Well, I didn't win. After a delay, I was informed that I had joined the ranks of Honorable Mentions. Apparently, the story was teetering on being a Semi Finalist. When I hadn't heard back, I re-read my entry and found some glaring errors, of which the only excuse I have is that I rushed to get it in. I have since smoothed the glaring stuff and am debating on whether to re-enter or submit it to another market. After this much investment in the piece, I feel that it should be fruitful. Then comes the problem: classifying it. It's Fantasy with a sprinkle of Sci-Fi. Where do you send that? Hard Sci-Fi magazines will reject it because there isn't much science, and Fantasy magazines could do likewise because the setting is post-apocalyptic. Grrr. Just winning the damned contest would've solved that dilemma.
Flash Fiction Online's March lineup has already been decided. There is a holiday story that I pulled for, so I'm working something special up for that, and three others. It's growing. It seems the last couple of months have seen one more story than the last. Suprisingly, I already have a jump on the illustrations, though. I actually have a painting done. The others I have ideas for. I think, for the holiday special, I'll serve up something a little different; a mix of mediums. It never hurts to present the illustrations with the feeling of the piece's theme.
I also have a piece out under a pseudonym. With a record of one rejection, one outright rejection for WOTF (no obvious Speculative Element), and one Honorable Mention, I am charging into this year on a new level. Wish me luck. And good luck to you, too.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Getting there...
I love writing.
For all the words I weave, the heat of completion and coldness of imperfections, and the multiple tearing down and reconstructions of the process, I love it. I am an eternal student, a slave of what I shall never master. I live for my need, my passion. A poet, a dreamer, trapped by my imagination for no other reason than my love for it.
But I am learning. Not just from the study and practice, but from seeing my own flaws in the works of others and being able to identify them. From the brilliance displayed in the most flawed manuscript. The compulsion to write, to express our thoughts and dreams and fears, to dig deep into the realms governed by our fickle minds, is a wide-spread disease. Be careful, you just may catch it too. Or maybe you already have.
The bad news is: There is no cure. You've got it for life. Whether or not you press on to publication has little to do with that compulsion. Oh, there are some that say you have a choice, but they're wrong. That choice was swept away the moment you first typed The End--and the decision sealed when you started to rewrite that same story. It's like crack or heroin, only a straightjacket and a all-expenses-paid state-ordered vacation will keep you away. Oh, you can try to quit--to walk away--but that typewriter or keyboard will thump-thump...thump in the back of your mind like that infamous secret beneath the floorboards. Does anyone really walk away? Can anyone? Or is it just them prolonging (perhaps indefinitely) the perfection of their craft.
The Good news is: We're getting there. Every time we learn from a critique, or those we would deign try and teach, we're inching closer to our goal. Every time we recognize a common mistake in our prose, or the appearance of a cliche, and work it fluidly back out...we are getting there. For every rejection, brutal critique given and taken, or hard-earned bit of praise we better our skills that much more. And that is all we can hope for. Because the better we get, the harder it will be for an editor or publisher to reject us.
Keep on writing.
For all the words I weave, the heat of completion and coldness of imperfections, and the multiple tearing down and reconstructions of the process, I love it. I am an eternal student, a slave of what I shall never master. I live for my need, my passion. A poet, a dreamer, trapped by my imagination for no other reason than my love for it.
But I am learning. Not just from the study and practice, but from seeing my own flaws in the works of others and being able to identify them. From the brilliance displayed in the most flawed manuscript. The compulsion to write, to express our thoughts and dreams and fears, to dig deep into the realms governed by our fickle minds, is a wide-spread disease. Be careful, you just may catch it too. Or maybe you already have.
The bad news is: There is no cure. You've got it for life. Whether or not you press on to publication has little to do with that compulsion. Oh, there are some that say you have a choice, but they're wrong. That choice was swept away the moment you first typed The End--and the decision sealed when you started to rewrite that same story. It's like crack or heroin, only a straightjacket and a all-expenses-paid state-ordered vacation will keep you away. Oh, you can try to quit--to walk away--but that typewriter or keyboard will thump-thump...thump in the back of your mind like that infamous secret beneath the floorboards. Does anyone really walk away? Can anyone? Or is it just them prolonging (perhaps indefinitely) the perfection of their craft.
The Good news is: We're getting there. Every time we learn from a critique, or those we would deign try and teach, we're inching closer to our goal. Every time we recognize a common mistake in our prose, or the appearance of a cliche, and work it fluidly back out...we are getting there. For every rejection, brutal critique given and taken, or hard-earned bit of praise we better our skills that much more. And that is all we can hope for. Because the better we get, the harder it will be for an editor or publisher to reject us.
Keep on writing.
Friday, February 1, 2008
12 years...
Today marks twelve years married to my wife. I don't know how many times I've heard "Wow. Nowadays that's a long term commitment." I have a question to all of those who make that statement: What do you think marriage is?
There is a reason marriages don't have to renew their licenses every five years. Though there's times--and I think all married couple will agree on this--that I wish we did. But, seriously, if that were so, marriages that outlasted one renewal would be in the single-digit percentile. It took two years just to figure out the idiosyncrasies my wife and I had, and another three to learn to deal with them. When our firstborn made his appearance, there was a whole new set of idiosyncrasies and responsibilities that accompanied him. If there was a renewal system, it probably would have been when things were at their worst. Because we couldn't step out of it easily, we never really considered it. Oh, there was a time or two that either she or I were at or maximum threshold for the other's crap (I probably drove her to that threshold more often), but we stuck it out. There were times we had nothing to say to each other, or we found our interests veered in opposite directions, or we took cheap shot because of pressures that weren't shared. That, we discovered, is the heart of a relationship.
Anyone can have sex, watch television together, go out together, and skate through all of the beautiful and fun stuff--It's the hard times that truly define the relationship. Both of us believe in a few base beliefs:
There is a reason marriages don't have to renew their licenses every five years. Though there's times--and I think all married couple will agree on this--that I wish we did. But, seriously, if that were so, marriages that outlasted one renewal would be in the single-digit percentile. It took two years just to figure out the idiosyncrasies my wife and I had, and another three to learn to deal with them. When our firstborn made his appearance, there was a whole new set of idiosyncrasies and responsibilities that accompanied him. If there was a renewal system, it probably would have been when things were at their worst. Because we couldn't step out of it easily, we never really considered it. Oh, there was a time or two that either she or I were at or maximum threshold for the other's crap (I probably drove her to that threshold more often), but we stuck it out. There were times we had nothing to say to each other, or we found our interests veered in opposite directions, or we took cheap shot because of pressures that weren't shared. That, we discovered, is the heart of a relationship.
Anyone can have sex, watch television together, go out together, and skate through all of the beautiful and fun stuff--It's the hard times that truly define the relationship. Both of us believe in a few base beliefs:
- Marriage is forever. It's not a piece of paper or a shiny ring, it's growing old with someone in spite of their flaws.
- "Let not the sun set upon thy wrath." Though we have been at each other's throats, and felt the need for violence (which we resisted--notice I say we); we do not go to bed angry with each other. We get through with it--or listening to it--and remind ourselves why we're together with a four-kiss goodnight ritual: A) The kiss to wish God's Blessings upon the other. (No one should be without God's blessings.) B) The I Love you Kiss (Because everyday and night since I have kissed her first, this has been deeply and passionately true.) C) The Sweet Dreams Kiss. (By this point I--at least--truly wish this for her.) and D) The Goodnight Kiss. This is the one that lingers. The one that reminds me I'm going to wake up next to the perfect woman (for me).
- We're both too damn stubborn to quit. When we first got together, I told her that if she wanted out of the relationship she would have end it--to say "uncle". I wasn't going to. Ever. I don't make promises and not keep them. I am a man of my word--until it hurts. And she keeps saying she's not going to let me out of it that easy.
Those simple rules, applied to a foundation of friendship, have truly held our marriage together. It doesn't take much, just a gaze into her beautiful blue eyes (even when they are stormy) to remember how much I love her. I try not to let a day go by without thanking her for everything she does, and I rarely tell her "no". For anything.
Early this morning, as we lay next to each other, my mind was drawn back twelve years to the night before our wedding. Those were the same eyes. That was the same smile. And I realized--not for the first time--that I wouldn't trade a single moment, from that day to this, for all the fame, women, or gold in the world.
And to my wife, Amanda: Thank you, baby, for making me the richest man on earth. I love you. Always.
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