Agentfail and Queryfail

In my august and just opinion, this is a fucking tempest in a teapot. For crying out loud… I mean, don’t we *all* have better things to do than sit around and bitch abt this sort of shit?

Oh, I don’t know, like writing books, writing and sending queries, and frakking selling the books on the agent’s side?

Agents: so you let your tail get up over your back because a whole bunch of eejits are whinging that you didn’t pick them?

And writers: you are whinging that an agent didn’t pick you?

Eff me. Here’s a newsflash, writers: if nobody picked you, consider the fact that the entire lit world is fucking subjective, grow a pair, write a new book, make sure you’re query’s golden, and try again.

For the love of the gods.

Agents: Don’t let angry agents that are not successful whip you up into a froth! *shakes head*

Do we really have to go over this? Spare me!


Just shattered

I’m not a girl that gives up easily. I’m a fighter, and I’m proud of that.

But over the weekend I had the laraopscopy to see if something was wrong with my girl bits and it turns out I had endometriosis.

Not crippling, right?

I didn’t read the paperwork he sent home with me, instead choosing over the weekend to sleep and heal and spend time with the husband.

And then I started reading about endometriosis on the net. It didn’t sound like it would break me, right…Stages 1,2,3 were totally doable with IVF, I read. Only the Stage 4 was just about impossible. So don’t worry, I thought, I can do this. And felt positive.

And then this morning early I read the report, just to make sure I knew what was happening ‘in my belly’.

I have Stage 4.

And I feel my life crashing down over my ears.

I don’t know what to do…hopefully the girl doctor will be able to shed some light when I see her tomorrow.

My Cliff

You know that feeling you get when you need to scream, yell, vent without anyone hearing? Well, that’s this blog for me. Unfortunately, all of the people I have issues with can follow my trail online. This space is the only place I can be alone. This space is the only place where I can scream, yell, vent over a cliff.

My problem right now: self-absorbed people. I know that this is how it always was, but when did it become who this person is? And I know they don’t even see it. I mean, how can an intelligent person be so dense? Those annoying habits you can excuse, the small changes as people get older are accepted, but this is a complete different person. And I don’t know, if I met this person today, I really don’t think I’d like them. And that makes me sad.

Sorry all…

I’ve been somewhat out of commission for awhile now. I’m sorry. 

Mostly because I’m in the depths of submissions hell. And there’s no end in sight. 

So if you spare a thought my way, can you please send me some “get a publishing contract” power? I need it.

At wit’s end

My life has become a vicious waiting, guessing cycle. I send an e-mail, wait for a response, hypothesize about why I may not be hearing back. This has seeped into all areas of my life. Pre-school, friends, agent, etc. I can’t blame technology b/c it’s no different than leaving a message on someone’s answering machine or writing a letter. Maybe it is technology. Everything is so fast we’ve raised our expectations to minute long responses.

I’m tired of watching the clock, calculating time zones and I’m so tired of waiting. I should be using the time to do something productive. I need a paradigm shift. I think I’ll start today otherwise I’m just letting precious life moments pass by.

Empty Gestures and Evasions

I believe I’m a tolerant person. I do my best not to judge others, to practice acts of kindness, to always believe the best in people and situations. However, I cannot tolerate empty gestures. Those that people make when they know that you will refuse and they feel better because they made the offer.  I cannot tolerate when people are dishonest with me. I’m not talking about lies meant to deceive and hurt, but those evasive comments and you find out what they told you wasn’t the entire truth.

But what can I do? I know these things and hold them tight, try to brush them off into nothing. More than that I can’t do because I will not become an angry, suspicious person. So I evade.

Tangible Beauty



A SUDDEN blow:  the great wings beating still

Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed

By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,

He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push

The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?

And how can body, laid in that white rush,

But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there

The broken wall, the burning roof and tower

And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air,

Did she put on his knowledge with his power

Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?


The serpent will come from the hole
On the brown Day of Bride,
Though there should be three feet of snow
On the flat surface of the ground.



So please, can you send me a nice fat auction for a publishing deal? 

Universe? Huh, can you?

Many thanks. 



The Green Man



I’ve always been fascinated by the Green Man. In our lives today, there aren’t many tangible representations of deities and those we do have or that are found are summarily dismissed as the musings of an infirm mind. Yet, the Green Man is found in many places, whether naturally made or man made. Is he a sign of fertility or a symbol of a forgotten time when Nature was central to our lives? I have no definitive answer. I just enjoy seeing his image carved into churches, hung in gardens and oh when you can find him in the forest; it doesn’t get better than that.

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