I got as call for an interview, and haven't wwritten a thing since. shows you where my priorites lie; show me hard cash, and my mind wanders. although, job or no, I will still write. for instance, found this cute quiz
http://www.quizsoup.com/take-quiz.php?quizid=1201456672922000&
sci-fi interesting. from grimspace blog. by the way, i ended up with jumper, a kick butt heroine. oh la la.
http://www.annaguirre.com/2008/01/28/the-grimspace-publicity-juggernaut/
got it from smart bitches- cool website. a romance blog.
and my blog? I don't know if anyone is even reading it! ah! I will never be famous at this rate. well, actually, I will never be famous if I don't get published, but blaming it on the blog feels better. yes, better, less resposnbility for me.
and then, back to writing. tomorrow.
just in case someone accidentally lands on my blog, they'll see a new post, new undiscovered country no one but me has seen. *sob*

heard back from lsb- good news, bad news. first, they will not publish the book. sob. the characters didn't have enough between them, and too many flashbacks. but good news, they thougth the sex scenes were great (and I thought they would be toughest) and that they would like to see more sotries from me in the future. so all is not hopeless. flashbacks can be wiped out with a differnt plot, and I will add details about their feelings for each other.
I found the disk I was looking for. I hate moving. I will never own furniture that weighs more then twenty pounds, I swear. Somewhere between mom's china hutch, grandfather clock, and the couch, I decided that. I will nto own heavy furniture in my own house.
I have finally put the bookcases up. twenty feet long, floor to ceiling, plus all the other books piled along the walls. ouch. I have more books than most small town libraries.
I added more to the rewrite for comedy sci fi, and proud of myself. even if I didn't have the disk I wanted, I made do something. now that I have heard back from lsb, I must find something to send them, and resend forbidden passion elsewhere, after rewrtie.

rest of story

Okay, just to speed things up, here's the rest of the story.
once again, feel free to comment, and give any writing tips you want.
if I can get enough readers, i would like to post other's peoples short (SHORT) stories, and invite readers to have helpful (HELPFUL) comments, because writing is harder than it looks. if we can get enough comments, and advice, this might be a whole nother blog. free critique. neat.


"Yes, death my old friend, they keep you too, too busy. I tell you what. Take my advice. Hire an assistant."
"But where would I get one?"
"Oh, but you meet so many humans, all so needful. Take one."
"An assistant." I repeated, pouring another cup of tea.


So Jackie arrived. Poor, poor Jackie. She knew her boyfriend was a liar. And yet, she believed him when he claimed that he wasn't drunk, just too sleepy to stay upright for long. And she let him drive? Instead of taking the keys from the loser and beating him senseless for risking her life? Proof of human stupidity. And I hired her. Proof of my stupidity.
"Like, oh so totally gross," she wailed. Jackie, I noted, was a great wailer.
"Yes Jackie," I said patiently removing my fingers from my ears. Jackie also was high pitched. And loud. "A friend recommended the lighting. And hiring an assistant."
"And I'll like get another chance, right?"
"That was the deal."
"If it's the only way," she whined in a screech. I shuddered and winced.
"Second chances are not handed to just anyone. Work hard. I'm sure you'll do fine."
"Then I can see kevy again."
"If I were you I'd ask for more brain cells next time around."
And with that, I went back to work.


Don't ask me why, but I was soon, again, complaining to stokes. "It's the new office assistant. She's lost several files, and phone numbers, and screams incoherently at the computer. She can't figure out a simple fifty button phone, and the fax is beyond her. Needless to say, I will not even let her near the shredder. Or my office." I took a sip of tea, and added some booze.
Stokes eyed the liquor addition thoughtfully. "Is it really so bad?" he asked companionably.
"Stokes old buddy, you have no idea. You work in the muse department, for god's sake. Oh sorry god." I apologized quickly to the heavens. I must stop taking his name in vain. God did not like it. "The calls are piling up. Thank God for comas. I can grab a breather and hit some severe cases. " I took s sip of my tea. A big sip.
"Maybe you need more help." He suggested, looking a little bit worried.


So I hired Kevin. Nice young lad, though not overtly bright. How was he to know cleaning a toaster with a spoon was stupid?
"I took safety precautions," he said again, eyes still round. Jackie's head peeked up over a pile of files then back down again, safe as a burrowing mole. "It was round," he said.
"A spoon is still metal, even though not pointed. And toasters are designed to be clean by opening the little tray at the bottom. And you should have unplugged it first."
"The toast always looked safe enough in there," he said contemplatively.
I stared and shook my head. Were they called rednecks because all the blood stopped in their necks and never reached their brains? "It's toast," I said firmly. "Toast. Browned bread. If it's safe, why does the bread turn brown?"
"Oh yeah," he said in that enlightened tone of voice. "I guess it's a good thing I didn't stick my hand down in there." He held it up for me to admire his intelligence. You can imagine if I did that.
"Just get to work. Jackie can show you, uh, I'll show you the phones later. Just start filing. "


"I can not believe, I compounded my mistake by doing it again," I told stokes, pouring a healthy dose of brandy into the tea. I offered him the bottle as a token of friendship. I planned on the finishing the rest before I hit the office. "Twelve hours. Twelve hours, to explain the
phone system. Twice. Did you notice Kevin has the same name as Jackie's old boy? No?"
"I uh,"
"All day long, I hear 'Kevy. The phone doesn't work.' and then, 'oh, like plug it in babe. In needs it cord. Wow, just like us, we need a cord to the outside world to work.'" I drooled in my slow, Kevin like voice. Thinking, apparently, came slow and shallow to some. "and then I hear, 'oh kevy your so smart!"
"Introduce her to the amazons. Or Susan b Anthony. Or someone like that."
"I'm sure she has met people like that, on earth. That's the whole point of it. It's a place to think, live, breath," I gestured my hand up and down, palm up, "and yet these humans. Sometimes," I slapped my hand to my face and slid it down. It's not bone, by the way. That's a uniform. I am really an average looking guy. Kind of spooky, huh?
Stokes sighed heavily. "well, maybe another one." Would he never stop giving advice?
"I don't know, I don't know," I repeated firmer, gulping from the bottle.


So I hired sha-sha. Why? Don't ask me why, I'll give you a response that will give you nightmares for the rest of your life. No one likes being asked about their mistakes. Sha-sha, as she liked to be called, thought she had artsy talent. Not artistic, as in deep, meaningful, or talent. But atrtsy, as in don't bother with reason, but just because.
"I think you need more red in here." She said first thing. There were now two stacks of papers with two heads poking up. They looked at her bright tight outfit that screamed no color coordination and unaware of it, and ducked down again.
"Why would I need more red?" I asked. Stupidly. Don't encourage some people.
"Because it’s a color," she stated as though obvious. "Maybe a few red streaks around the office, like at eye level, for breaking up the space. And these papers, they should be here, for feng shi." She dumped the papers on the floor. All three office workers looked at each other.
"Don't you mean feng shu?" Jackie snapped.
"Why didn't you wear something pretty?" Sha-sha asked.
"wow. Where do you buy thread strong enough to hold on a dress that tight?" Jackie asked, jealousy dripping from her tones.
"I'm a man. I'll wear what I want, woman." Kevin said. "It's my male right," he stared into space, thinking thoughts as deep as an illiterate's pile of diplomas.
"Red. Maybe some blue." Sha-sha said.
"I don't know. Ask Kevin."
"Blue, the color of the sky, man's search for freedom." He profoundly stated.
I ran from the office.


Stokes sat there quietly, watching me wring the neck of the largest liquor bottle I could get. Now empty. "I don't know about this, Stokes. The other day I caught myself staring at some colors, on a billboard, and wondering about orange. Like totally. Oh my god!" I screamed, burying my face in my hands. "Now I sound like them."
"John, john, john," he used my old name. "Get a grip. Take a deep breath, and tell yourself it can't be that bad. You know what you should do." And off he rattled. You know what I hate about people giving advice? They never have to do what they say. I thought of this as I stared at stokes from between my hands.

So I hired an office assistant, to be in charge. Yes, stokes. He showed up on my front door step with a sad, hurt look in his eyes, as though he was a puppy being housebroken for the first time. Still, he tried to be brave about it.
"Wow." He said. "A new assignment." Each word was slow and flat, carefully stripped of revealing emotion, like the smile on his face.
"Yep, old buddy, old pal. A new assignment." I opened the door and shoved him in.
Three heads sprouted upwards to stare at him.
"Oh, kevy. A visitor."
"We're all visitors, babe. We're all visitors to planet earth."
"You need more yellow in your outfit."
"Like, you know, your kinda cute."
"Something a little more quiet maybe. Orange. That would look great on you."
"Don't be complimenting the new guy. I might want him."
"You have kevy, the tasteless wonder. He's mine. "
"He would look like a pizza in orange."
"I miss pizza. It was like life. It had everything on it, or just plain, however you wanted it."
I missed nothing. I worked outside the office. I grabbed my papers and left for a quiet day at work.

START OF STORY

Originally published by fools magazine. (R.I.P.)
"You see, my friend, I am what you call a good friend." stokes puffed on his cigar. "A helpful friend." He looked immensely pleased with himself. I thought about his advice.
"You are," I replied, "what they call an armchair quarterback." I pored the tea and took a sip from the cup. What did he know of my job, or office? Death is not always easily understood, and there are many rules in the after life. He took a sip of tea also.
"Very nice," he said. "where did you get it from?"
"India. Some kids were riding around in a convertible as fast the car will go. Really, humans’ lack of understanding of physics never cease to amaze me."
"Or their stupidity. I remember you telling me about the moron with the cigarette lighter while he was siphoning gas."
"Stupidity I understand. Tv kills brain cells. It’s the physics part. Someone in the back of a pickup, good fifty miles an hour, no seatbelt. A minor crash and what happens? I mean really? What do these gumballs think is going to happen? A few bumps? Minor road rash? A 150 pound male at fifty miles an hour. Could you imagine a 150 pound force, with the texture of cement, aiming for at over fifty miles an hour? Stokes shuddered a bit. "Yet it happens. Frequently. Amazing. Stupid, stupid humans."

now, I'll start the complaining first.
first, there's really no back ground, is there? I mean what's going on here? I'm picturing two guys, armchair, hanging out after work. one is death, one is an imp or something. is any of that in there? no. I need to spend the words to establish my setting. this is a big mistake many beginners make. scared of being too boring, too wordy, they cut too much and end up with crap. you need to play the picutre it game. I only picutre what I wrote, and compare it to my mental image. any differences need to be corrected. try to re read everything, and see if additional words would help. yes, most people say cut, edit, tight. but it still has to make sense, other know nothings about your story have to be able to follow along.
also, it's a bit preachy. yes humans are stupid, especially over p0hysics. yes, morons think a fifty mph ride in a back of a truck is redneck fun. until someone falls off. death would be a bit preachy, if he had to clean up after idiots. he has burnout, actually, in the story. it happens to a lot of emergency medical people.

come on people. don't let me the only one having fun cutting it to shreds. feel free to comment.

it works! small happy dance, big sigh of relief. note to other non computer idiots, when you replug in modems, turn the power off first. then connect everything, then back on. now I have the internet! yippee! without running up and down and rearranging a bunch of cables. yes.
now, I have decided to post small sections of my work, and invite people to rip it apart.
why?
because alien skin magazine does it, and I sent a story in, and i thought most of the their comments were helpful. not all, maybe, but they had some good points. and I got a free t-shirt. very nice. of curse, people read blogs upside down, really, because if you put a story in three sections, people see the end first, then the rest. but still. I'll think I'll give it a try, and please, feel free to tell me what you really think, even negative comments, as long as it's true.

still don't have the internet without going through a lot of hoopla. and yet, still, i haven't written a lot. no, I’ve been wasting my time setting up bookcases, reading, unpacking. you know, fun activities, like going to utilities and paying out deposits. just a thrill a minute. good thing about running up and down the stairs to whine over the internet connection, though, is that it should help me lose weight. lucky me. still have not heard from lsb, will give it one more week. I have rewritten some of the sci-fi fantasy funny erotica. I just need to crack down on myself more.
and of course, half of my writing time is spent looking for some disks. ugh. I can't believe how much crap I have. being a firefighter has taught me two things. one, have a will and testament, because you never know when sudden death will happen. (seen lots of car crashes,they really happen to fast to fill out last minute paperwork. Have it ready before hand.) and two, I know a couple of deaths that happened from too much crap. Yep, one human, couldn't get out of his house, one old lady, couldn't be found, and a few dogs that burnt because they got stuck behind junk. although, one got stuck behind one of those safety doors for toddlers, keeps them from escaping? if you have one, get one you can kick out of the way, with the kids in your hands. And now, I’m going through boxes asking myself, do I want to keep this just to keep it, or will I ever use it again, for anything?
Of course, that’s what I do when I am looking for disks. Just start tearing through boxes, and curse my bad memory, and hope for the best.

it worked! stupid fricken internet!!!!!
i hate moving. we waited days for he internet and cable. okay, so it's not a tradgey, but it still sucks. and then, no internet access up top. so we tried the router. swearing. straight to the modem. swearing. drove by the cable company to ask for another modem, they only give one per isp or something. swearing. (on the way home.) finally, desprate, rehooking the modem to the other side fo the house. slightly less swearing. because it worked, of sorts. of course, i now have a cord dangling down, a misplaced modem, and every thing needs to be reset for mom in the morning. swearing. i sense it in my future.
still have not heard back from lsb, i think i'll drop them a line after a month. just to check in. other than that, iahve learned disappointing things. i haven't been writing. i know, i know, moving is a godd excuse, but not for a want to be author like me. i need to get off my lazy buns and write, write, write.
tomorrow, or later tonight, i will either revise supers, the comedy, or start the new plot in my mind. either or. i will get some writing done.
oh, and i have vowed to only own light weight furniture for the rest of my life.

hmm. trying to think of something funny to blog about. all I can think about is the joy of moving- little sleep, endless packing, sore back, overwhelming fatigue, no access to my stuff, no internet or computer until Tuesday, (this is Friday) no cable, and being so sick of it all that am looking forward to endless hours of unpacking. ha ha ha ha. the joys of moving.

think that's funny? how about I run to your house and beat the- okay, kidding. sound whiney? it is, but moving is a witch with a b. a capital B. It means I will now worry about lsb telling me they want my book in that short span of time I won't have internet. if you ever move, call ahead and get the cable company there weeks before hand. weeks. or else.

of course, this is just my paranoia, but I also worry about my bank account going in the hole when I am not checking it, worry about anything and everything. what if we lose one of the pets? what if the moving truck runs out of gas on the steep grade and no power for the steering? I have done that in the pickup truck, come to think of it. yep, when you pull your truck between everyone else, you know you're a red neck. and when you're pushing yours, because you don't have money to pay for gas, you are the queen of the red necks. that would be me.

And I get to drive one of the u-hauls. whee. good thing I drove fire engines for a while. If your local fire department wants a bond for a larger station, so they can hire residentys, give it to them. best thing I've done in my life so far.

but moving isn't all fun and games, no siree. it's also a big pain in the wallet. listen? hear that? that's my credit card, screaming. ha ha.

but at least a blog is an excuse to take a break for a while.

I decided for whatever reason to check out the nanowrimo novel for a rewrite. It’s going pretty good, actually, and I am warming up to the romance genre more and more. The novel so far is going good, with the rewrite up to chapter five. Which is good. The sex scenes are missing. Which is bad, because I know have to rethink my characters and magically conjure up the words to describe it.
So here’s another little game for re editing. If your characters switched bodies, would anyone notice? I mean like would close friends notice your dark brooding guy is a bubbly teen? Okay. But what about all your characters? Would anyone notice? Because if there isn’t that much difference between them, chances are you have cardboard characters, a dreaded virus among writers, striking without warning from the pages of reviews.
I, personally, have the dreaded comma. Every sentence, it seems like, has one, those little buggers, right, there. , that’s an easy catch in rewrite, though, and one I am overcoming. Slowly. ,
still, dark supers is buzzing right along, so far, despite the missing chapters. It could be finished soon, if I wasn’t moving, and busy with other rewrites. The highest priority of all is forbidden passion because that is at a critical point, a professional point.
Until I hear back, to keep my nails from digging holes in the wall and other head banging hobbies of the nervous, I am working on the rewrites. Work work work.

Heard from lsb again. gasp! gut wrenching nervousness. would they like the book? dare I open the e-mail? they wanted everything in one file, not a whole attachment. oopsie doopsie. So this was a quick fix, and a good test of my nerves. sending a novel off is exciting, and I hope to hear (read, actually) good news everytime i open the e-mail. I try to consider this all a good learning experience. at least the People at lsb are wonderful, and professional, and overlooking the amatuerish mistakes so far.
of corse right in the middle of all this mom starts screaming that it smells like the cat died and she had to clean the litterbox. Have you ever tried to read a romantic scene with something like that in the background? I don't recommend it. They have a termite infested room right over me, and the ceiling creaks with every step. This is why I only write at night.

Note the new word meter on the side-because I like toys. Did I need it? Was it probably wroth the swearing trying to find one, and plaster it on the site? No. but I wanted one, and I got one. Why? Because I’m spoiled just like everyone else.
For instance, I don’t need to edit for spelling mistakes and push shift to get a capital I, because I have word perfect. And I can cut and paste. Well, duh. Readers, if I had any, will note many little mistakes, because I was typing on the create post page. Now, I am going to type in word than just cut and paste. Ta dah. No spelling errors, hopefully.
I heard back from the publishers, just a short note that say will get in touch shortly. Yikes! I got so worried seeing that in the in box. Would it be good news? Bad? I am squirming in nervousness that it will be good, but who knows. What if I screwed up when I did the re write? But I just have to wait, and hope. A contract should be in the email soon. Yep.
Now that I have a pointless word counter, I think I’ll set it at 50,000 and try to make the books go there. See, you thought I switched subjects and never came back to the first topic, didn’t you? Now that the first one is out there, so too speak, floating through sub space, I hope to have another one done soon. It's the only thing that helps calm my nerves. The comedy re write is going great. I had a lot of imagination then, and still do, with better writing, I hope. I can see where I cut too much when writing.
Also, my nanowrimo is about 50,000 but heavily in need of re edit. No surprise, it was cranked out in a month. A few touches here and there, and it might be presentable, and another book to send off and worry over and flinch when I open the email.

Good news everyone. sounds like the professor guy from futurama. (love the show.) I heard back from liquid silver books. they want the rest of the manuscript. so happy doing happy dance, happy dance, happy happy happy dance.
not that it mattered much to cool person like me, of course. (ahem. happy step!) perfectly cool about it.
Since they liked the book well enough to see the rest of the manuscript, i then spent hour, hours, back breaking muscle hurting hours, editing again, then hours screaming inventive swearwords while I tried to figure how to put ten chapters into one file. why? because they asked for it. selling e books is a profession, which means I should be professional, since if these people pay me they are my boss. I am so happy to make it past the first hurdle, I feel like I am halfway published now. the first time I sent the book out, I went back after a couple of months and re-read the first three chapters, which represent the work. they sucked. I like the rest of the book, very well. but the first three? sucked. so re-editing. changing. rewrite. until the I want to puke it's so horrible feeling went bye bye, and I could almost stand to read it again, just like the other ninety nine times I read it. and than word counts. scanning sub sites. roaming e books sites, wondering if my book would fit in here? or there? then a tentative query, and three picked apart chapters. and then I still didn't like quite everything in the first chapters, but that is okay. during re-editing, I created this nifty game. (yes, I created it, even if it's out there already, because I thought of it before I knew of it, so there.) you picture a ritzy hotel room, good looking broad with smoking pistol in purse, who knocks a chinese type vase over as she comes through the door, eyes tearing over latest beau. so you write, she walked in hotel door, knocked vase over. now, in re-edit, play this game. you only picture it if you mention it. very important. because look at the crap you wrote. a woman, so picture a dress, or vague feminine shape, a door, and vase. now, most cheap hotels don't have vases. so now, playing the picture it game, you see you should have written the blond wiped tears from her eyes. darn him! with shaking hand adorned by real diamond rings, she opened the door to the pricey hotel room. describe room here. she flung her suitcases to the side and knocked over a ming vase. notice the details? amazing how much gets left out, or might be misunderstood by mind weary readers. it's a good game, and helps me slow down my re reading, and catch more mistakes. I had no idea I dropped so many words, didn't capitalize, and misspelled. I speed read, so editing for me is tough. But if I get bored and want to skep past chapters, I ask myself why, and try to make it more interesting. Witty. Funny. Scary. Something. But play the picture only what you wrote game. Go ahead, I’ll let you, free of charge even. I’m just so nice. happy dance, happy dance.

the holidays are a good excuse, and then they're over with, and now the guilt hits. I haven't written anything for helium for a while. this is a nice site of non fiction articles, and pays okay. I am up to my second payment, and could probably call myself a paid writer, but it doesn't feel right. it's kinda like opening the package of refrigated cookies, baking, and calling myself a chef. if i want to be a writer, I need to sell writing, not research. although the program is good exercise for looking things up. and it's amazing how many little writing mistakes i make especially when tired.
so why aren't I writing? hmmm. i read too many good books, and think I can't compete. want to know if your book is good enough to be published? walk into a bookstore, and go to the section you're writing in. there's your competion. beat that, and you have a chance at seeing a book in print.
which just erodes my confidence.
because that book in my hands was good enought to get published, is my work as good?
and if the book sucks, at least they got published, who am i to say it's not good writing?
see what I mean?
there no way to win.
I have one story up for submission now, and have changed the second one repeatdly. it was going to be my nanowrimo novel, now it's a comedy. who knows next month.
but I need to crack my whip over mylazy butt. the nanowrimo month helped me see i could squeeze a lot more writing time in if I tried really hard.