The Sunday Edition

Sunday. The end of one week, and the start of the next. The converging of two plains. A day of rest. A day of praise.

More than any other time of the week, Sunday has a permeating quiet to it. I can wake a little later than I usually would and enjoy a cup of coffee in the warm morning sun, looking over my vegetable garden and the surrounding forest. It puts me at ease, helping to alleviate the stresses of the previous week, and cushion the stresses of the coming week.

Let me admit one thing. I don't have a plan for this post. It's one of those writing tricks I picked up along the way. You know. Look around your room, pick an item, start writing about it, and hope it leads somewhere. Or maybe it's like that movie, Anchorman.

"Brick, are you just looking at things in the office and saying that you love them?"

Either way, it's Sunday. So I wrote about it. That's probably why the first paragraphs were a tad purple.

Phew. I feel much better having got that off my chest. It was weighing on me like a two headed rhino giving birth. Or one of those screaming albino apes.

So...a little writing update? Yeah, that's probably best.

-3 pending agent submissions.
-1 pending 50 page partial to an agent
-1 review article pending

I'll do a more complete "stats" at the end of the month. I know some of you are wondering if there were any maimings or writing-related deaths this month, but you'll just have to wait. Or read the obits, scanning for the keywords "crazed," "bloody pencils," and "rabid". But I've said too much.

On this wonderful Sunday, I'll leave you with a little afternoon delight.

The Great Garbage Wars. Or, Why You Don't @#*! With Raccoons.

The other night, I found a raccoon on my deck eating garbage. I usually wouldn't leave a bag of stinking trash out in the open like that, but what can I say. I forgot.

Around 2 in the morning my dog alerted me, and half the neighborhood, to the presence of our uninvited guest. I did what any other rational, half-asleep adult would do in this situation: I opened the window and said, "Scat! Hey, you, raccoon. Scat!"

He looked at me dead in the eyes and shoved another piece of food into his mouth. I swear the little bugger smirked. My dog was having none of it. He jumped onto the chair opposite the window and barked in protest. The raccoon, unmoved, tore a new hole into the black bag.

I was plum out of ideas. I mean, I already yelled "scat!" What else was there to do? I was ready to let the bandit have his feast and call it a night. But Leo, my dog, displayed his disappointment in me and turned away. What an embarrassment. How could I let down my dog?

With new purpose, I went to the kitchen and retrieved the broom. Now, I'm not a complete moron. I know raccoons are dangerous, and I would never try to hurt or confront one. However, I did open the screen just enough to stick the broom handle into the raccoon's face, hoping to scare him off.

You know those horror movies where there's this cuddly little creature? And someone assumes it's safe to pet it, so he goes over to and holds his hand out? And then, without warning, the cuddly poofball opens it's razor-toothed maw and claims two or three of the idiot's fingers?

Yeah. That's pretty much what happened. But the raccoon only got away with the broom. Well, managed to knock it onto the deck anyway.

On the bright side, he did leave, and I promised I'd never leave garbage on the deck again. Which would have been a good plan, until I woke up this morning to find the entire trash can tipped over and it's contents strewn across the lawn.

Of course you know, this means war.

Review in Dark Scribe

A little bit of good news on this wonderful, rainy Tuesday. A review I wrote for the short story, "The Woman in the Club Car," written by Thomas Tessier, has been published by Dark Scribe Magazine. The review is live, so if you're interested, take a look: Review Article

The story I reviewed is in the current issue of Cemetery Dance (issue #60), which also has an interview with Mr. Tessier.

I'm hoping this is the start of a string of good news.

The Bacon Wrapping Experiment (BWE)

Over the holiday weekend, I will conduct an experiment to discover if there is a type of food in existence that tastes bad when wrapped with bacon. It is a widely held belief, backed up by scientific data, that bacon is one of the top ten most healthful foods, and one of the top five most tasty foods in the world.

Dieting tip: For breakfast, instead of that fattening oatmeal, mix a tablespoon of bacon grease into your scrambled eggs for a heart-healthy alternative.

These facts are common knowledge. But what many people do not know is bacon can actually enhance the flavor of most foods. Why else wrap such high end products as shrimp, scallops, and even lobster with bacon? That's right, to enhance the flavor.

However, after years of in depth research, I have found that there are no studies to prove this foodie phenomenon. So I have taken it upon myself to, over the course of the fourth of July weekend, randomly wrap different types of food with bacon, and publish my results.

The results will appear on my Twitter account periodically for the next three days (through Monday). If you'd like to take part in this ground breaking project, follow me on twitter and "@onipar" your results.

God speed brave food explorers. God speed.

June Stats

Inspired by the ever-glorious, intrepid writer Catherine J Gardner, of The Poisoned Apple, I have decided to post my writing stats for the month. I'm afraid I can't be as accurate as Catherine in terms of word counts, but I'll try to make up for it.

Sales: 0, the old goose egg.
Query submissions: 4
Story/review submissions: 1
Rejections: 2
Maimed bystanders: 3 1/2
Dead: Only my ego
Confrontations with other drunken writers: 1. But calling him a writer is generous.
Confrontations with rabid animals: 1. Raccoons should not be placated.
Useless Critiques: None. I have the best crit group in the world.

So, there you have it, my monthly stats for the Juneyith June ever. Seriously. If there was a contest for the most June-like June of all, it'd be June of 2009. Only challenged by June of 1986, which as we all know had an abundance of Juneyosity rivaled by few other Junes. There was just something in the air that year.

Have you had a grammar inflicted seizure yet? Oh, don't worry. Continue to read this blog, and you will.

Schedules, Shame, and the Demon in my Computer

When to read, when to write, when to get drunk and thrown out of the local watering hole?

It’s all a matter of self control, and some of us just don’t have it. Recently as I reread Stephen King’s On Writing, I noted his strict daily regimen. Almost as quickly, I noted my lack of said self control.

It’s not that I haven’t tried to set a schedule for myself. In fact, I’ve set more schedule’s than I care to remember. The problem is following them. I suppose I like the idea of it more than I like the actual practice.

In my head, I imagine waking with the birds and clearing my head with a nice hot shower. Then, as the sun continues to rise, I make a hearty breakfast and steaming coffee from freshly ground beans. The new day beckons me, and since it’s so early and I have the whole day ahead of me, I go out for a morning hike with my dog. Refreshing.

As the eight o’ clock hour approaches, I prepare a new pot of coffee and sit down for a three hour session of writing. My fingers flash fast across the keys as I transfer every thought onto the page. Time passes.

Eleven o’ clock. Time for a light lunch accompanied by CNN, or maybe my new issue of Cemetery Dance. Noon brings some outdoor activities. Another hike perhaps? Or maybe some yard work or gardening, followed by my second three hour writing session at two.

A beautiful picture, no doubt. My mind reels at the sheer idealism. But the truth that emerges the day after such a visionary treat is sobering.

I wake at nine thirty after a night of debauchery and think, “It’s still early.” But after a shower and surfing the internet, I suddenly realize an hour has passed. No time for breakfast or a morning hike after all. I brew a quick cuppajoe from pre ground beans, and the product tastes like sawdust. I spit it out, cursing. Not a great start.

Convinced the day could still be saved, I head to my computer, where I’m distracted by e-mails and twitter for another hour. There’s a demon in my computer; I know it. I decide I need to relax with a good book, but after only twenty minutes, I black out. Waking four hours later in a puddle of sweat and shame, I slink off to the bar.

Idealism can be a brutal bitch when confronted with reality.

What’s your daily schedule? Have you managed to whip the procrastination devil on the ass and reclaim your day?

Agents Who Represent Horror

There are none.

Okay, I'm overreacting. But after my recent trip to the bookstore, I swear that's not too far off.

You see, I'm searching for representation for my novel, Soundtrack to the End of the World. I've done all the proper research on query letters, synopses, and formatting. The novel is done and edited many times over. And I have the query set. So all that's left to do is find agents that represent horror.

My quest began in the simplest, and most logical place: the internet. I found a few good sites, one or two of which even had search bars for "subject." So I type HORROR.

And bam! Seventy-five listings. That wasn't so hard. That is, I didn't think it was hard until I began to peruse the listings.

The first few did in fact have "horror" under the types of fiction they represent. But once I read further, it became clear that many agencies simply list anything they may be open to. And not necessarily things they currently represent.

The listings I looked through had "what we are currently looking for" sections for each agent. And invariably, no matter what the front page of the listings said, the more in depth looks lacked "horror."

Okay, no problem. Just keep looking. A few more listings in and I started seeing "Not currently accepting unsolicited submissions."

Sal-right. So-kay. Keep looking. A few more in, and I start to notice that the search also lists people who are specifically not looking for horror. This is because the word horror appears in their listing, I assumed.

So I found one or two agents that actually want to represent horror. A good start, but I need more.

Today I went to the bookstore and snatched the holy grail of agent and publisher listings: Writer's Market. I flip to the agents and start my search.

Unlike the previous listings, these mysteriously lacked "horror" in any of their "what we're looking for" sections. They simply just left it out. And the few times I did see a mention, it was not comforting.

Does not want genre fiction. No horror. Does not represent horror.

Wuh oh. Again, I only managed a few agencies. It's too bad I don't write chick-lit, thrillers, or commercial fiction, because these seem to be the big three that nearly every agency wants.

So, as a last ditch effort, I checked the acknowledgment pages of a bunch of horror writers I like. I came away with another two or three. Not bad considering my luck so far.

At least I have a good starting point now.

Does anyone have tips for finding agents that represent horror?