New novel gone to readers
Done and done. For now. Lucky to have readers I trust, mothers in arms and combat veterans. An adapted excerpt picked up by Spinetingler, coming out in April.
Done and done. For now. Lucky to have readers I trust, mothers in arms and combat veterans. An adapted excerpt picked up by Spinetingler, coming out in April.
One of my favorite rejections to date came from an editor who knocked back my submission but told me by way of consolation that one of my colleagues—an enviable Irish wunderkind—got in instead, and how proud I must be. The editor went on to say that my story (which has since been published elsewhere) was ‘a little too dry, a little airless.’
‘She talking about your story,’ said a supportive friend, ‘or her vag?’
And there is no hope, no train, no cure, no tomorrow, no fear, no milk, no talent, no time? Just failure, loneliness, cock and disapproval,
I spent the first half hour in the candle-lit dark thinking, I’m going to have to go home and write about this, but then the Top Ten Classics and the steam and the rubbing and the creaminess took over and then I was just a piece of meat. But now I’m loving Brentley Frazer’s “Swimming…
I want to say Carver’s style with Dennis LeHane’s heart but McClanahan’s stories mess with both.
The great thing about having clever friends who send you their work is that you get to read it ‘in the raw’, half-baked and oozing with promise and hope and so much life that you will remember the joy of reading it in this state—as a .docx or an attachment or as half-toned pages smeared…
It has been a month of firsts in a year of firsts. Last week, I was interviewed for the first time ever, an out-of-body experience if there ever was one, so watch this space; I sent off my first collection of shorts to the sublime and savvy Le Zaparogue, got my first cover art, and…
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