Only On Sunday

It’s been a hectic few months here in the hot desert land a mile above sea level. The low points are the low points and they pass, by and by. Sometimes you’re the dog and sometimes you’re the hydrant. At the moment, I’m the dog. Being the Pessimistic Optimist that I am, I know the roles will reverse soon enough. But I’m going to enjoy wagging my tail while I can.

I fired my agent a week ago. I suppose that could be seen as a hydrant moment; and it was. It was hard, despite how easy he made it, if that makes any sense. You’d have to know the details and I’m not revealing them. Burning one’s bridges behind them can be great fun but, occasionally, one should leave them intact. Not that they should remain intact in his case, he deserves a good burning, but one must always be aware of how far a good burning can spread.

In retrospect, I realize I should have fired him a long time ago. Such is life, live and learn, all those other nifty cliches. It’s a shame that I have to table Stealing The Marbles for a bit. Hard to shop a partially shopped book. Agents tend to be leery of such things. Luckily, Meter Maids Eat Their Young is finished so I’m back on the query-go-round with it. Ten equeries out so far. Got two quick rejections and a request for a partial right back. The partial goes out today. I was glad for the quick replies. Waiting is always the hardest part.

Being the glutton for punishment I seem to have become (I guess that makes me a writer now), I also sent out a number of short stories. And guess what? One of them got accepted! The story is titled Quiet, and it’s currently online in the June issue at Staticmovement. Increase Staticmovement’s hit count and check out the story, okay? It’ll take you all of five minutes to read.

I’m working on a couple more shorts, researching the zine market, looking for a home for them. And, with MM finished, I’m playing around with one old idea and researching a new idea for my next novel. Not sure which I’ll go with yet. Maybe both at once. Just to wet your appetite, here are the opening paragraphs from each one:

Never Trust A Guru Named George

The Shirley Maclean Holistic Health Center, Progressive Office Complex and Greater Enlightenment Mall rose from the asphalt parking lot like a cluster of crystals growing from black sand. As I hurried across the asphalt parking lot, I reached under my light brown jacket, trying to adjusted the shoulder holster scraping the skin beneath my left arm. I’d had the holster made while in Monterey, from real leather, though I had taken the precaution of having “Man Made Materials†stamped along the edge. I’d done a similar thing to my Justin boots, ripping a tag from a pair of shoes made from recycled products and having it sewn into the back. Wouldn’t want to piss off a potential client.

Dust Storms May Exist

The worm. It had to be. They’d told him not to eat the worm. But he’d eaten it anyway. And then chug-a-lugged another bottle of the home brew tequila. Ate the damn worm in it as well. Now it felt like they’d mated somewhere in the lower half of his stomach. The baby worms swimming off. Feeding on his brain. Telling him that there was a guy stretched out on the six foot long dresser at the end of the bed, his head nestled against the bolted down TV. Telling him there was another guy curled up in a fetus position several inches from the ceiling. Telling him their faces resembled a Pekinese dog crossed with a fruit bat.

That’s all folks! But do check out Quiet or I’ll write something nasty about you in my next book.