Sleepy.

I’m so tired this morning.

I’ve had to retype the above sentence twice because I couldn’t find the home keys. My hands are twitchy on the keyboard and my head keeps nodding.

I slept well last night, and kept sleeping till my alarm woke me up. Usually I’m up before the alarm.

I’m up, though, if not totally awake, and I’m going to rescue myself with a good cup or three of coffee. Today’s coffee, from Mokaska Coffee, promises not only caffeine but epiphanies.

Hope that wakes me up. I’ll let you know if I have any epiphanies.

Editing Gaia’s Hands Again

I actually started working on editing Gaia’s Hands yesterday while sitting at Mokaska Coffeehouse in St. Joseph. Their new digs are amazing, by the way — spacious and warm. Their coffee is always full of intriguing hints — spice and chocolate, or bold berry, or citrus.

How did it feel editing Gaia’s Hands after a long break? I see things that need to be smoothed out, things that need to be added. I have a better feel for the characters than I’ve had before, and that’s saying a lot, as these are two characters I’ve lived with for years.

I remind myself that I literally have known these characters for years, as Gaia’s Hands was the first novel I wrote. Jeanne Beaumont, the scientist trying to ignore the web of mysticism she’s being drawn into, and Josh Young, the mystic grounding himself in writing. They represent the yin and yang symbol, constantly shifting roles.

The sad thing is that I will have to take a break from them again, first because Whose Hearts are Mountains will soon return from dev edit, and second, because November will soon arrive and I will work on a new novel for NaNaWriMo.

I hope, soon, to get Gaia’s Hands in shape for some sort of publication.

The Woman Syndrome

Note: To the Ukrainian bot that hit this blog 18 times from three different operating systems and without hitting a single post, I have one thing to say: I have no information about Joe Biden.

That said, I continue to write and to try to get published. Writing has become part of who I am, even if I started at it late. Let me correct that — I never took myself seriously before. If someone liked what I wrote, I said, “Oh, that little thing? It’s nothing.”

This sort of self-deprecation disguised as modesty is part of the baggage women are taught from an early age. We’re told — at least women in my generation were told — that we shouldn’t upstage the men in our life, so if we excelled at something, we should play it down. We should deny it. Women were taught not to brag; “to brag” meaning “to assert any talent, quality, or achievement; to tell the truth about their accomplishments”.

Inwardly, however, women were taught to castigate themselves for not being perfect. The grades are never high enough, the job performance never good enough, the house never clean enough.

What a dilemma — women must be inwardly perfect while preserving the illusion of mediocrity. So women hide the 98% they got on the exam while beating themselves up about the other 2%. In this schema, women not only can’t win but shouldn’t win.

I don’t know if women are still brought up this way, but when I discuss this with my students, the women nod knowingly. I’ve had several female students say, “I don’t want to brag”.

I wonder if this gets in the way of my getting published. I send things out to journals and publishers with the thought “I don’t know if this is good enough,” and when I get rejected, I think “It probably wasn’t good enough.” I wonder if this attitude of mine is reflected in my cover letters and pitches. I wonder if my attitude causes good things to be reflected from me in some sort of reverse “The Secret” (a new-agey book about how we can attract good to us; a lot of bunk).

But that is part of the syndrome. Not only do I hold myself responsible for rejections, but I hold myself responsible for not attracting success to myself.

I really think I should cure myself of the syndrome.

Letdown

Yesterday I woke up with that feeling that something good, really good, was going to happen.

Instead, I got two rejections.

It’s laid me a bit low. It’s not that I haven’t been getting rejections all along; I can be a bit superstitious at times, and I felt as if the universe bitch-slapped me.

I’m stewing in the very common writer’s self-castigation: My writing isn’t interesting enough, my writing isn’t good enough, I’m not good enough.

Still, I turned my pitch for Prodigies to Pitch Wars, which is a competition to find established authors who will work with you to improve your pitch materials so that they entice agents.

I keep trying, because I will never get published if I don’t try.

Justice for All

“… with liberty and justice for all.”

This is why I think the announcement of formal impeachment proceedings against President Trump is good news. Clear evidence exists that President Trump has colluded with foreign entities for the purpose of influencing elections, which is an affront to the democratic process in the US. It is the job of the president to keep the nation’s good, rather than his own desires, in mind.

Some would argue that the democratic process in the US isn’t very democratic, and they would be right. The need for a huge “war chest” to run for president restricts all but the wealthy and famous. The Electoral College exists as the remnant of a system where only white male landowners could vote. Polling places are cut disproportionately in areas where less-wealthy blacks live.

However, Trump’s apparent attempt at manipulating Ukraine with an eye to collusion and the earlier suspected collusion with Russia, if proven, are major subversions not only to the electoral process but to the security interests of the United States.

Americans know this — at least the majority of Americans who have not bought into the cult of the bully Trump. And they want justice for all, not just the rich and powerful.

A bloody good time

I don’t have a lot of time to put in a big post, because I will be moulaging a bunch of high schoolers for the high school docudrama. This means that I look at a card detailing injuries and recreate it on a volunteer using makeup.

The docudrama exists as a way to scare teens out of drunk driving, distracted driving, and various other jerky things teens do while driving that will get them and others killed. The woman who runs it encourages us to get severe and bloody with our casualty simulation because they will be seeing it from a distance (unlike Missouri Hope, where people will see it close up).

It’s a fun time.

Belief and Doubt

I sent the first three chapters of Apocalypse off to Tom Doherty Associates (TOR) yesterday. I have several story submissions out and the manuscript for Prodigies at DAW. I have several queries on Apocalypse out to agents.

And I am filled with doubt.

I believe I’m a good writer, or else I wouldn’t push myself to improve, and I wouldn’t try to get published. I just feel doubt every time I submit. But I keep submitting anyhow.

Doubt is just a feeling. It is not reality. Some might point out that getting all the rejections I’ve gotten is a reality and that I should just give up. But I believe the process is subjective and that, sooner or later, my work will speak to someone.

My belief and doubt coexist; I choose to act upon my belief.

Writing Dark

I don’t consider myself a very dark person. If you meet me in person, even when I’m depressed, I come off as perky, if somewhat squirrelly. (Some of this is a pose to keep my students from feeling threatened). If you know me well, I’m pretty straightforward.

But sometimes, I write dark themes. In The Enforcer, the Archetype Boss Aingeal, serving in his role as enforcer of a Chinese gang, murders his rival and sends a bloody message to the leader of the gang. In Hands, a young man discovers his freakish talent to heal — and kill. The very short story I’m writing now, The Message, involves an act of revenge for a mother’s death.

I suppose Apocalypse, with its end of the world scenario, is dark. I never thought of it that way. I guess I write dark themes more often than not.

I think I should challenge myself to write something completely funny for a change. The ideas that come to my head, though, aren’t funny.

Maybe funny is a new goal to work toward.

I was born for autumn

I’m feeling in the mood for autumn. Meterological fall started August 31, but it hasn’t felt like fall lately given the 85+ degree weather, and astronomical fall won’t be for a couple more days.

Today, it’s raining outside, which puts me more in mind of fall. I like fall best because it is a season of introspection, of putting away the revelry of summer and taking stock of how many leaves I’ve seen fall in my life. The crisp mornings with scarlet and orange maple against the clear blue sky recall perfect moments, while the dark, icy rain reminds me of past travails.

I was born in autumn, born for autumn. It suits my dramatic side, the part of me who wants a black cape to walk through the whispering leaves. It suits the writer in me who wants to write of the dark corners of the psyche.

I will welcome autumn with a cup of cider or a glass of brandy, toasting the harvest and the darkening nights.

Experiment results:

About a month ago, I made the vow that I would go about writing as if I’d already been published. Here’s the result:

I will get back into novel writing for NaNo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. I’ve already committed to a novel — I’m going to tackle the book I’ve been postponing for the longest time, Gods’ Seeds. So if I don’t start noveling (is that a verb?) before then, I will go back to writing novels in November.

Yes, I was considering quitting, but my developmental editor is suggesting I keep writing, and I respect her judgment. I think it’s good to have external voices to help counter the dreary self-doubt that writers have a tendency toward.

My dev editor also suggested trying out for Pitch Wars, which is a competitive process by which one can get an intense pitch workout. I will be trying for this, because I have the desire to improve.

And I’m still submitting, mostly short stories and flash fiction, but also queries on Apocalypse. I may send out to one or two novel publishers this weekend because I expect a rainy time.

In writing as if I’ve already been published, all I’ve lost is the negative self-talk. I think I could like this.