Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: The Fearful Meme
I did it!
Yes indeed, I didn’t miss a single day for the month of November.
(Not an accomplishment, you say? Sssshhhhhhh! The NaBloPoMo judges don’t know that.)
The disembodied cat head reminds me of the wife in this story. She’s a patient of mine, you see, and in the old days she used to come to my office wearing, pinned to her sweater, a ferret head. Or perhaps a cat head, but a very small, very ugly cat head. It was all any of us could do to keep from pissing ourselves with laughter. To whomever convinced her to deep-six the ferret-head brooch: thank you.
Still to come: today’s Friday Flickr babe.
D.
SBD: Notice me! *updated*
For Smart Bitches Day, if Kate gets to rant about sloppy publishers and Lyvvie gets to crit I, Lucifer, I say it’s fair game for me to kvetch about my damned romance.
Why won’t anyone notice me? I sent out seven query packages and got seven rejections. Not one request for more material, not one personalized note — form letters, all of them. Then I sent off four queries electronically, to agents who prefer to deal with writers that way, and I haven’t heard back from anyone yet.
Admittedly, eleven queries is bupkes in this biz. Y’all send out dozens, I imagine, but between working a day job, cooking great meals for my family, and sitting on my ass reading people’s blogs, who has time to prepare dozens of queries? Because they all ask for something different. It’s almost a point of honor with these agents.
Rampant in the self-help-for-wannabe-authors literature is the notion that quality sells. If you write well enough, you WILL be noticed, you WILL be published. Hah! If it were that easy, I would have received at least one personalized comment — “Not right for us, but I like your style. Keep trying.” Is that so much to ask? As much as I might bitch about the short story market (and I could bitch a lot), I received several notes of encouragement. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
This is not an ego issue. Surgical internship toughens the ego into this leathery thing you wouldn’t let your dog chew — you try working 80 hours a week on a steady diet of “Doogie” this and “Doogie” that, “Touch that one more time and I’ll rip off your head and shit down your neck,” or “What were you thinking? We don’t pay you to think.” I survived internship at the biggest county hospital in the nation. I don’t need an agent’s (editor’s, publisher’s) recognition to make me whole.
It’s more a problem-solving issue with me. I’ve set myself a task and I’m unhappy with the murky, chance-riddled path to success. Nothing left to do but send out more queries, right? Because, short of becoming a stalker, there’s no other way to be noticed, is there?
*checking computer clock* Well, that successfully spent another thirty minutes of free time. The laundry’s done, the kitchen’s clean, my wife and son are well fed. Nothing left to do but (don’tclickonDailyKos don’tclickonDailyKos don’tclickonDailyKos) get to work on those queries.
Oh. Don’t forget Kate’s contest and my contest.
D.
Update
Now I’m looking at the publishing houses. First up, Avalon Books.
Our books are wholesome adult fiction, suitable for family reading. There is no graphic or premarital sex or sexual tension in any of our novels; kisses and embraces are as far as our characters go.
Hmm. I take it rimming is a deal-breaker?
The Distaff Meme, second attempt
Thanks, Darla. I’m wiped out, so this is about the best I could manage anyway.
The basic facts:
Who is your significant other? Karen
How long have you been together? Since early 1983. Married, June 1984
Dating/Engaged/Married? Married. Didn’t I just say that?
How old is your S.O.? 45
Which one?
Who eats more? I do.
Who says “I love you” first? I do, usually. But not always.
Who weighs more? I have her beat 2:1.
Who sings better? I do. And that speaks volumes for the truly horrific nature of Karen’s singing voice.
Who’s older? Me, by seven months.
Who’s smarter? Karen. Nothing like going through college together to establish THAT fact.
Whose temper is worse? I get p.o.’d at my son easier than she does. She gets p.o.’d at me easier than I get p.o.’d at her.
Who does the laundry? Me.
Who does the dishes? Me.
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Karen. Why do you ask?
Whose feet are bigger? Mine, duh!
Whose hair is longer? Karen’s.
Who’s better with the computer? For most things, Karen.
Who mows the lawn? Our gardener.
Who pays the bills? Karen, always.
Who cooks dinner? I do.
Who drives when you are together? That’s about 50:50.
Who pays when you go out to dinner? I do.
Who’s the most stubborn? Karen, of course!
Who is the first one to admit when they’re he’s wrong? Yo.
Whose parents do you see more? I think we see Karen’s mom a bit more than we see my parents.
Who named your ferret? I named Zappa. Karen named Harmonica.
Who kisses who first? That would be me.
Who asked who out? I passed her a note in p-chem lab. Don’t you read my blog?
Who’s more sensitive? I am.
Who’s taller? Me again. Better be, if I outweigh her 2:1.
Who has more friends? Oh, probably me, thanks to the blog.
Who has more siblings? We each have one brother and one sister.
Who wears the pants in the relationship? Karen.
To see who I tag . . . read the next post. Hopefully, I’ll have something more substantial for you tomorrow. G’night!
D.
The Library Thing Meme
Yeah, thanks, Darla, thanks a BUNCH. Does anyone really read these list-meme posts? I mean, what could possibly be interesting about this. And how did this post end up in a different font? And what are the numbers in parentheses?
The instructions: “These are the top 106 books most often marked as ‘unread’ by LibraryThing’s users. The rules: bold what you have read, italicize what you started but couldn’t finish, strike through what you couldn’t stand and underline those you have no intention of reading.”
The beat-yourself-up meme
Dan tagged me. Here’s the idea: I’m supposed to identify my most frequent writing mistake, then tag five other bloggers to do the same.
Trouble is, I don’t make mistakes. But I do have a tic: I love exotic punctuation. Colons, dashes, ellipses, parentheses are like an irresistible plate of hors d’ouevres. Why stop at one? I’d rather fill up on them!
I think I have this tic because I’m a control freak, and I love controlling rhythm. I want the reader to hear the same linguistic tune that’s rolling through my brain, and I don’t trust mere commas and periods to do that for me. Why is this a bad tic? Because it draws attention to the writing. As I’ve said in the past, I would prefer the writing to drop away and leave the reader with nothing but story. Anything that calls attention to the writing (or, God forbid, the writer) breaks the meditation. For example, yesterday I looked at a column written by Christopher Hitchens, in which he not only used a two-bit word (etiolated) but linked it to its Dictionary.com definition. “Blanched” or “anemic” would have worked just as well, but Hitchens went with etiolated.
Now I get to tag five blogger-writers. I’ll link y’all later, when I have access to a computer that’s not Flintstone-aged. (There we go!)
Blog about it if you like, or answer in the comments. (Oh, and if you’d like to play and I haven’t tagged you, be my guest.)
With any luck, I’ll have something truly disturbing for you, either later today or sometime tomorrow.
D.
Smart Bitches Day: Who says it ain’t still Summer?
My first thought on Summer Devon‘s new erotica novel, Revealing Skills: damn, that cover model looks like Geena Davis. My second thought, experienced while trying to find an image to prove the first thought: damn, there are a lot of topless photos of Geena Davis on the Intertubes!
Here’s the review. Revealing Skills? Loved it. Cue William S. Burroughs’s voice: “I give it five out of five erect penises.” Actually, Burroughs wouldn’t have given it any erect penises, but he could surely have drawled that line with all the gravitas it deserves.
Gilrohan’s a shape-shifter spying for his king. In fesslerat-form, he’s captured by one scullery maid and saved by another — Tabica, a comely slave with the odd ability to understand his squeaks. And that isn’t her only power. Her touch transforms him back into a man, which is convenient, really, since human-fesslerat sex would be an entirely different kind of erotica.
Tabica has all kinds of power, much of it centered in her womb. She’s the vagina dentata of female love interests. Gilrohan recognizes her for what she is: the rarest and most powerful of magicians, an ereshkigal. Her abilities are wild from a lack of childhood training, possibly as dangerous to her as they are to any man foolish enough to bed her. Can Gilrohan rescue Tabica — and himself — from Lord Lerae’s castle, and can he survive the charms of her warm, wet, and fuzzy?
She again lightly stroked his penis, which twitched, delighted by her smallest attention.
Thank God it’s a penis and not a member or a man-shaft or whatever else some of you erotica writers call it.
Hot enough for you?
Remember Jackie Kessler? She looks so sweet in that photo; hard to imagine a face like that concealing a mind capable of writing like this:
He pulls his hand out of me and mounts me, thrusts himself deep inside, deep to the breaking point, then slides out and back in, and again, pumping, faster, faster now, his hands gripping my shoulders and my heart slamming against my chest and my groin is on fire, on fire, oh bless me I’m on fire and he’s smiling at me as he fucks me, fucks me raw and he says, “You’re mine.”
No, Jackie! Please say it wasn’t you who penned those words — not you, the nice Jewish girl (I’m guessing) my mom no doubt wishes I would have married. No! Please say it was a group effort from this trio. I could see them writing a few steamy sex scenes.
Sigh.
The one question I never asked Jackie in that interview (linked above): Do your parents know you write this stuff?
Friday Flickr Babes: Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love
From sxKitten’s photostream . . .
Q: Why are these two men smiling?
Eight random things
. . . on my desk right now.
I’m bored. Nothing to do but wait until the patients start streaming in again, and if I’m not careful, I’ll spend the rest of my lunch hour on Daily Kos because — WOOT! — Mike Stark just plastered posters all over Bill O’Reilly’s neighborhood, and it keeps getting funnier every time I read it.
Thought it might be fun to do Erin’s Eight Meme. Eight random things, right here on my desk . . .
1. REPTILES Magazine, September 2007 issue, opened to Robert “Dragon Bob” Mailloux’s article on the Rankin’s Dragon. What a cutie (the dragon, not Dragon Bob).
2. “Bowl Noodle Soup, Vegetal, Kimchi flavor.” Mostly eaten.
3. NYT Book Review, July 29, 2007, opened to Maria Flook’s review of Aoibheann Sweeney’s book, Among Other Things, I’ve Taken Up Smoking. Ms. Flook? Leave book reviewing to someone who knows how to do it, like, say, a bright high school student. You’ve revealed everything in your review and shed light on nothing. Strong work.
4. Derek Raymond’s He Died with His Eyes Open. Raymond’s unnamed detective sergeant unravels the brutal murder of a penniless drunk. Did the ice queen lover do it? I’m betting on the beloved daughter. No one can hate you as much as family 🙂
5. Easy Cheese. That Voyager NASA launched decades ago, the one with all the nifty pictures on the Golden Record? I hope they included a picture of cheese in a can, humanity’s single most spectacular innovation.
In med school, I nauseated a gastrointestinal fellow by eating Cheese Whiz on pork rinds. I’ve cleaned up my diet since then; now, I put my instant cheese on Wheat Thins.
6. Gogol Bordellow’s SUPER TARANTA! One of the reasons I rarely write about music is that I lack the necessary vocabulary. What can I tell you about SUPER TARANTA!? It’s less punk than GB’s other work, which might make it more approachable to some, less to others. For my money, their best CD is Voi-La Intruder. On this CD, my favorite song is American Wedding:
Have you ever been to American wedding?
Where is the vodka, where’s marinated herring?
Where is supply that’s gonna last three days?
Where is musicians that got the taste?
Where is the band that like Fanfare,
Gonna keep it goin’ 24 hours?!
It goes on like that. Last stanza:
I understand the cultures
Of a different kind
But here word celebration
Just doesn’t come to mind
Dammit, I want a gypsy wedding! Karen, time to renew those vows . . .
7. Various and sundry bits of origami. Karen and Jake are into it.
8. Catalyst, Berkeley College of Chemistry’s quarterly magazine. Cover story concerns Louis Pasteur, with the quote: “I am on the edge of mysteries and the veil is getting thinner and thinner.”
There, that was easy.
D.