Well I’m not physically face down ass up weeping into my pillow. It’s more of a metaphorical state.
I made it through my important deadline without stroking out.
I will tell you that it was non fiction and writing it gave me the shits. And then I threw up after sending it to my editor and had a meltdown thinking I had done the absolute wrong thing. I hadn’t. She loved it and more details when it is going down.
Since then I have written the most hateful/sex/death/war poetry. I don’t necessarily consider myself a real poet but I do like to write it when the fancy strikes. Lately it’s all very dark, and that’s fine.
Another word about poetry. Because my poems tend to be quite personal, submitting them to places is entirely nerve wracking to me and I feel like a stressed out poseur. I do it anyway.
I have little else to report. I am sitting at 99 rejections in my race to 100. It has taken longer than I thought it would and I am impatient to get to it and get to more rejections. This is good in that my publication rate is good but I don’t have as much material to submit as I’d like. Per usual I will take off Nov/Dec to restock my word larder.
And likely in Dec I might make my end of the year swing for the fences submissions. Or not, I may meet these people at AWP and I don’t want to do that while thinking HOLY FUCK YOU HATE MY WRITING.
My dark erotic/art thing is still going to happen. I’m taking my time with it so it is exactly the way I want it to be.
I’m a bit unhappy with my pace and output right now. Not that I’m not writing I am- I suppose I’m just greedy as fuck. Not having a good size backlog of stuff to fling into the ether is weird. Weirder still when I realize that I’ve had a lot of stuff published. Do other people actually do that? Does it astonish other authors that people like their shit?
I’m just getting over a cold, it’s 2 AM and I have more work to do.
To quote Ms. Badu They Sleep We Grind.
OH PS I’m posting in my extra words blog again. Go here and read some shit.