Greetings from the edge,
I’ve been busy in the export business lately. By which I mean I have been exporting everything I’ve eaten or drunk with such enthusiasm that even Regan MacNeil would reach for the Pepto-Bismol.
I have been blowing chunks, is what I’m saying. To put it bluntly, I couldn’t even keep tea down, and that is usually the point where I consider shutting off my own life support system.
I started to feel a little better this afternoon, so I did some more work on The Bone Garden and put it back in the queue for another good spanking from my fellow writers. In short, I’m probably about a week away from submitting it to Asimov’s Science Fiction and receiving the inevitable summary rejection and polite pro-forma email. It’s the circle of life.
I’ve also been working on the article and will probably post it on Monday.
A little while ago, I bought a book called “How to Write Short Stories and Use Them to Further Your Writing Career.” I’m not very far into it yet, and there haven’t really been any “holy shit, that’s how you use foreshadowing to characterise trauma” moments.
I’m holding fire before I condemn it completely, but I will say this: it’s 109 pages long. You would think it would be packed with advice and practical information. In reality, only 48 pages are actual guidance, with the rest taken up by short stories the author thought would help illustrate his points.
The problem is, he doesn’t even annotate the stories to explain how his own advice applies.
As I say, I’m holding fire for now, but that’s mostly because the broom cupboard lacks a window I can defenestrate it from.
I’m feeling much better now, though, and should be able to properly get back to putting black on white from tomorrow onwards.
See you in the margins,
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