Saturday, September 27, 2003I have a ton of things to tell you, but I've been so buried in editing, and all that, that I keep putting it off. So instead of going into those long descriptions I so love, I'll be keeping it short...
First, allow me to annouce the kick off of the Nina Lake Show!! It's a strange, but fun concept...a long time someone sid that she'd interviewed her charcater for her website, and I thought, that's so cute! And I thought, I want to do that. Then I thought, there's no sense doing that now, no one has the background to apprieciate Libby or Andromeda, because they aren't published. So I decided to steal a long time charcater I've never really written much about, someone who has practically become a persona for me...(Indeed, some of you will recognize it) Nina Lake. And, this week, Nina Lake interviewed The Guardian's Lea Netera Payton. If you want your charcater to be interviewed, let me know...Nina will interview anyone from a book, as long as it's fiction. (Basically, I'll come up with some questions, email them to you, and you answer them.)
Then, Sunday, My mother took me to the Rennaisance Faire. It was really lovely...my mother had never gotten to go before, and it was wonderous to see this place that I love so much through her eyes. We went to see the joust, which was so good this year. The high point was the final joust, where the knight, handsome, dashing despite, or even increased by, the cut on his cheek, sets fire to a sword, then turned toward us, brandingsing it in the ai and crying, "Am I not your champion?" before setting to the "bad" knight. The other knight's sheild was trated with something, and it flamed most impressively. Then they did some hand to hand...it was all very cool. The jousters were from The Hanlon-Lees Action Theater.
Then we went to see the Sheriff and Feck show. It was different, this year, because the mud show people left, and they got that venue instead of the Loggia stage. It was funny, irreverant (one scene I was sure they were about to be struck by lightning, which would be bad, because water conducts electricity, and they do spend much of the time sloshing back and forth in a mud filled pool.) and smart...I admire thier ability to think so fast.
The next show we went to see was Doc Dixon's Magic show. He's really brillant...he's funny (a little risque) and very talented.
My mother is one nifty lady. She's fragile looking....she's so delicate that she makes me look like a cheap brass statue, but by the end of the day she was yelling huzzah like a naturalized Rennie.
Let's see...what else?
I am 29, since last Tuesday. wendnesday my friend B. offered to cut my hair and color it (last week I had enough grey in my hair that all I needed was a buffont hair style to look like The Bride of Frankenstein.) so I let her. She's really good...my hair now hangs all nice...it's slightly red brown, not much different from what i had...but, miracle of miracles, she put all this conditioner in my hair, and instead of the hairball that usually gathers in my hairbrush everytime I use it, there's nothing. I didn't know that you could brush your hair and not end up with a bunch of strands in the brush.
Now I must do about 30 things. I'm going to update the Neil Gaiman Movie artile, I swear, very soon. And, maybe even write some more.
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 11:37 AM
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Friday, September 19, 2003Oh!
Science Fiction romance, a monthly newsletter (email and print) of SFR books and news has published an article of mine. :D http://www.sfronline.com/articles/newsfflist.htm It's to go with the huge list of mainstream SF and Fantasy that has romantic elements in it. Looking for a romantic vampire story? A romantic story dealing with Aliens? This list will fix you right up.
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 9:35 PM
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Some ruminations of rejection letters...
Thursday, September 18, 2003I wanted to talk more about the rejection letter process. It's not anything against the publisher...I'm not mad at the places that rejected me, anymore than I'd be mad at the sky for raining. (Well, that's a silly thing, since I *love* rain, but you get what I'm saying.) I appreciate the time and effort the lady obviously went through to write the letter.
The problem is, what do you *do* about it?
Now, I've been a "pro" for a while, and hung around pros...(I call myself that because I have a huge pile of agent, Balancing Act, and short story/poetry rejections, and have been doing this for quite a few years. I've even sold stuff, so I can call myself a pro...Because this is my profession.) and I know the first thing everyone is going to say: (all together, now)
Send it somewhere else.
But see, while that works, that does not silence the thoughts. Even though you have faith in yourself, you look at the letter and think, her points sound pretty valid. You wonder if you should make the changes. You know she won't take it if you do...She said as much...But are you crippling yourself by not making these changes? Or are you slowing yourself down? Will another editor say something different?
In short, should you take what she said to heart, or file it for reference and move on? If you do the latter, are you being small minded, foolish?
For me, I've decided to be thankful that she took the time to write the comments...after a few more rejections (this is the first, for crying out loud) then I can sit down and compare notes, especially if I've been lucky enough to have other people make comments. Then I can do a re-write. For now, just start sending queries, and keep going. I think the most important thing for a writer to keep is their forward momentum.
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 5:45 PM
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Tuesday, September 16, 2003First, joy of joys, I'm still trying to catch up and I have a hell of a cold. One of those coughing gagging sore throat colds.
I have no idea how I'm going to survive the 9 pm AOL chat with Gwynne Forster tonight, but I'll try.
ANYWAY I saw this on two webpages, and it really caught my eye. There's this lady looking for an African American male named Don, who was born on September 11th, and who wants to thank him for being such an angel on that horroble day:
http://www.tomatonation.com/finddon.shtml
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 7:24 PM
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Monday, September 15, 2003And ps...it's a sad commentary on your week if the highlight is blogger sending you a free hoodie. I didn't even know what a hoodie was until Weslel told me...
oh, and I have both issues of 1602. Don't know if I'll get the rest....very satisfying. My Marvel universe knowledge revoles around Apider Woman and She Hulk, but I'm still having fun....
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 6:22 PM
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The Sunday before last, we ran to the emergency room...what had been a slightly swollen foot had turned a vivid, violent magenta purple, and my father was shivering uncontrollably. The nurse asked us if there were any heart pains, and when we said no, we were relegated to the crowded waiting room. It was almost two hours before we got in.
I hadn't a book, but I had a lot to watch. Over there was a trio, two sisters, I thought, and their elderly father. The thin, dark haired sister looked miserable, and I wondered why she wasn't taken in, but the young boy (who later came out and left with nothing more than a band aid on his toe) was. An ER should not be first come first served...
I would not see her again, but later, as we waited in the section of the ER where people lay in beds and waited for the doctor, I would see her sister and father. He was gesturing angrily, and both the times I saw her, I saw that she was crying. I wanted to hug her, but sometimes I think that would make things worse.
The game was on, between the Steelers and who knows. I could hear it, but the vending machine blocked me from the TV. Just as well. But I heard a major play happen, and the 40's male sitting with the older one (I would run into him, dark moustache I call him, on the way to the elevator, so I know his friend/family meber got checked in) started from the chair with a grunt of pleasure, then looked around the room, guilty.
The final girl that caught my attention was young, very young, looking a bit like those troll like (you know...the- ick- "cute" dolls with the wild hair) Olsen twins. Her low rider jeans and cropped top and wide belt eccentuated a bit of belly that was too firm to be made from too much soda and pizza. She was defiant, her mother resighned...a few minutes after the nurse called them in they came back out to sit some more, she leaving to talk in her cell phone. She came back crying, and her mother was like, "What did you expect?"
But even though I felt bad for these people, it was not an easy wait. You do not know what to pray for...you can only sit and bite your tounge and try not to think at all.
They checked him in for observation that night, declaring his leg an infection caused by bug bite. They would keep him until Saturday, testing, testing, never sure what happened. No answers at all.
The hospital wards, on most floors, are half empty (the one case where the optimistic/pessimistic test of the glass half full or empty is reversed on its head...optimism lyng for once in emptyness). This is a new version of the same hospital I was born in, the main hospital for the area, yet when I was born, the maternity ward was full. There were always swaddly piles of babies in the ward. I only saw one in the seven day. The rest of the wards used to be full. I wonder why there are less people in the hospital, in the maternity ward? Have we lost our faith? Are we too poor to afford care? There are more people, not less, than there were 29 years ago...why is the hospital so empty?
Not that I blame them. The staff were all wonderful, but over worked...most of them on 16 hour shifts. Often the IV medicine for my father's leg was hours late. Would you want someone to stick an IV needle in your hand, or do anything during the 10th, let alone 16th hour of their day? i learned quickly to ask for things ahead of time. The TV attendent and the servers who brought the food were the only people I knew when to expect.
I learned, quickly, that I'm not really missing anything, not having cable.
Wednesday, mum took me to the only comic book store around...unfortunately the UPS man hadn't come, bringing the second issue of 1602 in, but they did have one last issue...so I grabbed it. It was a decent day...when we got hom, I pulled the mail out of the box.
There was an envelope from the place I wanted to be published by. It was not in the huge expensive yellow envelope I sent them to send my manuscript back in. It was not in the legal sized envelope I sent them to mail the rejection back in. It was a Harlequin stationary envelope. "It's too thin, " I said, "There can't be a contract in here, it must be a rejection." I didn't really beelive it, but it's what you say. We ran into the house, mum and I, and I ripped it open. I still believed it *had* to be an acceptance, you see, because they hadn't sent my manuscript *back*...
But it was. They still have Balancing Act, which, since they didn't think was "quite right" for them, I don't think they'll want, either. She says they'll get right to it. I'd be in shock if they took it.
I forced myself to be light, when we called pappa to tell him we were home. After I cried, and felt guilty because being rejected was the least of my problems, and cried some more. I really thought, you see, that since they were new, and it wasn't too romantic (they said it was, one of the reasons they gave for rejecting it) that it was romantic enough...etc. I thought it was the best book in the world. I don't agree with some of what she had to say...I wondered if she had, in fact, read it...but if you complain, they will say, "Well, that wasn't clear to me." Really, the fact is, she didn't beleive in my story, because the things she mentioned would have taken me twenty minutes to fix, tops. She's a smart woman, I know, so when I'm not hurting, tired, maybe I should look at her letter again. It was kindly meant, I'm sure, and I have a lot of respect for her.
Still, there's a part of me that beleives that if you're not buying the peice, you have no right to commentate on it. Especially when one editor's suggestions often clash against another's. It's a scary business, changing your story everytime someone rejects it...and damned dangerous, too. I'll probably change my mind on this later, though. Youu have to be grateful whenpeople take time to do write a long letter, and maybe it means something...the fact it wasn't a form letter certainly means that the book was worthy of comment, I think...
I'm still on the Baen slush pile...(you can email them your book) but I think I may be better off looking to a small publisher. Too many of us, you know...too many writers who, well, maybe are better than me, or at least luckier. My luck, you see, doesn't streach very far. I see my luck as a weekly paycheck...I have to pay out luck that makes sure I go out and get home safe, the luck that keeps me from making too much of a git in front of you all...etc. :D
And so, we are home. Desperately catching up...and home, home, home.
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 6:17 PM
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Talk Like A Pirate Day!!!
Thursday, September 04, 2003I have so many friends who will dig Talk Like a Pirate Day, September 19th.
No I'm going to email a freind.
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 7:34 PM
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Charles Bronson's died...
Monday, September 01, 2003The fact that I'm upset enough about this to blog on it might surprise you, but it's true, I am a little sad. You see, I was raised on a certain type of movie...John Wayne, Charles Bronson, Clint Eastwood, Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas and Sean Connery were practically distant uncles to my rather young, over imaginative and solitary mind. Living out in the country as I did -- do -- the nearest girl neighbor who seemed like a blessing at first but who was actually discovered to be a viper later, when I wasn't at school, all I had was my mind. And the movies...these people...all seemed very important. I looked for their faces on video store shelves, I looked forward to seeing them on TV. So, weirdly, this does seem important to me.
I can't link directly to the AP wire feed, but this was rather nifty....
LOS ANGELES (Sept. 1) - Charles Bronson, the grim-faced tough guy who built a European following before making his mark in the United States with action films including the ''Death Wish'' series, died Saturday of pneumonia.
He was 81.
His early life gave no indication of his later fame. He was born Charles Buchinsky on Nov. 3, 1921 - not 1922, as studio biographies claimed - in Ehrenfeld, Pa. He was the 11th of 15 children of a coal miner and his wife, both Lithuanian immigrants.
Young Charles learned the art of survival in the tough district of Scooptown, ''where you had nothing to lose because you lost it already.'' The Buchinskys lived crowded in a shack, the children wearing hand-me-downs from older siblings. At the age of 6, Charles was embarrassed to attend school in his sister's dress.
Charles' father died when he was 10, and at 16 Charles followed his brothers into the mines. He was paid $1 per ton of coal and volunteered for perilous jobs because the pay was better. Like other toughs in Scooptown, he made trouble and landed in jail for assault and robbery.
He might have stayed in the mines for the rest of his life except for World War II.
Drafted in 1943, he served with the Air Force in the Pacific, reportedly as a tail gunner on a B29. Having seen the outside world, he vowed not to return to the squalor of Scooptown.
He was attracted to acting not, he claimed, because of any artistic urge; he was impressed by the money movie stars could earn. He joined the Philadelphia Play and Players Troupe, painting scenery and acting in a few minor roles.
At the Pasadena Playhouse school, Bronson improved his diction, supporting himself by selling Christmas cards and toys on street corners. Studio scouts saw him at the Playhouse and he was cast as a sailor in the 1951 service comedy ''You're in the Navy Now'' starring Gary Cooper.
.............................................
After that they discuss his career, including the fact that he once one the 1971 Golden Globe for being the most popular actor in the world. So maybe you won't think I'm mad, after all.
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 12:30 PM
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