Random thoughts while waiting for May 15th to come around . . .
One of the characters in my forthcoming Applewood makes an observation which, coincidentally enough, is also something I've wondered long and hard about. He puts it thusly:
The purpose of junior high is to prepare you to die.
The evidence he proffers for that theory isn't the hellish junior high experience he and his friends are going through (and whoever thought it was a good idea to put all of those hormones and angst into one building hopefully died a horrible death) nor is it their own personal trials and tribulations. What he uses to buttress his theory is the required reading he and his friends have had shoved down their throats the past few years, which coincidentally, were the same books shoved down my throat when I was their age.
Among the books the characters have been forced to read are Death be not Proud ("Kid gets brain cancer and dies."), Lord of the Flies ("Plane crash. Adults die. Cannibalism. Just like our school."), Go Ask Alice, and On the Beach ("They all began to laugh, because On the Beach was the granddaddy of them all. In that book, everybody in the world dies. Eventually.")
Of course it doesn't end there. There was A Separate Peace and The Outsiders and Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl and more. I remember another Death be not Proud teenager-gets-cancer-and-dies book being synopsized in the reading magazine we all got. And of course, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving every year, all the classes came together in the cafetorium for a ritualized viewing of Brian's Song.
You couldn't make it up.
So like I said, I've done a lot of wondering about that over the years, and I gotta figure part of it is simply payback on the part of teachers and school authorities for having to deal with eleven- to thirteen-year-old kids in their native habitat. And if the kids are going to make their lives miserable (and they do), then the teachers will have the last laugh, reminding kids every day that their time will come, and sometimes, sooner than you think . . .
Throw in frog dissection ("Extra points to keep the heart beating!") and getting bare-ass naked in front of other people for the first time and I tell ya, it's no wonder I recall junior high with such fondness.
I do recognize that much of the above is indeed classic literature. Just question if it may be . . . a bit much. It certainly left an impression upon me, though in my case, some of it may have just been the zeitgeist of the time. As my own seventh-grade career was winding down, Seasons in the Sun hit the number one spot, and by the time I put my pen down for the last time that year, it had been overtaken by Billy Don't be a Hero.
So not that long ago, I wasn't surprised to see my eighth-grade nephew writing a paper on A Separate Peace. Another nephew, when asked what book they had him reading, alerted me there had been a new book added to the pantheon of classic dead-kid literature they make you read.
He was reading Into the Wild.
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, February 5, 2010
For Everyone's Sake
I was perusing the New York Times website today when the following article in their Personal Health section caught my eye: Rules Worth Following, for Everyone’s Sake.
I confess it was the part that came after the comma that intrigued me, and after clicking on the article, I was not disappointed.
You can read it for yourself, but it is essentially a book review that discusses the same sorts of things we've been hearing ad nauseum, how our western diet isn't good for us, how it leads to higher rates of diabetes, heart disease, cancer, etc. You know the litany.
In addition, it being the New York Times, you won't be surprised to learn it's also served up with a heaping helping of self-righteousness, like this doozy: I, for one, have been writing and speaking about them for decades.
But it was the eighth paragraph that proved my instinct correct, where I stumbled upon this tidbit:
On the face of it, it makes sense. The things we do that are deleterious to our own health also affect others in lots of ways, such as lost work, shorter lifetimes, higher insurance rates, etc.
But it occurs to me there are a number of other activities that also contribute to these things, and you don't hear them talked about much in conjunction with self-righteous articles like the above, or indeed even in the recent health-care debate.
For example, I was reading about that snowboarder who suffered the horrific brain injury out west and wondered what his insurance situation was, what all the snowboarders, skiers, snowmobilers, and those who engage in these risky activities insurance situation is.
Now, I'm not a skier, therefore the risk of me being injured in winter sports is minimal. Nevertheless, am I in the same insurance pool as skiers? Should they be made to pay more?
And more to the point: Should our economy continue to "patch them up" when they suffer from the negative results of their own choices?
We've also had a number of horrific motorcycle accidents near where I live recently, a state with no helmet law I might add. Now, I don't ride a motorcycle. But am I in the same insurance pool as those who do? Am I subsidizing motorcyclists and skiers and snowboarders and every other sort of risky behavior that folks engage in for "fun"?
Of course I am.
But you don't hear people assailing these inherently risky behaviors in the same way that you hear people assailing smokers or the obese.
And you don't read snarky articles in the New York Times about how our society "cannot afford to continue to patch up the millions of people who each year" engage in such risky behavior.
I wonder why that is.
I confess it was the part that came after the comma that intrigued me, and after clicking on the article, I was not disappointed.
You can read it for yourself, but it is essentially a book review that discusses the same sorts of things we've been hearing ad nauseum, how our western diet isn't good for us, how it leads to higher rates of diabetes, heart disease, cancer, etc. You know the litany.
In addition, it being the New York Times, you won't be surprised to learn it's also served up with a heaping helping of self-righteousness, like this doozy: I, for one, have been writing and speaking about them for decades.
But it was the eighth paragraph that proved my instinct correct, where I stumbled upon this tidbit:
I will add a third reason: our economy cannot afford to continue to patch up the millions of people who each year develop a diet-related ailment.
On the face of it, it makes sense. The things we do that are deleterious to our own health also affect others in lots of ways, such as lost work, shorter lifetimes, higher insurance rates, etc.
But it occurs to me there are a number of other activities that also contribute to these things, and you don't hear them talked about much in conjunction with self-righteous articles like the above, or indeed even in the recent health-care debate.
For example, I was reading about that snowboarder who suffered the horrific brain injury out west and wondered what his insurance situation was, what all the snowboarders, skiers, snowmobilers, and those who engage in these risky activities insurance situation is.
Now, I'm not a skier, therefore the risk of me being injured in winter sports is minimal. Nevertheless, am I in the same insurance pool as skiers? Should they be made to pay more?
And more to the point: Should our economy continue to "patch them up" when they suffer from the negative results of their own choices?
We've also had a number of horrific motorcycle accidents near where I live recently, a state with no helmet law I might add. Now, I don't ride a motorcycle. But am I in the same insurance pool as those who do? Am I subsidizing motorcyclists and skiers and snowboarders and every other sort of risky behavior that folks engage in for "fun"?
Of course I am.
But you don't hear people assailing these inherently risky behaviors in the same way that you hear people assailing smokers or the obese.
And you don't read snarky articles in the New York Times about how our society "cannot afford to continue to patch up the millions of people who each year" engage in such risky behavior.
I wonder why that is.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Half a man
I was happily watching football yesterday when a commercial came on that surprised me. You know, the one that has a smiling Charlie Sheen driving a sleek convertible, bumping into a smiling Michael Jordan, who then talk about the wonders of Hanes underwear.
Of course, what surprised me about it was that it was on at all.
Because Charlie Sheen was -- yet again -- arrested this past weekend for domestic abuse, and something else interesting called "menacing." Not exactly sure what that means, but it doesn't sound like much fun.
And today's paper contains yet more details about his latest brush with the law. If the story is to be believed, in this instance there was some sort of weapon involved. Perhaps that's where the menacing comes in.
Now, I don't know Charlie Sheen except what I've read about him. I do recall some of the tawdry details of his breakup with his first wife, the cute-as-a-button Denise Richards.
Maybe he's just unlucky. Maybe he attracts women that falsely charge him with assault.
But what strikes me most curious about this is that we're not seeing Tiger Woods smiling face on the television at the moment, and all he did was make love to women. Many, many women. But to my knowledge, he never hit any of them.
Would it surprise anyone if Sheen's violence were to escalate to something even more "menacing." We've seen this before, haven't we? Way I remember it, it ends on a blood-drenched doorstep in Brentwood.
But in the meantime . . . check out the new Hanes boxer-briefs. If Charlie is to be believed, they don't ride up your leg.
And that's what's really important, isn't it?
Of course, what surprised me about it was that it was on at all.
Because Charlie Sheen was -- yet again -- arrested this past weekend for domestic abuse, and something else interesting called "menacing." Not exactly sure what that means, but it doesn't sound like much fun.
And today's paper contains yet more details about his latest brush with the law. If the story is to be believed, in this instance there was some sort of weapon involved. Perhaps that's where the menacing comes in.
Now, I don't know Charlie Sheen except what I've read about him. I do recall some of the tawdry details of his breakup with his first wife, the cute-as-a-button Denise Richards.
Maybe he's just unlucky. Maybe he attracts women that falsely charge him with assault.
But what strikes me most curious about this is that we're not seeing Tiger Woods smiling face on the television at the moment, and all he did was make love to women. Many, many women. But to my knowledge, he never hit any of them.
Would it surprise anyone if Sheen's violence were to escalate to something even more "menacing." We've seen this before, haven't we? Way I remember it, it ends on a blood-drenched doorstep in Brentwood.
But in the meantime . . . check out the new Hanes boxer-briefs. If Charlie is to be believed, they don't ride up your leg.
And that's what's really important, isn't it?
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Happy Festivus!
Yes, it's that time again, to share the grievances that have built up over the past year. A few random thoughts, in no particular order:
. . .
It can't be Constitutional for the government to force you to buy something. Never been done before.
And don't talk to me about car insurance. You don't have to drive.
. . .
It was interesting to watch the Senate debate healthcare, seeing rich white men arguing against funding a perfectly legal medical procedure they are biologically unable to have.
Viagra and ED medication will be covered, however.
. . .
I confess I went to bed early, however I was delighted to learn the next morning that Russell lost out to Natalie on the million-dollar Survivor prize. There's a lesson there, kids.
. . .
Twice in the last two days, in the context of the health insurance debate, I've heard conservative talkers state, "driving is a privilege, not a right." That is dead wrong, and has been ruled so in court many times.
In a nutshell, your freedom to move from place to place, in the standard conveyance of your day, is absolutely a right. However, it is not an absolute right. It is an "alienable" right, meaning the state has a legitimate interest in regulating it, and has the ability to revoke it in extraordinary circumstances.
Yes, it's a lame MySpace link, but here you will find an excellent summation of the many court cases which state, time and time again, that driving is indeed a right.
Can you imagine, way back when, someone claiming your ability to ride your horse from place to place was a "privilege"? Please.
Privileges are things granted by monarchs. We got rid of our monarch. America does not grant its citizens "privileges." We have a Constitution that protects our rights.
So the next time you hear someone say, "driving is a privilege, not a right," correct them, mkay? Thanks.
. . .
Climate change deniers remind me of the Mayor from "Jaws," refusing to believe there was a problem because it would harm business.
Recall Richard Dreyfus as the frustrated Ichthyologist, patiently explaining why every indication revealed there really was a man-eater out there.
"You'd love to prove that, wouldn't you?" the mayor asks cynically. "Get your name in the National Geographic."
Dreyfus gives the only answer he could, which surprisingly works equally well with the climate change skeptics:
"I think that I am familiar with the fact that you are going to ignore this particular problem until it swims up and BITES YOU ON THE ASS!"
. . .
Curious to see thugs in Iran violently put down demonstrations.
Seems I saw the same thing a mere thirty years ago, except back then it was the forces of the Shah putting down the demonstrations.
And it was something called SAVAK torturing prisoners whisked away in the night, not something called the Revolutionary Guard.
Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.
The Iranian Revolution has come full circle. They have become that which they revolted against.
And their beards have all grown longer overnight.
. . .
I've lost all my penmanship skills. The only cursive I can do now is my signature, and even that's a chicken scratch.
Do they even teach "penmanship" any more?
Funny word to contemplate, when you think about it.
Penmanship.
. . .
At any rate, I could go on.
But until next year . . .
Happy Festivus!
It can't be Constitutional for the government to force you to buy something. Never been done before.
And don't talk to me about car insurance. You don't have to drive.
It was interesting to watch the Senate debate healthcare, seeing rich white men arguing against funding a perfectly legal medical procedure they are biologically unable to have.
Viagra and ED medication will be covered, however.
I confess I went to bed early, however I was delighted to learn the next morning that Russell lost out to Natalie on the million-dollar Survivor prize. There's a lesson there, kids.
Twice in the last two days, in the context of the health insurance debate, I've heard conservative talkers state, "driving is a privilege, not a right." That is dead wrong, and has been ruled so in court many times.
In a nutshell, your freedom to move from place to place, in the standard conveyance of your day, is absolutely a right. However, it is not an absolute right. It is an "alienable" right, meaning the state has a legitimate interest in regulating it, and has the ability to revoke it in extraordinary circumstances.
Yes, it's a lame MySpace link, but here you will find an excellent summation of the many court cases which state, time and time again, that driving is indeed a right.
Can you imagine, way back when, someone claiming your ability to ride your horse from place to place was a "privilege"? Please.
Privileges are things granted by monarchs. We got rid of our monarch. America does not grant its citizens "privileges." We have a Constitution that protects our rights.
So the next time you hear someone say, "driving is a privilege, not a right," correct them, mkay? Thanks.
Climate change deniers remind me of the Mayor from "Jaws," refusing to believe there was a problem because it would harm business.
Recall Richard Dreyfus as the frustrated Ichthyologist, patiently explaining why every indication revealed there really was a man-eater out there.
"You'd love to prove that, wouldn't you?" the mayor asks cynically. "Get your name in the National Geographic."
Dreyfus gives the only answer he could, which surprisingly works equally well with the climate change skeptics:
"I think that I am familiar with the fact that you are going to ignore this particular problem until it swims up and BITES YOU ON THE ASS!"
Curious to see thugs in Iran violently put down demonstrations.
Seems I saw the same thing a mere thirty years ago, except back then it was the forces of the Shah putting down the demonstrations.
And it was something called SAVAK torturing prisoners whisked away in the night, not something called the Revolutionary Guard.
Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.
The Iranian Revolution has come full circle. They have become that which they revolted against.
And their beards have all grown longer overnight.
I've lost all my penmanship skills. The only cursive I can do now is my signature, and even that's a chicken scratch.
Do they even teach "penmanship" any more?
Funny word to contemplate, when you think about it.
Penmanship.
At any rate, I could go on.
But until next year . . .
Happy Festivus!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Funny Business
I probably haven't been doing this long enough to make sweeping generalizations, but damn the torpedoes: sweeping generalizations ahead.
When submitting stuff to various markets, I've come to believe that there are some markets that "get you" and some that don't, if you know what I mean. Markets that seem to understand what you're trying to say, that understand what core idea you are trying to impart. And even if they don't accept the story, you don't feel necessarily that you've wasted either their time or yours.
With admittedly limited data points to draw from, one market that seems to get me is Necrotic Tissue. The first story I submitted to them was not only accepted, but – if you'll forgive the shamelessness – they said wonderful things about it. Flattering things. Things they really didn't have to say . . . though I'll be forever grateful that they did.
Of course, Necrotic Tissue is well known for offering reasons why they did or did not accept your work. But seriously, the things they said were very kind. I suspect it was because of this I became determined to be published by them again.
Not being one who writes a whole lot of Flash Fiction, I thought I'd stretch my wings a bit and try my hand at one of their patented 100-word "bytes." Had a couple rejected before they recently picked up my story "Adagio," which is slated to appear in the January 2010 issue.
Again, I'm extremely grateful, though I can't say I'm really surprised. I confess to feeling when I wrote it that this would be the one.
It wasn't that I was certain I wrote it that well, or did the best job I could of getting across the horror. But I did know instinctively that the core idea for the story was good. I was also confident from my prior experience with them that even if they didn't accept it, they would absolutely "get it." I'm pleased and humbled to report they did.
Which brings me to this . . . other market I've been attempting to crack.
Sent something along to them not long ago and had it rejected, but the editor was profuse with both his praise and his reasons for not accepting the story. It was obvious to me that he "got it," and I felt really good about that, anyway. I hadn't wasted his time. So, like Necrotic Tissue, I was determined to keep at it. They'd break down eventually.
Now (and again, not to be too shameless) the next story I sent them might be the best story I've ever written, with a core idea I've never seen before. Unlike my accepted 100-worder from Necrotic, I had no doubt that this would be the story for them, that the editor who had been so kind in his rejection would absolutely "get" this one. I knew he and I were simpatico.
So there I was, this past Sunday afternoon, feeling very smug about myself.
"A Truck Story" was sitting at #14 on the Amazon bestseller list for the Sports genre. Names like P. G. Wodehouse, Dick Francis, Frank Deford, and Rick Reilly were ahead of me, but there I was. Earlier that same afternoon, someone left a wonderful review of the story on Amazon. Within the hour, someone else would tell me they thought one of my blog posts was "brilliant." So yeah, I was feeling really good about myself . . .
and then my e-mail bleeped. The market I'd been trying to crack would not be accepting my story after all.
Like Necrotic, they are known for offering criticism and advice about why they didn't accept the story. But this e-mail did not come from the editor who'd rejected me a few months ago, the one I'd felt so simpatico with. This one came from . . . another guy.
After beginning with some perhaps warranted, if somewhat nitpicky criticism about the writing style ("too much back and forthiness . . .") he went on to say his biggest problem was with the core idea for the story itself, the one I'd thought so brilliant (and frankly, that had blown trusted beta readers out of the water.)
And though I'm not in the least comparing my puny effort to these, it was as if he said:
"I'm sorry Mr. Stoker, but a half-human creature that sucks blood? Really?"
"Ms. Shelley, I'm afraid I simply cannot believe that lightning could resurrect a body . . ."
"Birds, Ms. Du Maurier?"
I'm smiling as I type this, but yeah, that's exactly what it read like. The guy (who apparently reads horror for a living) could not, for whatever reason, suspend his disbelief and simply go with it.
And thus ends my attempt to crack that particular market. I know now that they just don't "get" me.
But I know this much for certain . . . either he is very, very wrong or I simply have no idea what I'm doing.
The jury's still out.
When submitting stuff to various markets, I've come to believe that there are some markets that "get you" and some that don't, if you know what I mean. Markets that seem to understand what you're trying to say, that understand what core idea you are trying to impart. And even if they don't accept the story, you don't feel necessarily that you've wasted either their time or yours.
With admittedly limited data points to draw from, one market that seems to get me is Necrotic Tissue. The first story I submitted to them was not only accepted, but – if you'll forgive the shamelessness – they said wonderful things about it. Flattering things. Things they really didn't have to say . . . though I'll be forever grateful that they did.
Of course, Necrotic Tissue is well known for offering reasons why they did or did not accept your work. But seriously, the things they said were very kind. I suspect it was because of this I became determined to be published by them again.
Not being one who writes a whole lot of Flash Fiction, I thought I'd stretch my wings a bit and try my hand at one of their patented 100-word "bytes." Had a couple rejected before they recently picked up my story "Adagio," which is slated to appear in the January 2010 issue.
Again, I'm extremely grateful, though I can't say I'm really surprised. I confess to feeling when I wrote it that this would be the one.
It wasn't that I was certain I wrote it that well, or did the best job I could of getting across the horror. But I did know instinctively that the core idea for the story was good. I was also confident from my prior experience with them that even if they didn't accept it, they would absolutely "get it." I'm pleased and humbled to report they did.
Which brings me to this . . . other market I've been attempting to crack.
Sent something along to them not long ago and had it rejected, but the editor was profuse with both his praise and his reasons for not accepting the story. It was obvious to me that he "got it," and I felt really good about that, anyway. I hadn't wasted his time. So, like Necrotic Tissue, I was determined to keep at it. They'd break down eventually.
Now (and again, not to be too shameless) the next story I sent them might be the best story I've ever written, with a core idea I've never seen before. Unlike my accepted 100-worder from Necrotic, I had no doubt that this would be the story for them, that the editor who had been so kind in his rejection would absolutely "get" this one. I knew he and I were simpatico.
So there I was, this past Sunday afternoon, feeling very smug about myself.
"A Truck Story" was sitting at #14 on the Amazon bestseller list for the Sports genre. Names like P. G. Wodehouse, Dick Francis, Frank Deford, and Rick Reilly were ahead of me, but there I was. Earlier that same afternoon, someone left a wonderful review of the story on Amazon. Within the hour, someone else would tell me they thought one of my blog posts was "brilliant." So yeah, I was feeling really good about myself . . .
and then my e-mail bleeped. The market I'd been trying to crack would not be accepting my story after all.
Like Necrotic, they are known for offering criticism and advice about why they didn't accept the story. But this e-mail did not come from the editor who'd rejected me a few months ago, the one I'd felt so simpatico with. This one came from . . . another guy.
After beginning with some perhaps warranted, if somewhat nitpicky criticism about the writing style ("too much back and forthiness . . .") he went on to say his biggest problem was with the core idea for the story itself, the one I'd thought so brilliant (and frankly, that had blown trusted beta readers out of the water.)
And though I'm not in the least comparing my puny effort to these, it was as if he said:
"I'm sorry Mr. Stoker, but a half-human creature that sucks blood? Really?"
"Ms. Shelley, I'm afraid I simply cannot believe that lightning could resurrect a body . . ."
"Birds, Ms. Du Maurier?"
I'm smiling as I type this, but yeah, that's exactly what it read like. The guy (who apparently reads horror for a living) could not, for whatever reason, suspend his disbelief and simply go with it.
And thus ends my attempt to crack that particular market. I know now that they just don't "get" me.
But I know this much for certain . . . either he is very, very wrong or I simply have no idea what I'm doing.
The jury's still out.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Getting Paid
In keeping with the Tuesday theme . . .
Not much to report. Weird Tales finally caught up with me. Got my rejection last evening. It was a form rejection, yet they invited me to keep them in mind for future submissions. They must be gluttons for punishment.
In one of those "Eureka" moments, a recent incident in my town inspired me to begin something new yesterday. I think it's a clever idea that hasn't yet been done. We'll see if I can pull it off.
I did complete and submit a non-fiction anecdotal piece for an upcoming anthology from a fairly well-known small press. There are some cautions on various writers' sites to be wary about this company's contract, and I will take those cautions seriously. But they are offering fifty bucks for the story.
Perhaps, like Kramer on Seinfeld, who sold his life story to J. Peterman and could no longer tell those stories as his, I'll no longer be able to share this true anecdote as my own. But fifty bucks is fifty bucks.
Which leads me to this:
I have a confession to make.
I want to be paid for my writing.
Why do I bring this up? Well . . . since you asked.
While perusing Duotrope this past weekend, I noticed details for an upcoming anthology which I believe a chapter from one of my unpublished novels would be perfect. Though I can't really be objective, I'm pretty sure that the chapter itself works as a standalone.
Of course it crossed my mind that complications might arise should the chapter be published as a short and I later try to publish the novel . . . but I figured what the hell. The novel itself is just gathering dust. Not to mention it is the sequel to yet another unpublished novel. And you know what they say about a bird in the hand, right?
So I spent a few hours pulling out the chapter, cleaning it up a bit and formatting it for submission. When that was done, I finally went to the publisher's website and saw that they were paying . . . $12.00 for original stories. Twelve bucks. And a contributor's copy.
On that same page they mention they are seeking cover art for the anthology and are paying . . . $25.00. And a contributor's copy.
They are paying more to the artist for the cover art than they are paying writers for their submissions.
I decided to pass.
I'm not sure what my point is. I guess the bottom line is that I don't write enough to essentially give my stories away, and I don't believe that getting "exposure" is gonna help me one way or the other. It's all a crapshoot.
But when I do write, when I get what I think is a good enough idea to finally put pen to paper, I can tell you this: I pour my heart and soul into it, and leave a little piece of myself behind with every finished piece. And little bits of me are worth a hell of a lot more than $12.00.
Forgive the rant. I suppose I ought to be grateful, in this day and age, when reading is fast becoming a lost art, that there are any markets to submit work to at all. But I'm not one of those (usually new) writers who believe "Writers just have to write! We are driven to do so! It is like breathing to us!" Not me.
For me, writing is hard work. Not writhing on the floor, Thomas Harris hard work. But hard work just the same.
I'm not arrogant enough to believe anything -- just anything! -- I have to say is worth someone else spending time reading it. But I do think I get the occasional good idea, and even less occasionally do something clever with it in words. Those are the stories I submit.
But I ain't selling a piece of my soul for twelve bucks. I'd sooner give it to MicroHorror for free. Least I know they're good people.
Not much to report. Weird Tales finally caught up with me. Got my rejection last evening. It was a form rejection, yet they invited me to keep them in mind for future submissions. They must be gluttons for punishment.
In one of those "Eureka" moments, a recent incident in my town inspired me to begin something new yesterday. I think it's a clever idea that hasn't yet been done. We'll see if I can pull it off.
I did complete and submit a non-fiction anecdotal piece for an upcoming anthology from a fairly well-known small press. There are some cautions on various writers' sites to be wary about this company's contract, and I will take those cautions seriously. But they are offering fifty bucks for the story.
Perhaps, like Kramer on Seinfeld, who sold his life story to J. Peterman and could no longer tell those stories as his, I'll no longer be able to share this true anecdote as my own. But fifty bucks is fifty bucks.
Which leads me to this:
I have a confession to make.
I want to be paid for my writing.
Why do I bring this up? Well . . . since you asked.
While perusing Duotrope this past weekend, I noticed details for an upcoming anthology which I believe a chapter from one of my unpublished novels would be perfect. Though I can't really be objective, I'm pretty sure that the chapter itself works as a standalone.
Of course it crossed my mind that complications might arise should the chapter be published as a short and I later try to publish the novel . . . but I figured what the hell. The novel itself is just gathering dust. Not to mention it is the sequel to yet another unpublished novel. And you know what they say about a bird in the hand, right?
So I spent a few hours pulling out the chapter, cleaning it up a bit and formatting it for submission. When that was done, I finally went to the publisher's website and saw that they were paying . . . $12.00 for original stories. Twelve bucks. And a contributor's copy.
On that same page they mention they are seeking cover art for the anthology and are paying . . . $25.00. And a contributor's copy.
They are paying more to the artist for the cover art than they are paying writers for their submissions.
I decided to pass.
I'm not sure what my point is. I guess the bottom line is that I don't write enough to essentially give my stories away, and I don't believe that getting "exposure" is gonna help me one way or the other. It's all a crapshoot.
But when I do write, when I get what I think is a good enough idea to finally put pen to paper, I can tell you this: I pour my heart and soul into it, and leave a little piece of myself behind with every finished piece. And little bits of me are worth a hell of a lot more than $12.00.
Forgive the rant. I suppose I ought to be grateful, in this day and age, when reading is fast becoming a lost art, that there are any markets to submit work to at all. But I'm not one of those (usually new) writers who believe "Writers just have to write! We are driven to do so! It is like breathing to us!" Not me.
For me, writing is hard work. Not writhing on the floor, Thomas Harris hard work. But hard work just the same.
I'm not arrogant enough to believe anything -- just anything! -- I have to say is worth someone else spending time reading it. But I do think I get the occasional good idea, and even less occasionally do something clever with it in words. Those are the stories I submit.
But I ain't selling a piece of my soul for twelve bucks. I'd sooner give it to MicroHorror for free. Least I know they're good people.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Cleaning out the desk drawer of my mind
Got an e-mail from Necrotic Tissue with regard to Malpractice. Their website redesign will be done this week and the anthology should be available for pre-order at that time. I'll post the link when that happens.
Got my Writers of the Future Honorable Mention certificate. Very cool. Thinking of perhaps re-working the story rejected from the Footprints anthology for this quarter's contest.
My story Adamson's Rock has been submitted to the oft-delayed InfraDead anthology from Sam's Dot Publishing. Though more pre-apocalyptic than the post-apocalyptic they seem to be looking for, I like its chances.
In a previous post, I mentioned a story ostensibly rejected because it contained two instances of the word "bastard." Curious then, that I should visit another writer's blog, who noted he had been asked by that same editor to re-work his story to remove some foul language.
Did the rules change?
And as long as I'm bashing editors:
To the editor of a recent anthology who kept us updated on the status of our submissions on his blog under the heading "Slush Update," I remind him that solicited stories are not slush. It can be degrading enough in this business without having your solicited submission be referred to as slush. You'd think as an aspiring novelist himself, he'd know that.
Been dabbling with something for a future anthology from Horror Bound Magazine temporarily titled Return of the Raven. They are looking for stories that are homage to the themes and style of Edgar Allen Poe. Not sure my story's going anywhere, but its been a lot of fun and has the juices flowing.
Got my t-shirt from Necrotic Tissue. Wicked cool.
Submitted my story titled Fortunato's Ghost to an upcoming extreme horror anthology (as yet untitled) from Comet Press.
If you happen to pick up Northern Haunts, be sure to leave a comment on Amazon. Hoping this one gets a lot of buzz.
My skin is thickening. Rejections hardly sting anymore.
Much.
Got my Writers of the Future Honorable Mention certificate. Very cool. Thinking of perhaps re-working the story rejected from the Footprints anthology for this quarter's contest.
My story Adamson's Rock has been submitted to the oft-delayed InfraDead anthology from Sam's Dot Publishing. Though more pre-apocalyptic than the post-apocalyptic they seem to be looking for, I like its chances.
In a previous post, I mentioned a story ostensibly rejected because it contained two instances of the word "bastard." Curious then, that I should visit another writer's blog, who noted he had been asked by that same editor to re-work his story to remove some foul language.
Did the rules change?
And as long as I'm bashing editors:
To the editor of a recent anthology who kept us updated on the status of our submissions on his blog under the heading "Slush Update," I remind him that solicited stories are not slush. It can be degrading enough in this business without having your solicited submission be referred to as slush. You'd think as an aspiring novelist himself, he'd know that.
Been dabbling with something for a future anthology from Horror Bound Magazine temporarily titled Return of the Raven. They are looking for stories that are homage to the themes and style of Edgar Allen Poe. Not sure my story's going anywhere, but its been a lot of fun and has the juices flowing.
Got my t-shirt from Necrotic Tissue. Wicked cool.
Submitted my story titled Fortunato's Ghost to an upcoming extreme horror anthology (as yet untitled) from Comet Press.
If you happen to pick up Northern Haunts, be sure to leave a comment on Amazon. Hoping this one gets a lot of buzz.
My skin is thickening. Rejections hardly sting anymore.
Much.
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