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Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Le Petit Rien (A Little Nothing)

Heya blogfans.

This has been something of a lost week here at Hubris House. We are entertaining NSSH's 85 year old grandfather. By we I mean mostly *I* because I'm the one who's here. I'd like to say it has been interesting and fun.


And that's enough of that.

No word on the literary front. Oh I did submit a piece to the New Yorker. I know it won't be accepted but submitting something was a huge step- giant. When the kids were little I read the New Yorker cover to cover every month- it was the only contact I had with the non child rearing world and I treasured every stolen minute with it. Being published in the New Yorker would mark me, in my mind anyway, as a success. So submitting a piece was a very big deal. I am pretty sure my piece isn't New Yorker material but I haven't flipped through the magazine for a while so maybe their standards have slipped or something. Hey- a girl can dream. Someday maybe I'll get there but I'm honestly pretty happy just to have the attention of someone on the staff for the two seconds it takes to read my first sentence and erase the submission. 


Meanwhile I'm struggling through book 2. I can't write this week- it's impossible. Even if I had a grandfather free minute, writing (at least writing this book) draws all kinds of thoughts and feelings from my subconscious and right now I'm busy trying not to think (in fact I'm making lots of repressed memory deposits into the subconscious bank even as we speak) This next book is tough anyway. Writing KMS was a joy it really was. Some days were hard but it was sort of a formula book (mysteries kind of have to be) so I just had to flesh it out. Book 2  is just different and difficult and immeasurably better (I hope.) Oh and it's a young adult book and not a mystery.


Plus I'm very distracted by all the outstanding submissions and queries I have out there. I don't know- they're constantly there just behind everything I'm thinking. I dislike loose ends and every possibility (except the New Yorker- that's a no hope) bugs me until it's resolved. 


And my life is a little distracting in general lately. The longer I go without a positive response from my literary ambitions the more silly the whole thing seems. I sit downstairs and write stupid stuff that nobody will ever read when I could be at  least looking for paid work. Argh.


Well Grandfather needs help in the bathroom. Yep. This is my life this week.


Let's hope next week is better.


Yours,
S.H.

 

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