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[nineteen] - January 1999-
August 2005
Nineteen days left. Not much time at all; I've spent nineteen days without leaving my apartment during particularly strange times, I know people who've spent nineteen days staggering drunk, eating only scrambled eggs and listening to songs for swingin' lovers by Frank Sinatra. If one were to attempt to watch an episode of buffy the vampire slayer every day for nineteen days, by the time the big climax rolled around he would three episodes to watch in his new digs.

This is not a fate I share. I have seen them all already. I feel no shame for this. What the hell? Why dwell on how little time is left? It's a non-stop party around these parts.

[bring your boogie shoes]
Item one of the non-stop party includes having poplife rejected by another agent. I am not bitter over this, oh no, but I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't frustrated. This particular agent seemed a good fit for the work, and I was excited at the opportunity to work with him based on statements he made about the way he operates-- that, if he chose not to represent your work, he would offer detailed criticism of said work.

In the case of poplife, he offered none, explaining that i have a great imagination and he loves the premise and i'm a good writer and the dialogue is fine and the characters are well-crafted and the plot is well-conceived. Which is a delightful thing to hear, it's true, but less delightful when accompanied by i'm going to have to pass. And he makes a good point, that any representative of my work would have to be very passionate about it, and if that's not him then it's silly to want more, so it really just brings me to my real concern.

Is any literary agent going to be able to relate to a book with a twenty-five year old protagonist? The book has done well as it is, as a free download under a Creative Commons license, it's been read more times than I ever anticipated and the response has been strong, so I don't doubt the merit of the work. Just whether or not the people who are able to bring it into print are going to feel the same connection to the characters that the thousand or so people who've read it online have. Maybe I should rewrite it so that Elliott is an up-and-coming literary agent.

'oh, you represent groundbreaking commercial fiction?' she cooed into his ear. 'i find that irresistibly sexy. take me now, you mighty literary agent god! bend me over the oak desk that you purchased from the fitzgerald estate and cram me full of your artistic-vision-seeing seed!'

I'd be rich, right?

And I know all of this is just pathological spin control; I'm not that out of touch. There's a reason I'm taking shots at the guy who, after all, was kind enough to read my book, to praise it when he could have left all such comments out, to explain in a fair manner why he personally was not the best person for my present needs. There's a reason I was careful to mention all of said praise, as well as the numbers it's done as a download and how great the response has been. Rejections dent the ego, and I'm trying to shore mine up. The next step is mentioning the rejections my literary heroes received, how long it took them for their first novels to achieve publication (the rum diary took forty years to see publication, and Thompson did all right in the meantime), and posting pictures of mine maginificent penis so all can gaze upon its wonder in silent awe and admiration. You know how these things go.

In the meantime, I'm back at the beginning here, albeit with a shorter list of prospects. I've still got a book, and I still like it; this latest experience had me re-reading it and I'm proud of the work. There are other projects to keep me occupied while I wait for someone to take an interest.

But, oh, it is frustrating.

[there ain't no stoppin' this train]
The second party activity is packing. Not exciting, I know, but what can you do? Those books need to be transported somehow, and boxes seems the traditional way to go.

The books are mostly Kat's, not mine. Of the eleven boxes so far packed, maybe three of them are books I own, the other eight are hers. What happens when two former used bookstore employees cohabitate.

But what I really want to do is say goodbye, but in that nice way. That way that says we will do the things we've always done, just more deliberately. we will eat chips and queso and sit together in movie theaters and listen to bands play and sit at tables on patios and sing songs and recite poems still. we will just do them now instead of always thinking of tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Nineteen days left, and this is how I want to spend them. And I don't care much about the book or the boxes or much else, so long as this is how we all say goodbye.
5 defect from the Old ; create the New
ladymariposa From: ladymariposa Date: July 13th, 2005 09:03 pm (UTC) (Link)
My favorite white boy
Texas will miss you when you're gone...
From: thefrescakid Date: July 13th, 2005 11:31 pm (UTC) (Link)
By way of ego shoring, you are a brilliantly insightful writer and know all the right words to leave out of your prose.

Don't let that stop you from posting the picture of your magnificence tho.
roobytoosday From: roobytoosday Date: July 14th, 2005 02:41 am (UTC) (Link)
Dan, if I didn't love the idea of being a teacher so damn much, I would become a literary agent just for you.

(Deleted comment)
mysterywhteboy From: mysterywhteboy Date: July 14th, 2005 06:21 pm (UTC) (Link)

Re: I think you'll find this interesting, if nothing else

Looks interesting, thanks, Stephen.

litos From: litos Date: July 14th, 2005 08:52 pm (UTC) (Link)
Give the man what he wants and he will blow you on demand.
5 defect from the Old ; create the New