So, here I am, again. The thing is…I don’t much like this blog. I like my Live Journal, I like Twitter. A stream of friends and interesting peoples’ musings is much more appealing to my sociable soul than being out here, alone on my little data island. I like the connectedness of some social media. I despise Farcebork.
Facebook is like being on a free-for-all PvP server. It’s ugly, mindless and cynical; a morass of mediocrity and monkey hurled shitballs, with the odd pearl gleaming in the sucking mire.
Like the big girl wot I am, I’m going to try to like this blog. I tried Farcebork with an open mind; I can do no less for this, my very own Fortress of Soliptude.
All things end.
Yesterday, in the beautiful, oil-paint bright sunlight, with the smell of tangy daffodil pollen and freshly turned earth perfuming the lazy air; I buried my Dad’s ashes. I carried the remains of the man who used to piggyback me up to bed, down to the plot.I put the little, but surprisingly heavy box in the hole that had been dug beneath an ivy-wreathed old tree and said goodbye to the best person I have ever known.
All things end.
The other day I found out (although forewarned by a kind person), that a major publisher will not be publishing my novel. I felt a little… perturbed, that the means of discovery was Twitter, but I was also relieved. It wasn’t the longest wait by a long chalk, but five months is long enough.
Since Pops died, the process of submitting my MS to agents and publishers has been, not only glacial and arcane, but randomly punctuated by the most ridiculously grim coincidences. The award for worst timing goes to a rejection from an agent on the day of mi Dad’s funeral. It was surreal; one of those situations where, I don’t know about you, but I had to take a step back; detach my emotions as best as I could, and analyse what was going on from a safe distance slightly outside of myself.
Trust me, when you’ve lived in ‘interesting times’ it’s a useful trick to learn. It’s also great for a writer (although I don’t recommend the method of discovery).
Slightly removed, I observed two little pain rhinos charge from different corners of my heart and clash head on. Naturally, bereavement won — plum smushed the rejection rhino into the hard red ground. But for a moment there was balance. For a moment they were eye to eye, straining for dominance.
It was a, thankfully rare coincidence, one that was exquisitely hard to process or deal with in any other way than to laugh (albeit through tears), at the cosmic bully’s wee jest, and pray that an aeroplane didn’t crash through the roof just to finish things off.
So, here I am today: talking to you with my fingers. I have a publishing deal for The Red Knight with the marvellous Anachron Press. They are a small, but perfectly formed indie publisher. They are also bringing out a fantasy anthology called, Day of Demons, which has my story, The Deal in it. You should read it, it’s acebrillotastic.
I’ve decided to jump horses mid race. I’m winding down the prop making work and concentrating on writing, see what I can come up with when I’m not falling asleep at the keyboard. I have the book after The Red Knight to finish, and a follow up novel to The Deal to crack on with. Life is short, although love isn’t always over in the morning;) Take care peeps.