Weighed, measured and found wanting. Romantica roadkill. Not coming to Ellora's Cave. (Must you be so theatrical, you ask? Would I be me if I weren't, I ask? And what are we talking about here, innocent bystanders ask?) The story I was asked to revise and resubmit. Not happening.
I'm so sorry, dearest denizens. Hurts like a mother bitch. Won't pretend it doesn't. Hindsight being what it is, maybe I should have given up at some point along the way. Well, I didn't. At least I tried. And you know what? I finished the book. I finished the damn book twice. How about that?
The premise was the hook, and it ended up being my downfall. It felt like a good idea (now don't they always...). Tricky but doable. And then I couldn't pull it off, not this time around. I took some calculated risks with the ms. I lost. On each and every account. My bad. I'll have to live with that. And I'll be sure to remember that next time I have a bright idea.
The comments I've gotten from friends who don't write have been along the lines of deep condolences. I put in all those hours and came out the other end of the process with nothing to show for it. They feel sorry for me, I can feel it. They can't bring themselves to say it and frankly, I don't want to hear it. It is what it is. I'll live, believe me. Silver lining: I've found new ways of how not to write Romantica. That knowledge is golden.
I'm young, life is long, this too shall pass. Even if that doesn't ring true, that's what I need to believe right now. Besides, it's too hot for me to start getting cold feet, and too beautiful out there to think ugly thoughts, and Saturday is just around the corner, and come Saturday...Carnaval! Samba!! On the streets of Helsinki!!! Yes, there will be half-naked ladies. Okay, more like two-thirds naked. No, samba is not an erotic dance. And no, I most definitely won't be posting pics, you'd just stare at my...shoes.
On Monday, it's back to the monster plan. Master plan. It's back to the master plan. I'm thinking something simple. Nothing too ambitious, nothing too contrived. Yeah, will definitely give it a try after I type The End at the end of my latest bright idea. (Yeah, right.) But, as Samuel Beckett put it: "Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order." See you around, sweetie darlings. Dance on.
The comments I've gotten from friends who don't write have been along the lines of deep condolences. I put in all those hours and came out the other end of the process with nothing to show for it. They feel sorry for me, I can feel it. They can't bring themselves to say it and frankly, I don't want to hear it. It is what it is. I'll live, believe me. Silver lining: I've found new ways of how not to write Romantica. That knowledge is golden.
I'm young, life is long, this too shall pass. Even if that doesn't ring true, that's what I need to believe right now. Besides, it's too hot for me to start getting cold feet, and too beautiful out there to think ugly thoughts, and Saturday is just around the corner, and come Saturday...Carnaval! Samba!! On the streets of Helsinki!!! Yes, there will be half-naked ladies. Okay, more like two-thirds naked. No, samba is not an erotic dance. And no, I most definitely won't be posting pics, you'd just stare at my...shoes.
On Monday, it's back to the monster plan. Master plan. It's back to the master plan. I'm thinking something simple. Nothing too ambitious, nothing too contrived. Yeah, will definitely give it a try after I type The End at the end of my latest bright idea. (Yeah, right.) But, as Samuel Beckett put it: "Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order." See you around, sweetie darlings. Dance on.
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