Tucked away for the weekend...

And the week is finally over. Hectic, frustrating, disappointing -- and yet another week to go.

On Thursday night, I'm heading up north with Chris for a mini vacation. A week. I'm hoping for lots of beach time, decent weather and perhaps a reassessment of the old career thing.

I hate all this self-reflection bullshit. I hate rehashing my perspective, and I hate having to do it regularly. Most of all, I hate the fact that I lack the confidence to just go after what I want and get it.

Confidence, I think, is key. It's the self-doubt that will get you every time. I'll admit a tiny, secret part of me wanted people to read my stuff, think it brillient (or at least interesting and reasonably well-done) and voila -- the career would be born.

It's never that easy, though, is it?

I feel like I'm in a race with the rest of the world, but somehow my shoelaces are tied tightly together. While people run by, I'm still working through the knots, breaking fingernails and practically screaming in frustration.

And every time I think I have a knot loosened, another one is there to tangle me up.

How is it that this is always so much easier for other people? Or have I missed some important class that everyone else has taken?

I hate stumbling.

It's funny 'cause it's true

No, I didn't make this at Flagrant Disregard, but I kinda wish I did.

This one is courtesy of Whitney Matheson's Pop Candy blog, which I confess I read mighty regular. (Good English me speakings.)

As the week draws to an end...

Whew. Today was a cheque day. No rejection letter. I can only assume the rest of them are on their merry little way and will arrive next week.

Stuck in my head all day...

"Tonight I think I'll walk alone
I'll find my soul as I go home"

Another day, another rejection...

An update on the mail I've received this week.

MONDAY: Rejection from literary agent (Query stamped with "Not accepting new clients")

TUESDAY: Rejection from literary agent (Stock letter, "Dear Author, not sufficently enthused, changing market, etc etc")

WEDNESDAY: Long overdue cheque from January (whoo!)

THURSDAY: Rejection from literary agent (Stock letter, "Dear Author, Busy, Not accepting new clients, etc etc")


I must say, I am looking forward to the weekend. No mail. No rejection. What kills me is that these agents -- who are only middle men, after all -- haven't even read my stories.

It's depressing as hell. Am hoping this is just merely the troublesome beginning engineered to weed out the wimps.

Or maybe I'm wasting my time.

Or my timing is bad.

Or I'm stupid even to try and get published in a Canadian market.

Or they hate me. Even from my writing, they can sense I'm overweight and sufficiently uncute to work with.

And I suppose that listening to The Smiths' The Queen Is Dead doesn't help, either.
Three more rejections to go...

The fastest "fuck you" ever received.

Dear Diary,


Today I received a rejection from an agent. It was a quick response. They merely stamped the top of my query with a crappy generic blue stamp that read "_____ ______ Agency is not accepting new clients" and sent it back.

Tell me, dear diary, why they think it is preferable to simply stamp a query, rather than send out a stock letter. Am I not worth five cents of paper and toner?

Seems not. Booooo.

*Sighhhhhhhhh*

Mustn't forget...

(This movie quote is referring to baseball, but it certainly applies to other things, non?)

"It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great."

Friends make the world go 'round.

Indeed they do.

If you're lucky enough to have good ones, it makes life a far more enjoyable place.

"They're all going to laugh at you..."

So I just sent a whack of envelopes out to some of Toronto's literary agents, containing what I hoped was an interesting enough pile of paper to convince them to, if not represent me, actually want to see more of my work.

I feel like Carrie at the prom. I'm proud of dress that I made (rather, my bundle of queries) and now I'm dancing with the hunk of the school and feeling pretty damn good. Confidence beginning to unfurl.

Next step... pig's blood and terror.

Fortunately, I'm not pryokinetic. Nor do I have a freaky Jesus-loving mom who refers to breasts as "dirty pillows."

Out of the mouths of tai chi instructors...

"We'll make an upright citizen of you yet!"

Of course, he meant it literally, as I have a terrible tendency to slouch.

I'm effing tired. The last couple of days have been hellishly busy, though satisfying -- I'm officially turning myself into a pain in the ass and will be hassling all sorts of agents and publishers over the next week.

Oh, and I'm finally writing a book. It's utter crap, of course, but that shan't sway me from trying to publish it.

I need money. Badly. And I'm sick of being broke. It fucking sucks.

Chris and I were two numbers away from winning millions in the lottery on Saturday. Though winning $200 ain't that shabby. Next time, I want more millions and less toying with my head.

So, uh, yeah. I guess an update is in order.

I like lists sometimes. They make things so much easier.


1) [edited]

2) I caught a glimpse of the Perseid meteor shower while at the beach with a friend this evening. Even with the bright moon and a crapload of pollution (both smog and light), I caught ifive shooting stars. Cool.

3) Chris and I headed to Taste Of The Danforth today (really? The largest street festival in the world? I think Wikipedia is lying on this one) with a couple of folks. I was silly enough to buy greek pastry treats (mmm) from a vendor other than my favourite greek bakery (the Athena), but still ate assloads. Minimal sunburn. Too many effing people. Jerks.

4) In keeping with my recent lapse into a childhood speech impediment (switching the first consonants of two words -- ie, instead of "shopping for treats," I will burst out with "tropping for sheats") with frightening regularity, I have also taken to occasionally saying words backwards. The other day. I was horrified when I gathered ingredients for a lettuce-less greek salad, check the fridge and when spying some still-healthy strawberry tomatoes, I exclaimed, "Oh, doog!" with great relish. Chris' response: "Did you just call me 'dude'?"

5) About a half an hour ago, Chris announced he wasn't tired and came up to watch TV. I suggested we go completely apeshit and indulge in a very rare treat of late-night pizza. He's asleep on the couch as I type this. So much for late-night pizza. Jerk.

6) Allergy season has begun. Already I can feel myself mentally psyching myself to stab myself in the heart with chopsticks.

Hmmm.

Would it be very politically incorrect to kill the little five-year-old kid downstairs who keeps singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" at the top of lungs in a rather obnoxious manner?

I'm sure his parents find him precious (ensures the kid's survival, of course), but I feel a murderous red haze descending...

The soundtrack of my life...

So it's yet another long weekend. Chris has gone off white water rafting, the prick. I was invited for the bargain price of $250 -- which I don't have, so home it is.

While I was in NS, he bought a new computer, and set up his old one (with flat-panel monitor - hooray!) on my desk in the attic.

Buried in this monster is an entire hard drive (possibly two, I'm not sure) dedicated to music we've downloaded over the past few years. Not everything is there, but enough so that I was able to pair up the music I was listening to with the moment in time it was most relevent.

You see, my memory is terrible... until I have a trigger. Sometimes it's a smell, or a texture, and other times, it's music.

And sure, everyone does it -- but the beauty of digital music is that I can actually hear my path through the last few years. Certain songs place me at an old job, an old house, or even remind me of walks I would take. I can even remember the sounds, the smells, the time of day... even what I was feeling and what things I was thinking about.

At the same time, I can also look over all the music Chris listens to... and shudder.

Some of it is truly so heinous that to even mention it brings me pain.



It's a gorgeous effing day outside. I should go enjoy some it, I suspect.

Four things...

My brain has been slowly shutting down, so rather than force myself to think, I've opted instead to respond to one of those horrible "find out things about your friends" things that was sent to me:


A) Four jobs I have had in my life:
1) Cleaning lady
2) Cellular phone technician
3) Food prep monkey
4) Cashier-salesperson for office supply company (and have never recovered)

B) Four movies you would watch over and over:
1) Philadelphia Story
2) Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind
3) The Tao Of Steve
4) The Princess Bride

C) Four places you have lived:
1) Waterloo, ON (rural, no less!)
2) Kitchener, ON
3) York University (ugh)
4) And about a zillion apartments and one house (near the slaughter houses) in Toronto

D) Four TV shows you love to watch:
1) Big Love
2) The Sopranos
3) How Not To Decorate
4) Carnivale

E) Four places I've been on vacation
1) Kilkenny, Ireland
2) London, England
3) Los Angeles, CA
4) Edinburgh, Scotland

F) Websites you visit daily:
1) Whitney Matheson's Pop Candy blog
2) The Toronto Star
3) The Superficial (I know, I know. A terrible habit I got into while writing gossip for a company last year. )
4) Media Job Search Canada


G ) Favorite foods
1) Strawberries
2) My mum's peach pie
3) Godiva dark chocolate truffles with a dusting of cinnamon
4) Mango salad from the Thai place on Alexander

H) Four places I would rather be right now:
1) At a publisher's, accepting a giant cheque
2) At the beach (day, night, whatever)
3) France
4) Peru

Who's a bad little blogger? Who is? Is it me? Oh yes, it is!

Yea, yeah.
So I suck. Get over it.

I've been trying to catch up my emails to varius folks. I pretty much avoided any unnecessary contact over the last two weeks (blogging included), but means there are some lovely folks who deserve some attention over the next little while.

I'm sure there are stories from my trip... I'll think on them later. Right now I am completely bagged, and can still hear a baby screaming in my ear -- reminding me of the delayedflight that also included a good 20 minutes or more of circling the airport while they fucked around with the cabin pressure.

Permanent hearing loss, I expect.

Sleep. I need sleep.