On the upswing

Well, I think I've managed to get past the cold thing. Yay.

I have a very odd feeling about my writing, right now. I started out as a science fiction writer. I even groused about so called "speculative fiction" and the watering down of the popular rags. Too little good science fiction, too many stories about grandmothers and cranky magicians living in subdivisions and whatnot. Not that the specific stories were bad or anything. In fact, they were quite good. I had just read my share of them, and really thought that the industry could do better.

Problem is, now I'm writing stuff like that. And it's going well. I'm making some sales, and my stories that aren't selling are getting deeper into the submission process than previously. I can't remember the last time I just got slushed out. So I very much have this feeling of cusping, of just about getting there, of just about hitting it big. Of course, I imagine this to be a sudden and blinding event, and it will probably end up being a slow accumulation of sales and contracts and whatnot, and then one day I'll look around and realize that I've made it. Or something. If I ever get around to deciding what I mean by "made it." Fuck.

Oh, in completely unrelated news: If my goddamn coworker doesn't stop whistling the same five fucking notes, over and over, at the top of his goddamn lungs, I'm going to fucking immolate. My head, in all seriously, will shoot out lasers of pure, incandescent HATEFUCK!

Also: I love rain. And tea. And a nice cookie. I don't have a cookie right now. c.f. HATEFUCK!