath and cursing like a sailor, ranting and railing and chasing Hikaru into the office with my frothing until I finally rip an answer to my problem out of my skull (along with a few clumps of hair). Writing can be damned hard, but it’s the effort that makes it so satisfying.

But it’s also satisfying to relax, take a break, and write some sheerly stupid crackfic. I don’t need my brain for this; while I work on this, my brain cells are off recharging. It’s like Gatorade for the grey matter; crackfic even comes with electrolytes. A friend’s read it and said it’s not as fluffy-silly as I think it is, though. It’s taken on a darker overtone: post-apocalyptic sci-fi with a touch of fey magic and a little Shinto animism. It actually reminds me a little of Spirited Away, though the environments are totally different. Maybe Spirited Away meets Bladerunner meets David the Gnome meets the Kowloon Walled City.

Insert some random line here about four things meeting to becoming a crossroads, juncture, etc. Who cares. It’s crack. It’s pixie stix snorted up the nose until you’re dizzy and singing “Jingle Bells” in some obscure Pushtu dialect. I love it.

I may post excerpts here. Not sure.

Pondering entering ABNA next year. I really don’t know. There were some bad snafus on Amazon’s part this year, only escalated by Amazon personnel handling it very poorly. Many people ended up disgruntled, disenchanted, and insulted. Part of me says I should shun the contest on principle. Part of me can’t help but wonder if I’d have a better chance this year, as now rather than one $25,000 prize/contract there are two $15,000 prizes/contracts: one in Adult fiction, one in Young Adult. Part of me wonders when I started having Principles (note the oh-so-illustrious capital P).

We’ll see. I’ll think about it. Still holding off on a lot of decisions, waiting for certain things. I should know by the end of the year what I want to do, and how I plan to do it.

Christmas is coming soon. I’m not really all that down with the jingle, but y’know, I wouldn’t say no to a pet Spock wrapped up in a nice little bow.

On a more personal note:

A few months ago I ran into my ex-boyfriend from a very long time ago; I first met him during what was basically my second childhood, when I escaped the restrictions of family’s censure to go a little wild with the wannabe-goth image and pranced around flaunting my long hair and black nail polish and all those other things that are just too much of a pain to bother with now. I wanted to be dark, I wanted to be dangerous, I wanted to be badass, and I apparently enjoyed taking three hours to get dressed. So did he, so we fit each other. We fueled each others’ youthful daydreams, and for a while, all was good.

Naturally we broke up, things being the way they are. The inconstancy of youth and the impermanence of relationships based on mental retardation, etc. So when we ran into each other again, it was a bit of a surprise. A pleasant one; it was nice to know he was all right. In the many years since the demise of our relationship, I’ve outgrown the kind of overdramatic idiocy we used to indulge in. I no longer need to slink around trying to look dark, I no longer care who thinks I’m a beautiful boy or not, and I’ve had enough boyfriends confess their “true vampiric nature” to me that I’ve seriously pondered staking them just to get them to shut up. I don’t find it edgy to make everything about sex anymore; I find it dull, immature, tedious, and a bit crass. I’m still an idiot, but I’m not that kind of idiot anymore. I’ve matured – at least, I hope. I assumed my ex had, as well…that with adulthood, he’d grown past childish fancies to achieve stability and adult graces while retaining his creativity.

I was wrong. I’m not going to bash him by detailing how I was wrong; suffice to say Dramatic Things Happened that led to a nasty, shocking realization:

He’s no different than he was 8-9 years ago.

He’s still the Rebel Without a Clue, who thinks it makes him cool to not be able to hold down a retail job because of his authority issues. He’s the Eric Cartman who flips the middle finger when asked to bag groceries. He thinks he’s badass because he can’t keep friends; they “just don’t get him” (or why he’s sitting at McDonald’s filing his fingernails to points and talking about his dark hungers – the desperate desire for hot, juicy meat, the need to stalk his terrified prey: the McGriddle). He constantly talks about how dark and twisted he is, with a kind of pride that borders on desperate grasping because he doesn’t have anything else. Even while trying to talk big…he jumps to obey his current boyfriend and do the housework with an almost slavish obedience, because without the current boyfriend he’d be out on the street. You go, Lestat. Scrub that bathtub. Make sure you get in the corners of the grout; vampires hate mildew.

When I look at him I ask myself, “What happened? How can he still live in this altered version of reality and think it’s in any way viable? Why hasn’t he grown up? Was he dropped on his head as a baby? Or last week?”

And right now you may be asking yourself: Why the hell am I blathering about this on my writing blog?

Before you answer anything to do with LSD, it’s mainly because I can’t help but see the differences in us now – both of us in our late twenties, me a pragmatic, cynical writer who’s vaguely flailing around in the adult end of the pool, him a stifled man-child splashing in the kiddie pool with vampire bats stencil-painted onto his rubber floaties. It’s like the Lewis Black of the literary world meeting Gary Oldman’s rendition of Dracula cast as an unemployed mid-twenties loser. I shiver a little when I look at him and think, if not for the fact that I started writing, that could’ve been me. Well…maybe not. He and I are entirely different personalities, and even back then I found him a little ludicrous.

Who am I kidding, anyone who stretches their sibilants to sound like a snake is a frickin’ idiot.

But the point is…I channeled all my daydreams into stories. I separated them from myself, consigned them to fiction, and grew up while still having an outlet for all the silly, fantastical things I used to wish for as a boy. I think in some ways the time I spent with the ex helped to shape me as a writer, because he gave me an outlet to explore my creativity. But it was just that: an outlet and an exploration, not the foundation for a way of life that would end up ultimately crippling me because I believed my own fantasies.

I think a key thing to learn as a writer is how to separate your fantasies from reality – not just so you don’t end up a stunted man-child, but so you can edit yourself, improve your craft, and avoid a vacation in the psych ward. If you’re too in love with the fantasies you’ve written, if you want too much for them to be real, then you won’t be able to stand being as brutal as you need to be to shape those fantasies from self-fulfilling drek into a story with real plot and purpose. It’s sort of the same as being able to separate your fantasies from real life to shape yourself into a mature adult with goals, responsibilities, and common sense. Self-editing doesn’t just apply to writing; it applies to life, and to learning appropriate behavior in a society that requires some form of cooperation for it – and you – to survive. Individualism is one thing, something to be encouraged and applauded…but blatant immaturity, also known as “special snowflake syndrome,” is just stupid.

Eh. This is just meandering without much point or purpose, and no real end goal in mind. I’ve spilled my troubled thoughts, and now I’m off to find a good movie, curl up, and relax. To sum up:

Don’t be a damned Mary Sue. Not in your stories, and not in your life.

Not a zombie!

Guess who isn’t dead?

Oi, where in hell have I been?

Well, to put it shortly…

1. Tooth pain. Bad tooth pain. One of my molars is now nothing but an L-shaped shell that has blessedly been numbed entirely until I can get it pulled out.

2. Months of mental exhaustion from a combination of work and pain that tried to carve my brain cells out and eat them.

3. Months of playing World of Warcraft to distract myself from the pain, and then getting sucked in until it killed what few brain cells I have left.

4. My computer crashing constantly, which was 90% because of #3.

Basically I’ve been kind of slogging through life on auto-pilot. And I got entirely sick of it a couple of days ago. It feels like waking up from a dream where even in the dream I’m sleeping, but it’s good to feel alive again (and not to be in pain anymore, and not to be wasting any more time on a game that really can be like an addiction; I’ve 95% quit, and only log in for about 5 minutes a day).

I have been working on revisions in that time, though, and I’m almost done. I’m not going to start querying with the new version yet, though. I still have to proofread it with a fine-tooth comb, for one, and get some feedback from beta readers to see if it works or not. Also, I still have a couple of fulls out on the old version. It’s a one in a million shot that either agent will want to represent me (isn’t it always?), but should either of them express interest, I think it’d be rude to say, “Oh, you know that manuscript you just wasted a couple of days of your life reading? Well, I have a better one now. Sorry to waste your time!” If someone likes it as-is (well, obviously with revisions–there are always revisions once it gets into an agent’s hands, as they have the professional perspective to help shape it)…well, it’d be stupid not to trust their judgment.

Still, it’s a tricky situation. When I started querying, I thought I was ready. Someone asked about that in the Twitter #askagent chat last night, actually – about what to do when you thought you were ready to query, and then end up rewriting until it’s practically a different, better novel, and if it’s all right to requery. Most were pretty positively responsive, as long as you wait a decent length of time to requery. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m going to query with the new version. Depending on the response I get from the agents with fulls, I’ll make a decision on where to go from here.

I miss writing. I’ve been doing a few little drabbles the past few days; nothing really important, but just warming up unused muscles.

As if the entire ramble wasn’t random enough, let’s close off with a completely different topic:

I really wish people would stop making such a huge fuss about President Obama bowing to the emperor of Japan. When in Rome, people. When in Rome. It’s called politeness and mutual respect, and if we’re going to expect everyone to conform to our customs when on our soil, then we can have the courtesy to respect their customs when on their soil. It’s not a sign of weakness or deference, and the kind of close-minded centrism rising around that sentiment is why half the world hates us.

That’s all. So. How’re you? (…if there’s anyone even left in this ghost town…)

Might just be a milestone.

I’m almost done with “An Insurrection.” I figure I need about an hour of unbroken time after work to wrap up the last 500-odd words of it, filling in the little gaps I left during last night’s flurry to get the basic chain of events down.

It feels like quite an accomplishment, even if it’s something rather small. I haven’t finished a short story with a concrete beginning, middle, end, and overall plot in at least ten years (drabbles/snippets/scenes don’t count). I didn’t think I could. But this one’s pretty much done, waiting to be wrapped up. Makes me happy. I’m going to let it sit for a few days, then edit it and submit it in time for the Esquire contest deadline. It’s already up to 3,800 words, so I figure I’ll have to trim about 500-600 words off to get it near the contest maximum. Shouldn’t be a problem.

The story is a huge departure in style and theme from anything I’ve written before, but sometimes that’s needed. Freshen things up. Keep the imagination loose. Flex the mental muscles so they don’t atrophy and the ideas don’t grow stagnant.

And heaven help me, I actually think it’s good. As in, proud enough to read off turns of phrase that I particularly like out loud, making Hikaru endure my horrible attempts to narrate in character.

You know that means the story’s got to be pure crap.

Anyway. I’m just rambling and avoiding work in my current sleepless-zombie mode. No, I’m still not sleeping properly. It’s a lost cause. I likely never will.

Off I go. Though before I do, question:

Why do authors get so resentful and bent out of shape over agent rejections? I can understand being disappointed, but I don’t really understand the personal, targeted resentment and vitriol authors direct towards agents who rejected their queries or stories as an impersonal business decision. It just baffles me to hear stories about authors who answered rejection letters with flaming attacks. No, people. No. Business. Treat it as such. You wouldn’t send a flaming bag of poop to an employer who decided you weren’t right for a particular job opening, would you? No? Then don’t send the online equivalent of it to agents.

This probably needs a title.

It’s amazing and sad that major news sources are taking this long to say anything about the June 2nd death of fantasy author David Eddings.

I am having a terrible time focusing on work this morning. Part of that is because I’m trying to remember a book that I wanted; it was a reference book of some sort, yet I can’t seem to even remember what subject it was about. It’s been on my mind for three days – yet now that I’m putting together a book order, it’s completely slipped my mind and it’s driving me buggy.

I wonder if it’s possible to be senile at 30.

I’m also getting pulled off on tangents by snippets of Ken’s story (book two, which I’m back to calling Ken’s story as I’m not happy with the title Earth’s Tempest – sounds like a romance novel). I’ve been posting bitlets of dialogue to LJ now and then, but keep wanting to write more. I just…completely suck at having a work ethic right now, unless it involves actual deadline work that I get paid for. I really need to get out of that trap; that’s how many authors end up sinking themselves, by focusing only on the 9-5 and then saying “Oh, that story…I’ll work on it again tomorrow.” And of course tomorrow never comes.

Last distraction? Feeling gypped that I paid $4.99 to watch City of Ember On Demand. That…that was godawful. Even worse was that I kept thinking “Oh hey, that boy looks like Roman – oh. Oh, no, he doesn’t. Dear god, no, he really doesn’t. Boy? Boy, please close your mouth. Please. No one likes a mouth breather.”

It randomly struck me, as I was trying to figure out how to fit seven job descriptions of average length onto two bloody effin’ pages, that I’m very bad at knowing the difference between middle grade fiction and young adult fiction. I blame this on my own personal reading experiences growing up; I devoured books voraciously and never paid attention to their reading level, so they all blended together in my mind (especially since in my hometown library, there was basically an adult section, a children’s section, and a YA section that lumped YA and MG together). The age of the protagonist(s) is no longer an indicator, as you can have MG books with 18-year-old protagonists or YA books with 12-year-old protagonists. It’s mainly a matter of length, content, and maturity of storyline, I guess…but it’s still a blurred line that I think I often walk incorrectly.

Need to send out a few more queries today; I’ve been slacking, but to me, sending out just one query is a lot of work. I never understand people who can send out fifteen to fifty queries a day. It takes time to research an agent, custom-prepare your sample materials according to their guidelines, adjust your query letter to fit their style and requirements, and then obsessively triple-check everything to ensure you’ve added the right things and didn’t make any mistakes. If it takes me less than an hour to get a query packet together, I feel like I’ve half-assed the job.

Also need to finish revising the SB synopsis. Still waiting on initial “Yes, I’d like to see more / No thanks, not right for us” responses from several queries, as well as waiting for a response from the agent with the full.

The Magazine of Fantasy and Sci-Fi is currently accepting submissions. I may try my hand at short stories again. My inability to write them is an obstacle I really need to overcome.

Have almost completely lost interest in World of Warcraft, for a variety of reasons. Laptop keeps overheating and crashing while playing; chill mat doesn’t help much (I suspect there may be an abundance of cat hair in the internal fan, contributing to the crashes). Have no desire to level another class to 80; I have two 80s, and that’s more than enough. RP in-game has gotten entirely tedious, with OOC drama that I have no desire to deal with; since RP was the main reason (beyond a few dailies) that I logged on regularly and I’ve now found entirely spectacular non-WoW RP with a friend, I have little reason to pop into the game anymore.

Oh, btw…the majority of you have already heard, but yes, Hikaru and I are engaged. No date set yet. Happy birthday, love. He’s 24 today.

Oh, yeah. One other thing.

I passed my CPRW exam. I am now a Certified Professional Resume Writer.

That’s all.