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FrostBite of Bluster
Mar. 4th, 2021 10:32 pmThis morning I was running around defrosting the freezer, since it was sitting empty. This, in hopes that it might run again. Then I went to get a haircut and chat with my stylist. Her parents have gone full-on conspiracy theory. I was hoping they might have gotten over it in the six weeks since my last haircut, but no such luck. I feel for her sincerely.
I returned to learn that the freezer is done for. A relay melted and the compressor is blown. The repair person didn't think it was worth doing. So it's dripping sadly by itself, and we are in the market for a new freezer. It's sad. Driving home, I was annoyed by the fact that I really, really need new glasses. Especially if I'm going to start driving around again. Later, I had an expected Zoom and an unexpected Zoom. I submitted a story, something I haven't done in a long time. The one I sold recently is a contract job, so I didn't have to submit it. I had delayed for I-would-not-care-to-say-how-many-days, finding things that needed tweaking. The worst bit is writing a cover letter. I hate that. I also owe an editor a bio, and I also hate writing bios. I can neither tell the truth about me by plain daylight nor by moonlight magic. Instead I have to tell some kind of horrid marketing-style truth by fluorescent lights. I could say truth by neon, but I'm not that cool.
The angst of offering something for scrutiny never really gets old, at least for me. I know there are lots of writers out there who frolic merrily at the thought of an editor perusing their work, and who stoutly rebuff any hint of anxiety. Anxiety is for amateurs! I still feel it, but I've found an amusing workaround. My goal now is not to get accepted, but to amass a dragon's hoard of rejections before I die. So when I start to think of all the very good reasons why no editor would publish this story, I remind myself that my goal is not to be published. My goal is to get lots of rejections. So if I add another one--SUCCESS! I'll let you know how that works out in the long run . . . .
I returned to learn that the freezer is done for. A relay melted and the compressor is blown. The repair person didn't think it was worth doing. So it's dripping sadly by itself, and we are in the market for a new freezer. It's sad. Driving home, I was annoyed by the fact that I really, really need new glasses. Especially if I'm going to start driving around again. Later, I had an expected Zoom and an unexpected Zoom. I submitted a story, something I haven't done in a long time. The one I sold recently is a contract job, so I didn't have to submit it. I had delayed for I-would-not-care-to-say-how-many-days, finding things that needed tweaking. The worst bit is writing a cover letter. I hate that. I also owe an editor a bio, and I also hate writing bios. I can neither tell the truth about me by plain daylight nor by moonlight magic. Instead I have to tell some kind of horrid marketing-style truth by fluorescent lights. I could say truth by neon, but I'm not that cool.
The angst of offering something for scrutiny never really gets old, at least for me. I know there are lots of writers out there who frolic merrily at the thought of an editor perusing their work, and who stoutly rebuff any hint of anxiety. Anxiety is for amateurs! I still feel it, but I've found an amusing workaround. My goal now is not to get accepted, but to amass a dragon's hoard of rejections before I die. So when I start to think of all the very good reasons why no editor would publish this story, I remind myself that my goal is not to be published. My goal is to get lots of rejections. So if I add another one--SUCCESS! I'll let you know how that works out in the long run . . . .
