If You Weren't So Old / I Would Keep You

Today went much better. I spent the morning mapping out how to make my way to State Services for the Blind by bus, and checking to see just how much my textbooks books were going to cost. After that, I went into Domestic God Mode, doing such exciting things as laundry, dishes, running the swiffer over the floor, cleaning in the bathroom, and brushing out the cat.

By noon I was sitting in my new little office, staring at the blank monitor. I don't plan to start rewrites on Old Blood's Fate until next Wednesday, so I needed something else to do.

I spent the afternoon deciding which markets to inflict which of my stories on. I'm all set. I want to read each manuscript over once, checking for stray typos and such, and then out the door they go.

All ten of them.

Possibly thirteen, if I bite the bullet and untrunk some pieces. Fifteen if the wielder of the Red Pen of Doom can manage to find time to work over a couple of my pieces.

Plus, I have the next market lined up for the one piece I have out, should it come home rejected. I expect to hear something about it on late August.

It's not so much marketing I'm about to do, as it is a full-court press. I'm submitting everything I have finished, except the novel, even if I don't think there is anyway on God's Green Golf Ball that it will sell. Because really, what do I know? So I'm just going to chuck them all out there and hope one or two stick.

Lots of manuscripts going out in August. This probably means lots of rejection in November and December.

Happy Holidays, indeed.

In Deep,
Michael

If You Weren't So Old / I Would Keep You

Today went much better. I spent the morning mapping out how to make my way to State Services for the Blind by bus, and checking to see just how much my textbooks books were going to cost. After that, I went into Domestic God Mode, doing such exciting things as laundry, dishes, running the swiffer over the floor, cleaning in the bathroom, and brushing out the cat.

By noon I was sitting in my new little office, staring at the blank monitor. I don't plan to start rewrites on Old Blood's Fate until next Wednesday, so I needed something else to do.

I spent the afternoon deciding which markets to inflict which of my stories on. I'm all set. I want to read each manuscript over once, checking for stray typos and such, and then out the door they go.

All ten of them.

Possibly thirteen, if I bite the bullet and untrunk some pieces. Fifteen if the wielder of the Red Pen of Doom can manage to find time to work over a couple of my pieces.

Plus, I have the next market lined up for the one piece I have out, should it come home rejected. I expect to hear something about it on late August.

It's not so much marketing I'm about to do, as it is a full-court press. I'm submitting everything I have finished, except the novel, even if I don't think there is anyway on God's Green Golf Ball that it will sell. Because really, what do I know? So I'm just going to chuck them all out there and hope one or two stick.

Lots of manuscripts going out in August. This probably means lots of rejection in November and December.

Happy Holidays, indeed.

In Deep,
Michael