The thing about being a writer who also has a full-time job, is that there’s not much time left for blog posts. Sadly there’s also little time for marketing or advertising or schmoozing.
I’ve lived in CA for almost two and half years. Since then my day job workload has really picked up, and we bought the house we were renting. Buying a house isn’t an excuse for not writing but renovating it is. And we’ve done a lot of renovating. But even with that, I have been writing fiction. Just not blog posts.
I finished The Rainbox, a novel, February of 2016. I sent it to several agents. Some I got rejections from, and on some their sites explained that they’re too busy to reply unless they want to see more. I understand this attitude but they should also understand that writers are ultrasensitive people who read into everything. I had one hold out agent who said they DO reply so when she didn’t after four months I dropped her a line. She apologized and said at that particular time she had a problem with the submissions page and could I resend the first 50 pages? I was miffed but resent. Three months later I got a form rejection. I think it’s fair to say I’m burnt out on the big agents and big publishers.
Most, if not all, of my contacts are in the horror genre. The new book, and most of what I write these days isn’t horror, so I’m relegated to cold calling agencies I find online. I haven’t been doing that because back to my old point, I have limited time and can’t spend it writing dozens of queries and then waiting upwards of nine months before I try someone else.
I have decided it’s time to proposition Shadowridge Press, my favorite small press who is growing by leaps and bounds and adding many authors I greatly admire. More on that in another post.
In July, Cemetery Riots came out. This is an anthology I edited with T.C. Bennett. This is a fantastic collection of stories by talented authors. It features my story, “Lunch at Mom’s” which was accepted before I came on board.
Last month I finished a new screenplay called Pretty When She Cries which to me is a cross of Precious, Babel, and Requiem for a Dream. A dark story about people with darkness, and how their actions spiral out of control.
I’ve written several new short stories this year. One was bought by a pro market, only to have the market suddenly fold right before it was to be published. Another was sent many, many months ago to what seems to be a great market. But it’s all still in limbo and the editor isn’t giving updates. I have included both of those stories in my new collection, Just Stories. This will be out by the Vintage Paperback show in March 2017 in Glendale and features many new stories.
Big markets and big agents and big publishers have worn me out. If you can land them, great! But for the rest of us the important thing is to keep writing and not let anyone tell you that if you haven’t published with X you’re not a writer. Someone told me a few months ago that if you don’t write every day you’re not a writer. I argued that sometimes real life prevents that and being a writer-to me at least-is an inborn gift, or curse. And I certainly make up for my output when I do write. He smugly stuck to his point. I agree to disagree.
I am still writing fiction all time even if I don’t post about it. And even if I don’t write every day. I’m still a writer.