I’m supposed to be napping (I take sleeping breaks between writing sessions). But right now, my mind is a block-party full of Wild Ideas singing at the top of their lungs… and dancing. I know better than to fight some of my mind’s whims. So instead of wasting energy trying to quiet her creative shouts, I’ll just write her down until she’s too exhausted to keep me awake.
I’ll try to appease her by sharing a bit of my day with you…
One of my dear friends got upset after a local university decided not to interview him for a job. He is annoyed with me because I was supposed to be interviewed by the same people, but I’m not as mad as he is about the appointment cancellation. I’m okay because although the job was good, it would allow for very little fiction writing.
My friend was getting too worked up for comfort, so I diverted the conversation away from the jobs we would no longer get; at least not any time soon.
“What are you working on,” I said. “Finished the vignettes?” He has been writing a bunch of very short stories set in the New York City Subway.
“I’m waiting on feedback from two more beta readers.”
“That’s awesome,” I told him, pretending he didn’t sound super irritated. “I was rewriting another short story for Blooming Howls when you called.”
“How is that coming along? Did you include ‘A House for Our Holy Crab’?”
“Almost done, but ‘A House for our Holy Crab’ is not part of it. I’m publishing that as a single tale.”
“Are you there?” I said. “Did I hang up on you?” I do that a lot.
“Tell me you’re not going to self-publish that story on Kindle.” He exhaled loudly. “Magaly, your stories—”
“Okay, cariño (darling), let’s leave it there. We both know how the other feels about that topic. There is no need for arguments.”
We got off the phone, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one feeling mildly pissed off. We always annoy each other when we speak about how we treat our arts. I think he’s a word hoarder. He finds my sharing of stories at Pagan Culture maddening.
I don’t mind that he thinks sharing a free story (or three) online is beneath him. It’s his freaking work. He can do with it as he pleases, right? I just wish he would put on his big boy’s tighty whities and offer me the same courtesy when it comes to my publishing choices. That might allow us to have a conversation that doesn’t end on, “Let me walk away before I have to tell you to pull your snooty head out of your butt and wipe the bullshit out of your eyeballs.”
Hm… my mind is mellowing out already. And it’s way too late for a nap. Guess I will make myself a cup of sweet French vanilla coffee with a bit of Bailey’s Irish Cream, and get back to working on Blooming Howls.
“Witching Hour” by Magic Love Crow
Um… the coffee was too hot,
so I went to visit Stacy while the magic brew cooled off.