Back To Basics

Dragon Moon Press sent me a rejection letter, so like a good kid who’s been kicked by companies and dumped by one that was going to publish me but had a complete melt down, I am resorting to self publishing through Createspace.

Here’s hoping it works.  When I get more of the logistics, I’ll post it here.   To my loyal reader (Hi charlie!), I remembered what you’d said, and took that into account, but I’ve had it.  Self publishing may be the only way this book gets to see print.  Besides, it’s already been edited by one of the best English teachers in the world: thusly dubbed by the Berlitz School of Languages.

That’s it.

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The Path of the Author

I’m thinking of self publishing if I don’t get accepted by Dragonmoon Press.  Over the month of December, they’d opened their doors to unsolicited manuscripts for the Sci-Fi/Fantasy community.  I had found out in the last week of November.  Precicely 30 minutes after midnight on December 1st, I submitted the manuscript that won me a place among the ranks of Lilleypress’ authors.  Within the letter i sent to Dragonmoon, I included the fact  that I had been accepted for publication.  Hopeuflly this will garner some sympathies from the aquisitions editor since the cancelling of my book was not by any fault of my own, and get them to take my manuscript out of the Slush pile. 

If this doesn’t work, I am seriously thinking of self publishing.  It’ll be expensive, which means I’ll have to save up the money to print the books, or pay someone else to do it.  Here’s hoping I see my novel on the shelf with Dragonmoon Press’s insigina on the spine. 

Comments if any on what I should do are most welcome.

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When it Rains…

My oldest cat, Gabrielle, is about one-and-a-half years old. She ripped out her stitches before they were ready to be removed, and completely opened up her spay wound again. I took her in, and had the vet suture her back up. I couldn’t pay for it, since I’m pretty much broke all the time. My father and step-mother were kind enough to pay for Gabby’s second surgery. I’m sure I”m going to hear more about how irresponsible I am, along with rantings about how much I have failed the family, and am just a waste of air and space. See, I already know this. I’ve known it since late elementary school. But still I try becuase I have to. Failure is what I do.

Anyway, that’s off topic. I bought Gabby a cone to wear to keep her from licking and biting her stitches, but I noticed that her wound was bleeding a little. So, I patted some blood away from the skin around the area. I went to check on her earlier tonight, and there’s more blood around the wound than before. That seriously worries me. She’s on an antibiotic, but if she’s still bleeding tomorrow morning, I’m going to take her back to the vet.

I lost Marie due to a cancerous tumor on her leg, and the inability to pay to save her life. She was my companion for almost five years. She helped get me through a very, very hard time in my life. I still miss her from time to time. I don’t want to lose Gabby due to similar circumstances.

As for my finances, my mom is helping me work them out, and I think she’ll have to take over until I can grow up enough to do it myself. Who knows when that’ll be. I’m a natural born failure. Apparently, my uselessness to humanity is boundless.

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Weekend Wordz that Nevah Wuz

I was supposed to go to Las Vegas today of all days –Friday 13th– on a business trip to take apart the show room at the World Market Center.

It was canceled at the last minute last night just before ten pm.  By then, the cancelation date on my hotel reservation had passed.  Goodbye $89.65.  My boss, however, is going to be kind enough to pay me back for that.  He’s planning on sending myself and Ray after all these storms have passed, so the likelyhood of a catastrophic truck/car/bus crash would be significantly less. 

The cancelation of the trip itself isn’t what pissed me off.

What pissed me off, is that I had a room in Las Vegas on Valentine’s Day for a good price right around the corner from Freemont Street.  And I was going to be with a good friend. 

I deam this part of the Plain of Suck. ((LFG fans will get this reference.))

But, on the good side, it’s raining, and it’s cold enough for me to be bundled up in my old warm clothes from when I once romped free in the Sierra Nevadas.  Good times.

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…Saying Something Stupid, like “I Love You.”

Love.

That one four letter heavy-hitter usually brings to mind thoughts of romantic getaways, dinners for two in a french restaurant who’s name you can’t pronounce, and a Hi/Bye heartshaped box of chocolates. For me, it’s always about the chocolate, and Valentine’s Day is the perfect excuse to buy out the discount isle of Rite Aid.

The phrase, “I Love You,” can be even worse in two ways depending on the person handing over their heart like today’s choice cuts:  A)  Good: You hear the words uttered from the lips of the man you dream about, and all of the sudden your thoughts explode in fifty different directions ranging from life changes to “did I make a mistake?”, and then you go to Vegas for the weekend and don’t tell anyone what happened–unless it involves the office pool and you put money into it.  B) Bad.  It’s some pizza-faced, slick-haired creep that stalks you and calls asking for your panties.  In this case, get a restaining order, and take yourself to Vegas for the weekend to clean away the ick.

So far, in my twenty-seven years of existance on the planet Earth, I have yet to hear that one word, and that one phrase uttered by someone I wanted to spend my nights with curled up in a chair during a rain storm, cuddling under a microfiber blanket, with two steaming cups of hot coffee sitting on the sidetable.  It’s just like a Nora Roberts novel, isn’t it.  🙂   Honestly, ladies, don’t we all want someone that gives us a good reason to buy that Fredrick’s of Hollywood lingerei we’ve been staring at?  And the man we find will make us feel like Heidi Klume in or out of it.  Wish. 

In order to find said Perfect Man, you hang out at places you love–that little coffee shop on the corner, the book store with the cushions scattered on the floor, the renaissance faire around the jousting arena, the anime convention by the Animaze meet-n-greet–, hoping to catch the eye of a man with similar intrests. (If he’s a cosplayer for the anime convention, it’s even better.) If you find him, and you date for a while, odds are, he’ll turn out to be a pig, and you’ll be greatful you haven’t gone in to register for that gun liscense yet.  On the other hand, he could be exactly what you’re looking for. 

Sound familar, ladies?  Ok, so maybe the ‘Anime Convention’ part doesn’t sound familiar to you, but it does to me.  Don’t judge me. 

Some of us look too hard, and some of us don’t look hard enough. And then some of us have just given up. Finding the man who will ultimately–truthfully– say, “I love you,” and sweep you off your feet for a magical vacation in Cancun is what all us women are facinated with and/or are supposed to have at the top of our wistful youth to-do list; right below ‘plan wedding’ and ‘take out the trash.’  It’s sad to see the ones who try too hard; bringing home men of all walks hoping one of them will stay. But in the end, they all leave the front door in a sprint. By that point, those girls realize they’ve dated the entire UCLA track team.  They are the ones who try and try and fail and fail. Epicly.

The movie inudstry paints the girl-who-doesn’t-do-anything as the one who snags that perfectly romantic, Hughe Grant-kind-of-charismatic-studdering-English type that won’t treat her like a dime store blow-up doll.  Julia Roberts plays this role splendidly. 

So far in my own search, I’ve had no hits, and I’m still grinning like that stupid dime store blow-up doll.

It makes me wonder if that’s all guys really want, and if it’s even worth it to put out the ‘open season’ sign.

Once, I thought I’d found someone who would be perfect for me. He consumed my thoughts. Everything was sunshine and flowers, until I said something stupid, like “I love you.”

I never saw him again.

As women roaming the Serengeti for the perfect mate, are we just setting ourselves up to fail, or are we failing ourselves just to settle?

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Christmas Gift

Someone I was around a while ago thought it would be fun to pass on the ever popular… rhinovirus to me. It’s the gift that keeps on sucking. It could have been from any number of people, since I work in a retail store. However, now it’s hit me full throttle, and I can hardly see straight to type this. I still had to come to work, though. Thank God I’m the only employee, or my fellow phantom employees would kill me for infecting them.

Since all I want to do is sleep, and I’m stuck here at work, I’m drugged up on all kinds of happy medications to keep me going. There is a possibility that I won’t be able to make it home for Christmas if I’m still feeling like death warmed over, and/or the pass over the grapevine is as thickly clogged with snow as my head is with mucus.

Merry Christmas to all if I can’t make it home. I so want to go home, though.

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T’was the Eve of Thanksgiving…

…When all through the house,

Not a turkey was roasting, not a butt on the couch.

No one had made beds, or vacumed the floors,

Or cleaned out the bunnies that clung to the doors.

The yard was in ruin from gold leaves with red,

Just after the rake was replaced in the shed. 

The stuffing lay stuffed in its package with care,

In hopes that St. Freezerburn’s touch wouldn’t dare,

Defile the foul that would be the Turducken.

Without it, Thanksgiving itself would be nothin’.

The three beasts that make up this wild concoction,

Was planned by a man with no feast time direction.

The Honey baked ham sat chilling with care,

Near three pumpkin pies, Yams, and something with hair.

The holiday place settings remained in their box,

And the silver wear’s silver was stained with old spots.

Tomorow’s the day friends and family will call,

Expecting a dinner to rival them all.

Diets and weight plans will sluff to the side, 

As soon as the guests get a whiff of the pie.

The game will be blareing on the old T.V set,

And the kids will be playing soccer with no net.

Grandpa will snore at the 1st and down,

Forcing uncle to turn up the halftime sound.

The dishes will pile up high in the sink,

And the women will gab while the men sit and drink.

Eventually all will go on their way,

Except for your brother, who’s got no’else to stay.

Thanksgiving will promise a chaotic time,

But tonight, my dear family, this sofa is MINE!

______HAPPY THANKGIVING!_______

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Much Nothing About Adu

Other than hearing all sorts of stories regarding fabrics from two sources in my life, there really hasn’t been much going on.  I have yet to start the PRI trials, and may have to drive over and give them my medical records.  So, in order to refrain from moaning and groaning about how financialy inept I am, this idiot will take her complaints and leave them on the floor in front of the t.v. 

In conclusion, there is much adu about nothing.  Unless I edit this post.

Edit:  Ok, I bought car insurance, and that cost me a pretty penny, but after realizing I’d been driving so long without it, I had to bite the bullet.  On top of owing a few more companies more than I can afford right now, the insurance took precidence.  I feel better knowing my car won’t be towed for that reason, at least.

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Results Show

I have a strange feeling this blog will be turned into my report booklet for the PRI medical trials.  That is, if I remember to post, it will be.  See, I went in for the consultation with one of the their doctors, and after a while, he said that I showed signs of ADD and Depression.  I am officially qualified to participate in the medical trials, which makes me wonder if that verdict is a good thing or a bad thing. 

I went through the hassel of obtaining my medical records from the Sonora local file warehouse.  Since I haven’t been seen by a GP for a check-up since 2001, the records had passed the “keep in the office” time alloted, and were moved to the warehouse.  The studies start next week.  Ironicly, I forgot to call my father and ask for the information yesterday so I could go ahead an be involved in this trial.  Need any more proof?  I can’t afford any real therapy, or lengthy therapy, so this is the closest I can get.  I’m trying to activly find help to fix myself so I can have a normal life and ambitions like everyone else.  I just want everyone to know that. 

And that’s the word, hummingbird.  Tune in tomorrow (if I remember) for the next exciting installment.

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November with a Bang

Well, it’s November again.  This is the month of Thanksgiving that makes us all think of shades of oranges, yellows, russets, golden hues, and browns.  And then there’s the color of the leaves…

I’d like to start off with a congradulations to President-Elect Barack Obama for his landslide victory over Senator John McCain.  This was without a doubt the most publicized, most mocked (SNL), most difficult campaign ever run in American history.  With two wars on our backs, and an econimic crisis so fragil it would break if someone blew on it, the outcome of this election was going to sound bells all around the world.  And how. 

Today at 6:45, I’m going in to PRI (Pharmocology Research Institute) in Encino for a consultation to see if I qualify for any of the medical trials regarding ADD/ADHD, and depression.  The latter of which I’m sure was caused by the ADD.  This way, I’ll have proof that I’m one of two things: A) Broken, or B) naturally the village idiot.  Perhaps they’ll be able to find out why I have an “Awe, screw it” outlook most days.  There are some days when I’m all gung-ho, but they’re bursts of short lived emotion, and usually don’t last an entire day.  Here’s hoping there’s some way to fix me, and it doens’t involve needles.  I hate needles as much as Garfield loves lasagnia.   If anyone is curious about what I’m thinking of doing, the website is www.priresearch.com.

I started writing a little bit on my second novel yesterday.  Not much was completed.  I think I wrote a page or two before I left to watch the election results.  It’s taking me a long time to realize that I don’t have to write straight through from beginning to end.  Writing here and there is going against my English programing of “Write the story, and stay within the lines” sort of thinking.  If that made any sense.  If not, then welcome to the club.  Maybe this book will at least reach something that looks like a half way point by next summer.

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