it finally feels real

Friday I recieved payment and a contract for the anthology story. Contract says it'll be published by DAW books in 2007. Yippeeeeeee! The check is just gravy. I almost want to frame it instead of cash it. Almost. I'll keep a photocopy, probably. I'm sure that's a crime of some sort but I don't care. In celebration of my first writing sale and my 31st birthday (which is today), Ken and I are buying a digital camera. Finally entering the 21st century. Ken is usually such a techie-geek with computers and gaming, you'd think we'd already have one. He's camera-shy, though, and so it's never been a priority for him. He's willing to make the concession, though, since I've made a sale.

I feel pretty good, having sold a story. But it also makes me think of how far I have to go to reach my writing goals. One story is basically nothing--lots of people sell a story and then you never hear from them again--but I want more than that. I want hundred, thousands, millions of people to read my books. I want to touch them, entertain them, open their eyes to other worlds with my words. This sale is the first step of about a thousand more I have to make. I feel a little intimidated by that.

This post turned out to be a little more philosophical than I intended. Maybe it's because I turn 31 today. For me, turning 26 was a lot harder than turning 25--I was suddenly in my late 20's, not mid-20's--and 31 is proving to be the same. I'm in my 30's now, not just on the cusp.

Last night I hosted a girl's night poker party. Two old friends and two new friends attended, and it was a blast. Three of the people had never played poker, so it was fun to teach them. I won, but the three newbies did really well considering it was their first time. One of the old friends is moving to California in a month, and I'm a little sad by it. I'm just going to miss her so fucking much. She's one of only a few people who knows I've sold a story. (For some reason I'm not shouting it from the rooftops. Don't ask me why. Maybe I'm reserving that for when I have an actual book in my hands.) Have to make the most of the time we have left. Sounds like she's dying, doesn't it? Maybe I'm being a little melodramatic. That seems to be the theme of the day.

bios

Ken surprised me for Valentine's day by skipping class and cooking dinner. Salmon, corn, rolls, and candy apples for dessert. I especially liked the salmon--I've recently read "Fast Food Nation" and I feel guilty if I eat meat. They didn't really talk about the horrible fish conditions in the book, though, so salmon's still golden. Looks like I'll be getting my protein from fish, eggs, cheese, yogurt, and nuts for awhile. This goes perfectly with my goal to lose fifteen pounds. Spring is just around the corner and I'm excited to start working out outdoors on a regular basis again.

I have to write a paragraph bio about myself. It'll go at the end of my story in the book. Here's what I'm thinking so far:

Kelly X is a Clinical Laboratory Scientist by day and a writer by night. She and her husband, Ken, support a home and four cats in Illinois. She never wears earrings. This is her first published story.

I'll work with it over the next few days or so. It's tricky to be witty and informative at once.

I've got the beginnings of my wizard book in my mind. I'm hoping to start chapter one tomorrow. It's tough to find the motivation, sometimes. I've written three books that are basically going to wither and die in the proverbial drawer, so it's hard to start a new one when it could go nowhere, too. I'm trying to think of it like this: those books were practice, and even if they never see print, they made me the writer I am now. I couldn't write the stories I've written lately if I hadn't written those books. Those books will make the next book I write better.

I'm doing a fabulous job pumping myself up. I'm stoked to start on my book tomorrow.

doin' the cabbage patch

So I e-mailed my story off yesterday. I got an e-mail back today, and the first words were, "Great story, smoothly written."

Whee-heee-heee!

My editor changed a few words here and there, added a sentence or two to make things clearer, and told me to think of a better ending sentence. I thought of one, zipped it off to her, and now it's time to boogie. I'm in the best fucking mood ever. Now it's on to the next thing ...

... which automatically brings me down a peg or three. I need to start my wizard book. Starting is always the hardest part for me--all those possibilities, which one to use?--but dammit, it needs to be done. So maybe no celebrating tonight.

Now I have writer insecurity. Shit.

Poker night

Ken and I hosted a poker night last night. I lost most of my money in one hand--I had a K-6, the board had two sixes, I thought I was golden, but I ended up losing to a friend that had A-6, the bastard--and I was out within the first hour. I won the last time we played, so I suppose I was due.

Tomorrow I'm going to send off my story to the anthology editor. I have no idea what to expect. In one fantasy she showers me with compliments and tells me how much she loves it and she's not changing a word, and in the other she tells me that clearly her invitation was a terrible mistake and to go back to english class. The reality will probably be somewhere in the middle--"It's good, but let's change x, y, and z"--but that doesn't stop my insides from churning.

chick night

Tonight is at a buddy's house, so I have the run of the place. After work, I mosey'd around the mall for a bit, tried on a few party dresses just for kicks, and basically made a nuisance of myself. While I was trying on dresses in Penney's, two girlfriend's and one of their--boyfriend? guy-friend?-- was with them, critiquing. Somehow, one of them convinces this dude to try on a dress, too. I caught a glance of him before this went down, and I think the dude was totally straight, but obviously I could be mistaken. They were in the dressing room two doors down from me, laughing and saying things like "Oh, blue isn't your color" and "try the flowers next". In the future they'll look back on this night and remember what fun they had. In the future I'll look back on this night and rethink my gaydar.

Second story is out in the hands of readers. One person has said she liked them both but liked the first one better. We'll see what everyone thinks.

responses

Yesterday I distributed copies of a story that's in the running for my anthology submission. So far I've gotten feedback from two people. One was sort of ambivilant--it's not the type of story he normally reads, but he seemed to like it ok and didn't have any major complaints about it--but the other response really threw me for a loop. To make sense of this, you should know the story is about a widow who receives a pair of earrings that enables her to hear her recently departed husband.

Reader: I liked it.

Me (sensing she is holding back): Listen, don't tell me you liked it to spare my feelings. If you didn't like it, it's ok. Tell me what's wrong with it--

Reader: No, it's not that. (she gets teary eyed) It's just that my mom says that my dad used to talk to her after he passed.

Me: Oh! Oh my God! If I'd have known that, I'd have warned you. I'm so sorry! (I get a bit teary, too.)

Reader: No, no, don't be. I just wanted you to see my real reaction.

Later, she came and apologized, saying she didn't mean to freak me out. I assured her that I wasn't freaked at all. In fact, I found it touching that my words could do that. Like I said, at first I felt bad for making her cry ... but then I was sort of ... I made her cry with what I wrote. I'm the fucking woman!!! So, of course, what has to happen is for another reader to totally trash it so I can get off my high horse already. I hope to have the other story done by Wednesday so the readers can tell me which one they liked best. Whatever story gets the most votes is goin' to the editor.

surviving

I finished my second day by myself on the urine bench today without killing anyone or bleeding out my eyes, so I'm a happy camper. The real test will be tomorrow and Thursday, which are the days with the most cultures. I'm guessing I'll be leaving late, but whatever. They pay me to be there.

On the writing front, I was hitting a wall with my second anthology story until I talked it over with Ken. He pointed out that it was sort of lame, and maybe I should do it another way. I saw that he was right--it's not like me to struggle with writing a page or two, and so something had to be wrong--and I took his suggestions. The words are flowing much better, so hopefully I'll be getting copies of each of the stories to my readers at the end of the week. And then it's onward to starting a new book.

One of my best girlfriends will possibly be moving out ot L.A. in a few months. I'm bummed. It's a good opportunity for her significant other, but I don't want her to leave. She is freakishly like my husband. Anytime I bitch about something Ken's done or relay Ken's side of an arguement, Bridget will inevitably come in on Ken's side. Sometimes during random situations words will come out of her mouth that I'll swear I've heard Ken say in similar situations. It's freaky. She says I remind her of her boyfriend in the same way, so for me it validates our friendship. I'm going to miss her so much when she leaves. In a perfect world I'd fly out to see her once a year. More likely we'll meet somewhere in the middle ... like Vegas. Yeah, Vegas.

microbiology hell

I've survived my first week of training in urines, and I have to say I'm completely and totally overwhelmed. Half of the department has told me this is completely normal--because of the volume of urines, it'll be weeks until I can totally do the bench myself. I have one more week of training before spending a week by myself, and I'm already anticipating I'll be staying until 1700 every night to get the fucking things finished. Everyone is so helpful--they'll grab a stack of negatives to help finish the work--but somehow that makes me feel even more incompetent. Today I made flow charts to help myself. I have a tendancy to cry when I feel overwhelmed, so I hope I don't cry at work. That would seriously wreck my image.

Friday I recieved a rejection for a story I sent out over a year ago. It's your basic form letter--thank you for sending but we are unable to accept your submission, blah blah blah--but one of the editors took the time to hand write a comment on the bottom: "Several of the editors enjoyed "Cleaning Day." Unfortunately, however, it didn't make the final cut. Best of luck with it." Only in a creative field--writing, acting, design, art--would a rejection with the comment "we liked it" make one happy. I can't shake the feeling I'm close to breaking through ... only a few more years, maybe, until people can buy one of my books at the bookstore. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but most days that's what keeps me going.

strange

The other day my boss asked me what my maiden name was and I had to think about it for a second before answering. That evening, I went home and dug out my microbiology text book from tech school and my maiden name was written in the front. I've not been that person for over seven years, and now it's almost strange to think I ever was that person. My identity is so wrapped up in my marriage now that's it's strange to think of a time I wasn't married, that I wasn't Ken's Wife, that I wasn't one half of a pair. Some women complain about it--like they're always someone's wife, someone's mother, someone's daughter and they're never known just for themselves. I say, if you're known only for yourself, doesn't that mean that you're inherently alone? And aren't their husbands, children, and parents also known by some people as so-and-so's husband, kid, and parent? If you're part of a community, you'll always be known in relation to someone else. I think it's something to embrace.

the aftermath

Christmas with Ken turned out to be pretty sweet. I got lots of clothes and some jewelry, while Ken's best gift was a new winter coat. Santa didn't forget the kitties, of course--they got a bunch of new cat toys that will eventually become lost underneath the couch. One was a catnip mouse that everyone took turns drooling on. After the first twenty minutes the stupid thing was drenched with cat spit. Yech. The upshot was that all the cats were high and funnier than usual.

Haven't heard anything yet about any of the stories I've submitted, nor anything from the publisher or the agent about the book. I actually 'finished' the third book over the weekend. It still needs more work but I'm calling it done until I get feedback from my readers. After the new year I'm starting on my four-wizard book and the second short story for the anthology. Hope to get the short story done in a few weeks so I can get input from my readers about which story they like best before the end of January. Where the fuck does the time go?

back from the quad

Christmas with the in-laws was relatively painless. Everyone was in a good mood--no one was snarky, no one got their feelings hurt, there were no arguements ... it was fairly amazing. Those things generally happen when Ken's family gets together, and so days they don't are remarkable. Maybe that we were only together for about five hours had something to do with it. I got clothes and money, so it's all good. We won't be doing x-mas with my family for anther couple of weeks, so I've got plenty of time to mentally prepare.

A few thoughts popped into my head while I was with my nieces and nephew. One was when I first saw my nephew--he'll be fourteen in February--and I saw how much of a man he's beginning to look like. He was walking around the house barefooted, and a I saw how his feet looked more like man-feet than kid-feet, and the thought that came to me was that someday he'll make love to a woman that loves those feet. They'll lie together in bed in some cramped dorm room and she'll tell him how much she loves how he holds his feet when he's sleeping.
The second thought that came to me actually occured to me a month ago when my niece, nephew, and a friend of my nephew's visited Ken and I, but seeing them today reminded me of it. We were hanging out in the mall when I realized that I was only a few months older than my niece when I lost my virginity to a guy around my nephew's friend's age--I was 16, he was 14--and it made me wonder if any of the teenagers present had done that deed. Maybe. Maybe not. You can bet some of their friends have, and you can bet it's on their minds either way.
Today I got my niece's and nephew's blog addresses, so I'll be checking them out in the next couple of days. It'll give me insight to the mindset of the current youth, which will be helpful for my writing, but also it'll allow me to get to know them as people, which is what I really want.

aarrrgh

I've not been writing much lately and it's starting to wear on me. I can always tell when I haven't been writing because I walking around with a sort of low-grade PMS buzzing around my head. When I'm truly PMS-ing, I hate everyone: "What, you sneezed? You bastard. How dare you sneeze around me." Luckily this only lasts about a day. When I haven't been writing, though, it's more along these lines: "You sneezed? I'll bless you if I must. But you must thank me for doing so." This will last until I write something. This blog entry will probably be enough to last me a few days.

Today I lunched with three of my best girlfriends. We ate food and laughed and talked about people behind their backs. I love being snarky. I can't help it. One could make the arguement that it's hateful and mean-spirited and it makes me a bad person. So be it. I make the arguement that if I wasn't ever snarky, I'd go insane from bottled-up frustration and call someone a worthless bitch to their face. I daresay that would make for an uncomfortable work environment. See? It's better my way.

Going to see the in-laws on Friday. I'll be sure to post a report with all the bloody details. Hopefully I won't be posting from jail.

well ...

I've finished one story for the anthology. I've got a few good ideas for another one, so I'll work on it over the next few weeks. That, coupled with finishing up my third book, should make for a busy week after Christmas. I think I'm going to enter the local newspaper's fiction contest. One of my girlfriends called my attention to it, so I'm gonna give it a shot. I haven't checked out the details, but I think the deadline's late January. We'll see how it goes. Probably won't win, but the more stories you write the better writer you become, so I still come out ahead.

Looking forward to New Year's Eve. We're having a big party complete with food, booze, and poker. What else do you need, really?

Today was the last day of finals for the college, so when Ken and I went X-mas shopping tonight it was actually bearable. We're going to do some shopping on Campus tomorrow, then go to a x-mas party tomorrow night. I'm hoping to go see King Kong or Aeon Flux at some point during the weekend, but we'll see how it goes. We usually talk a big game but then we end up sitting at home on our ass. As long as this ass is writing and not playing xbox, it's all good.

and the verdict is ...

Still Alive! I've officially finished my first four days as a day shifter. This is a basic run-down of my typical day.

2200: go to bed.

0030: wake up. Look at the clock. Curse and go back to sleep.

0230: wake up. Look at the clock. Curse and pee before going back to sleep.

0430: wake up. Look at the clock. Curse. Sleep.

0545: alarm goes off. Grumble, brush teeth, pee, shower, dress.

0630: leave for work. Curse as I scrape off windows. Send mental love to Ken for buying me a car with ass warmers.

0700: clock in. Feel like a rookie student as I try to remember the things I'm supposed to do at the beginning of the shift. Try not to look tired as everyone asks how I'm making the transistion. Resolve to wear make-up tomorrow to look a little more "with it."

0900: break. As an evening shifter, I always made fun of the dayshifters for taking a break and a lunch when all we got was a short lunch. But dammit, when break time rolls around I'm hungry and in need of caffeine. If I have to follow the leader and take a break with my new coworkers to get it, so be it. Besides, one doesn't make friends by bucking the trend during their first week.

1130: lunch. I've just eaten two hours ago and I'm not hungry. However, the state of IL has decreed that lunch must be taken within five hours of the start of the shift. That means I eat. Luckily, I've already made plans to swim in the mornings after the first of the year and go running after work when the weather hits 50 degrees. That means I'll have to sucker someone into biking with me and I'll be set for tri training.

1530: end of shift. See the evening shifters roll in, shoot the shit with them before leaving. I really miss them. They're such a fun group.

1600-1730: This should be my writing time. This has been, however, my xbox time. This will need to change soon, since I need to get that story finished and I'd like to get my book finished by the end of the year so I can get started on another book.

1730-2200: read, watch tv, and hang out with Ken. And then the cycle begins again.

I can't help feeling like I'm in school again, with learning new stuff at work, being tired, and hanging out with Ken of an evening. I feel like I mesh well with the department, and I know I made the right decision, but it's going to take a while before it feels natural.

Ken has decided to switch jobs. Even though it's a longer drive and less pay, it's a good move. He hates his current job, and he's noticebly happier knowing he'll be outta there in a month. Ah, the winds of change.

my last evening

With the exception of one weekend and Christmas, tonight is my last evening shift. I thought I'd post the e-mail I sent to my co-workers along with explainations of some of the in-jokes.

Evenings--
And so it comes. Traditionally, when the treacherous sould who dare leave the paradise known as evenings work their last shift, they send an e-mail thanking everyone for the great food and for being a great bunch of co-workers.

I am not, in general, a traditionalist.

What follows is a list of some of my favorite memories from my 6-1/2 year tenure. Some of you might not understand. Ask the old-timers.

--Snowball fights in the parking lot
--the lab week activity known as Lab Luge [this involves a rolling office chair, a long stretch of corridor, a timer and a co-worker.]
--trips in the dumbwaiter [once we sent a few people downstairs in the dumbwaiter. Strictly speaking, the dumbwaiter is for specimens only. But you can fit a smallish person in it if they aren't claustrophobic]
--fire in the lab! [one weekend, the fire alarm went off. This did not alarm us. What alarmed us was the "greenleaf, lab building, greenleaf, lab building" announcement overhead. We called security to see where the fire was and if we should evacutate. No, no, they told us, it's on the second floor. We spent the next few hours smelling smoke and watching the fire department out of the windows. What kills me is that we had to call. I think they would've let us bake before remembering there are people that work in the lab.]
--discovering how to talk to Dr. C. [he is an asshole heart/vascular surgeon. The only way not to get cursed at and written up when you call him is to be hateful right back at him, as if it's his fault you're calling him with an alert value after nine. Which, strictly speaking, it is.]
--rock-paper-scissors [this is how we used to determine who did the first cell count of the night.]
--iPod/disco night [we cranked the tunes, turned down the lights, and danced for a few hours. Needless to say, it was a slow night.]
--exploding poop [Apparently, this only happens to me.]
--favorable electromagnetic influence over the UF-100 [I'm one of those people that stop watches and kill calculator batteries. My freakish nature makes the urinalysis instrument autoverify samples.]


So that's what I sent out. Hopefully everyone got a few laughs out of it. There are a few things that I didn't include here because they are pretty incriminating. You'll just have to wonder.

this and that

Today I'm sort of in a funk. For one thing, it's fucking freezing outside, and I'm soooo not looking forward to being out in it. For another, it's sort of finally really hitting me that I'll be leaving evenings. Last night a few of my coworkers were getting down to business with their competancies (little quizzes each departments give annually that, if you pass, means you are able to work in that department for the next year). Usually we all work on them together--some would call it cheating, but I call it a collaborative effort--and last night was no exception. Except for me. For one thing, I had already done a few of them, but one I haven't done I won't need to do. That I wasn't comparing answers and helping find answers that no one knew made me realize that I am no longer a part of "us," I'm a part of "them." I know that I'll always be friends with my peeps on evenings ... but it will just be different. I am one of "them." Of course, "they" think I'm now a part of their "us," ... but I will take me a bit to mentally make that shift myself.

In order to cheer myself up, I'm going outline the work I'm doing with my writing:
--still working on finishing my third book before the end of the year.
--sent a packet of first book materials to an editor last week.
--sent a query to an agent last week.
--sent a short story submission a few weeks ago to "Cricket," a young-adult literary magazine.
--working on the short story for the DAW anthology.
--sending a submission (today) to The Hub Weekly, a freebie community paper in the area that will begin to publish weekly fiction stories shortly.
Seeing it all on paper makes me feel like I have a few irons in the fire, even if they're all lukewarm and the fire is only a few hot coals.

Black Friday

While Ken and I may or may not go shopping later, we have another reason to dread today. We're taking three of the four cats to the vet at the same time. It sounded like a good idea when I made the appointment--'oh, Ken's off, so he'll help me, and one trip instead of three is always good'--but, damn. Let me give you a rundown of what the half-hour before the vet visit will entail.

Clean the cat carriers. Do this outside so the cats don't know what's coming.

Warm up the car.

Close all bedroom and basement doors so that there are no escape routes.

Bailey will be under the bed, so run vacuum in the bedroom so she'll shoot out from underneath before she knows what's coming.

Stuff Bailey in one box.

Get clean towel and go after Kahlua, who by this point knows what's coming and wants no part of the nonsense. He's fat, though, so he's easy to catch. However, he's got a defense mechanism.

Wrap towel around Kahlua, making sure to cover both his eyes and his tail end. Hold him away from yourself so that when he pees out of fright (this is the said defense mechanism) it doesn't go on you. If you've done your wrapping job right, it'll go on the towel. Stuff Kahlua into the other box.

Go after Moonshine. She is skittish, but she's only been in the cat carriers once or twice, and she didn't seem to mind the vet the few times she's been, so her curiousity about the rucus might make your job easier. Stuff her into box with Bailey. Bailey might be bitchy, but she's more calm that Kahlua in this situation and Kahlua's fear might transfer to Moonshine if they're in the same box.

Shove Morgan out of the way when you leave. You see that Morgan is quite pleased with himself because he is not a part of this circus side show. Tell him to wipe the smug look off his face or he'll be next. Tell him you'll find a reason to take him to the vet, and then won't he be sorry. Shut the door and wonder if Morgan is on the counters out of spite yet.


This is the basic script for any trip to the vet. Once we get home, Bailey will hiss at all the others--they'll each get their own customized hiss--because she will be convinced it's their fault she has had to suffer such indignities. Kahlua will roll into a ball on the couch and not move until nightfall, while I'm not entirely certain what Moonshine will do. Morgan will prance around and generally make an ass of himself, gloating because he didn't have to go.

Eat More Chicken!

Happy Thanksgiving! Ken and I stayed home today and cooked a little feast. It was good except for the turkey breast--we didn't cook it long enough and so it was still pink in the middle. We picked at it but ultimately threw it out because we were both paranoid about food poisoning. It was good to stay home, though, because we don't have headaches from family stress and we haven't been overfed.
It feels more like Christmas than Thanksgiving in our house because Ken stood in line outside of best buy on Tuesday and scored himself and XBOX360, so we've been playing with the new toy all day. Even I have to admit it's pretty fucking cool. The graphics are awesome, and because we have it hooked up to our projector, the screen is like six feet wide. When I watch or play Call of Duty 2, though, I get motion sick. It's weird. But I'm sorta getting the hang of the racing game, though, so it's okay. I'd like to have a poker game for it, and I'll be buying Ken and game for Christmas, so we'll have a collection in no time.

Called Dad today. Almost told him about the short-story thing, but didn't. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm afraid to tell him it didn't work out if it doesn't, or maybe I'm afraid if I tell too many people it won't happen, or ... I don't know. I think it has something more to do with fucked up parental relationships, because I haven't told mom, either. This is all beginning to sound Freudian and so I'm stopping now.
Tomorrow we may actually go out and brave the crowds. There are actually a few gifts I could buy, but mostly I like to watch all the people and feed off their energy. Does that make me some sort of freaky Christmas Vampire?

Even better news (I think)

It turns out that the anthology I'm submitting to is invitation-only. I think that means this: the author is gathering 15-18 submissions, and unless mine is unacceptable in some way, it'll be published. Holy fucking shit! It goes without saying I had an anxiety attack when I read that e-mail. There are a few authors she's invited that are widely published in the genre (Mike Stackpole and Chris Peirson). Their name on the cover will ensure that more people will buy the book and so more people will potentially read my story. Anthologies really aren't big sellers, but who gives a shit? My name will be in print! That is, if I don't fuck this up somehow. People I've told are already clamoring for autographed copies. I say, don't jinx me. I'll believe it actually happened when I have a copy of the book in my hands.

exciting news

Today I got an email that made my heart race and my hands shake.

No, it wasn't porn. Get your mind outta the gutter.

The author I sent my manuscript to invited me to send a story to her for an anthology she's editing. She hasn't read much of my book yet--she's got about a thousand irons in the fire and, let's face it, I'm a guppy in the fiction ocean--but she has read the first four or five chapters. That she's invited me to send in a story tells me that she doesn't think my writing sucks. If I was crap she wouldn't have given me this opportunity, right? The deadline's not until April, so idealy I'd like to write a couple of stories and submit the best one. Just sending it in doesn't mean I'll actually be published. I don't know how many spots she's trying to fill, but I believe she gets hundreds of submissions for her anthologies, so the odds aren't in my favor. I say, experience counts, and if I don't get this anthology I'll get the next one, or the one after that.

I have Friday night off. I feel a celebration coming on.