Make that 16

No longer fourteen rejections from seven markets; now sixteen rejections from six markets. (I miscounted – i still have one poem, Shame shift, awaiting a response but i accidentally counted that market, Dante’s Heart, in with the rejections. (Easy to fail to spot the one among the multititude.)) Time to get more out. Time, counting on this project (= submitting)’s timescale, to get more out there, but counting on my life’s timescale, other things need doing before i can get to that.

There are times when (looking back at the slog rather than the relevant-ish peripherals) the hopeful travelling feels more like reckless sauntering. It’s difficult to see cliff edges looming, and in fact it’s not always easy to tell if you’ve already gone over one.

Not in a state to address that question until another time.

I could offer a prize for knowing the number of appearances of ‘time’ in this slogpost. I may not.

Micro-update

Since i began sending work out on 8 November, i’ve had 14 rejections from 7 markets.

This is good. This is Achievement.

It is also nearly a piece per week, and nearly 2 markets per month: over target.

Micro, cos my computer’s just gone really slow.

Made it to Chapter Six!

Heading towards 39,000 words. Which is nice, as it’s a bit like being nearly at 40,000.

My hands have been the problem lately, plus other domestic distractions and commitments. The hands have stopped me writing more than 1,000 words in one go, and that not only slows things down, but drastically affects the tension. You can’t get properly ‘into’ a story by reading it in little snippets, and you can’t pace one by writing it in little snippets. But that kind of thing is fixable at the revision stage. I trust.

I was reflecting yesterday that i do know my characters pretty well. I’m keeping the odd note on their history – which countries they have visited in the past, that kind of thing – but i don’t need notes on how fat they are, what their politics are, their favourite food… when those things crop up, i just have to ask them. Yippee. And it’s a relief that my main character isn’t just me, which i was afraid of. In fact i expected that, even though he’s male. He has different feelings about many things, a different tolerance for alcohol, different levels of courage and patience. Yippee, twicely.

I have started a longish poem called To capture a siren, and a shortish one called Kiss. Surely something else too, but this morning i don’t know what. And there you have my update for this week.

Never mind. No mind. None of my mind, that is…

Found out why i’ve been so creative for a few days. It’s part of the migraine cycle. My sight went with no warning at 9.20 this morning, zigzags substituted for the page i was looking at. Sad to think i won’t keep churning out little ditties and waffly snippets at the same rate, but to keep up that rate would be out of character anyway. And at least this phase of the the migraine cycle will be back in future… (Always reminds me of artists cherishing the manic phase of bipolar disorder.)

Today marks the beginning of half term, end of solitude for about ten days; very emphatically, as Tigger had a teacher training day, and Marvin and Taifeng were both off with The Cold. I should therefore have got some Slog under my belt so as to be at least slightly into the new setting, but i haven’t. I expect there will be the odd moment of quiet here and there. Optimism, optimism.

A turn in the path, dull though it is

The 500 plus 1,500 i thought i’d scribbled turned out to be a total of about 1,400 when typed up. Never mind; this morning in bed, and this afternoon at the keyboard, i have done another 1,400. It’s mainly talk, which will all be scrapped later, but this is Draft One and while i haven’t got it right, i have got it written. The new character is a great guy, as i get to know him. I’ve also introduced the metaphysical lower level, clumsily but that doesn’t matter for now. The next bit is the end of the journey and the setting i’ve been looking forward to – rather more exotic (therefore more difficult) than the early part.

I looked at The New Yorker as a possible market for poetry, but surely that’s over-ambitious… and composed a query email to see where my one remaining still-out-there submission has got to – which i’ll send in a few days, as Vestal Review have only had it 89 days and Duotrope’s Digest recommends leaving it at least 90 days.

Still frustrateed by computer disabilities, though i’m being polite about it in the computer’s hearing.