Process Notes

Unleash the Frowns

PETERMBALL Works in Progress , ,

The tenth rejection of the year came in this morning. After doing some quick research and resending the story, I went in to update my submission tracker (hint number one for writers: always update your submission tracker. Yes, right now). Then I spent about an hour making this face at the computer:

Afterwards I went and sang Creep at the top of my lungs in the shower. It helped, although I suspect the neighbours now regard my off-key crooning of the line “I wish I was special” over and over as evidence that I may, in fact, be exactly that*.

Now, to be explicitly clear, the frowny-face of doom wasn’t actually directed at my rejection (me, I love my rejections; it means I’m doing my job ). No, the frown was directed at the visual evidence that I’ve been letting things slide on the writing front for over a year, and it really was time to start picking up my game if I wanted to do little things like a) pay my phone bill, b) eat, and c) take over the world.

You see, I’d known for a while that I was somewhat slack in 2009. If you’ve followed this blog for a while, then odds are you’ll remember be bitching about it rather consistently. But the time-frames writing operates under means you can be slack for an entire year and it’ll still take six months or more for the effects to register, and there’s one thing apparent now that was easy to miss back then: 2010 is likely to be the first downward trend in every metric** I use to track how well my writing is going since 2006. In fact, given that it’s already July and I’ve only sold one story and a novella, it’s likely to be dropping to 20% of last years output.

I suspect I can improve on that a little if I gear up and go crazy for the next five months – and lord knows there’s plans to try – but right now I find myself wishing for a time machine so I can go back and slap myself silly. Much as I’d like to buy into the excuses I offered myself last year, the sheer dissatisfaction I feel right now suggests I need to eliminate them from my vocabulary. After all, 2008 was a much busier and suckier year than ’09, and even then I managed to do more and do it better.

*Considering I spent yesterday trying to answer the question “exactly how many songs to Green Day have about masturbation”, I think it’s safe to say they’ll be happy when my house-sitting stint is done.

** For those who are interested, these are in approximate order of importance: Number of submissions; number of new stories; Advancement on long-term Projects  (Novel drafts, etc); New Things Attempted; Number of sales; number of pro-level sales; amount of money earned from short fiction; interesting offers and invitations to submit; and number of words written over the course of the year.

Adventures in Cat-Sitting, a Play in One Act

PETERMBALL Madcap Adventures and Distracting Hijinx , , , ,

Peter sits at the table, trying to work. He is grumpy and irritable after being woken two hours early by a deranged cat yowling at the bedroom door. The Cat jumps on the table and sits on the computer keyboard. Peter moves The Cat.

Peter: What do you want, cat?
The Cat: Feed me, mortal.
Peter: Dude, I fed you ten minutes ago. You ate. There is no more food.
The Cat: FEED ME.
Peter: No.
The Cat: I stare at you.
Peter: Totally cool with me.
The Cat:I stare with mighty stareness.
Peter: Huh.
The Cat: FEEL THE WEIGHT OF MY DISPLEASURE
Peter: Got it. Trying to work.
The Cat: I savage your toe.
Peter: Fuck. Shit. Rack off, I was using that.
The Cat: FEEEEEEEED ME!
Peter: TRYING TO WORK.
The Cat: Holy shit, there’s birds in the yard.
Peter:They’re chickens. They’re there every day. You know this, because I pull you away from their pen every morning.
The Cat: I savage the chickens for food!
Peter: You’re starting to piss me off.

The other cat, hearing Peter move through the kitchen to rescue the chickens, emerges from his hiding place.

Other Cat: Food?
Peter: No food.
Other Cat: Cool.

Other Cat disappears in a method that’s mysterious and probably involves the city of Ulthar beyond the river Skai. Outside there are chicken’s panicking.

The Cat: FOOOOOOOD!

Peter goes outside and saves the chickens.

The Cat:Seriously d00d, feeed me.
Peter: No.
The Cat: I bring you offerings.
Peter: Dude, I have no use for crickets.
The Cat: Then I shall eat the offering and bring you another.
Peter:Whatev’s man, just do it outside.
The Cat: Fuck that, d00d, you don’t learn the lesson about feeding me if I don’t eat the cricket on your feet.

Peter removes the cat. Peter removes the half-eaten cricket.

The Cat: Offering!
Peter: I don’t want it.
The Cat:It isn’t for you. This offering goes to mighty Cthulhu, that he may rise from sunken R’yleh and lay waste to the world. Then I shall eat your eyelids, for I hunger and they look tasty.
Peter:Whatev’s.

Peter removes the cat. Peter removes the half-eaten cricket.

The Cat: Doom.
Peter: TRYING TO WORK!
The Cat: Ai! Ai! F’tagn!

Peter removes the cat. Peter confiscates The Cat’s copy of the Necronomicon as a safety precaution.

The Cat: Feed me.

Peter removes the cat. Peter barricades the cat door with a waste-paper basket.

The Cat: Ouch.
Peter:Opposable thumbs, dude. Don’t mess with the guy who has ’em.
The Cat: No fair!
Peter: You can come back in without offerings if you fuck off and let me get some work done.
The Cat: You will pay, mortal. Oh yes, you will pay…with your eyelids.

The Cat dissappears to plot revenge. Peter goes to work in peace.

Other Cat: Food?
Peter: Working.
Other Cat: Cool.
Peter: I reward your understanding with belly scratches.

Bad Ideas and Cat Fights

PETERMBALL Journal , ,

Last night, because Jason Fischer is a bad influence, I wrote out the notes for a Blaxploitation-esque story set in the 70’s version of the Miriam Aster universe. I then put it away because I realised there’s absolutely no way of writing it without being horribly offensive or utterly driven by pastiche.

Such are the dangers of not having any deadlines looming, major or minor. Fortunately there are days when I stop myself before doing stupid things and today seems to be one of them. The notes go deep into the “write this when you can afford to get punched in the face” file, at least until Jason lives up to his threat to kidnap me and go all Kathy Bates until I write the damn thing (if anyone hears about Jason acquiring a pet pig, please let me know).

In other news, there are twenty-four days remaining before I am free of cats. Or, more specifically, the cat, since there are two felines in the house and I only really have issues with one of them.

See, as a general rule, I kinda like cats because they embody the essence of cool. They are aloof and self-contained and are quite willing to put up with having their belly scratched because I’m the person who lays out food. They make me work for their attention and I can respect that, because generally I’m self-involved enough that I only really want to pay attention to other living things on my own terms*. One of the cats I’m house-sitting is a totally chilled dude in this respect; he’s very low-maintenance and doesn’t much care what I do as long as he gets fed. He also seems to grasp that when I’m asleep I’m not really up for a) playing, b) serving as a hot water bottle, and c) getting up to feed him.

The other cat is…needy. We do not co-habitate well, especially since he doesn’t seem to grasp that I don’t particularly want to play when I’m sitting at the laptop. Nor am I particularly enthused when he digs claws in after jumping on my stomach, largely because I develop a rash whenever he breaks the skin. He doesn’t seem to understand that clawing at my bottom lip while I’m sleeping is going to result in a very grumpy human, not that I’m not fond of having things sit in my lap that aren’t in possession of RAM chips and a wireless internet connection.

Today I’m trying to convince the mad cat that sacraficing crickets at my feet will not endear him too me. I seem to be losing this battle. Ordinarily these are minor irritations, but after seven days of antihistamines I’m starting to get a little grumpy with it all.

*this here, btw, is the reason I make a terrible friend, housemate, boyfriend and employee. 🙂