Another step

So, two days after my last post I got an interesting e-mail. A while back I had submitted a fun little story to another anthology that a different company was putting together. This story I had actually talked to my daughter about a few days ago, and I ended up describing it as part noir, part drama, and part creepy crawly. I'm still pounding at In the Dark, and was only sending things out to keep my foot in the dark, murky waters of story submissions. They can be a pretty treacherous place, and if you don't stick a toe in every once in a while you're likely to hit a rock or an unexpected deep spot when you really need things to go smoothly. I only stick a toe in because it's wise to not put anything in that you're not prepared to lose.

Then I got the e-mail. My story was accepted.

Remember how I described how it didn't feel real when Dirty got accepted? Yeah, again. The pay situation will be different this time, so I still won't be walking into work tomorrow with a lemon meringue pie to surprise my manager with. But this is another bit of polish on my 'brand,' another tool I can use when I go stalking the wild literary agent in its native habitat. This is me feeling maybe a little bit less like a pretend writer, and a maybe a step closer to making my living as one.

Other than that, the weekend was too short, as they always are. Convention season looms, and the wife and I are making plans to run her booth at some. Houston weather is heating up, and I'm already missing winter.

As soon as I get the okay, I'll post the name of the book company, and the name of the anthology. Heck, if you live anywhere near Texas you'll probably hear me singing the name of it from my roof. Friends and family who have heard my, shall we say -striking- singing voice can tell you that it leaves an impression on the listener as they run away as fast as they can.

Still writing? Oh hell yes.

Well, that was an interesting time

Hi! Welcome back! I sure as heck didn't mean to be gone for so long, but I had one problem get thrown at me, then another, then one hit my wife and I and knocked us both down for a bit.

Our most recent addition to the household, Diamond, hadn't been feeling good for a while. I take her outside at night because I'm up later than Claudia, and seeing a fifty-pound dog gorge herself on grass, then throw it all back up right in front of me was one of those moments I need to use in a story. I only hope I can capture it well enough to make all you poor readers feel it as intimately as I did. I didn't throw up, but I'm glad I hadn't recently eaten.

But one day her stomach got really hard, and my wife got home, found a 24 hr vet, and loaded her up in the car. A friend of ours went along to help hold Diamond, and Diamond showed her gratitude by puking all over her. I don't think Claudia and I are going to be living that one down anytime soon.

The vet was closed, despite what their website says, and after some more hunting around (and dropping our friend off to take a shower), we found one and got the bad news. Diamond's stomach was twisted, and she needed surgery right then. Over four thousand dollars worth of surgery.

We don't have that kind of money sitting around waiting for us to give it a call and ask it to come over. So we had to break down and apply for a line of credit, over the phone, and talking to a machine. I really, really, really hate credit cards, and so does Claudia. We buy what we need or want with money that we have, and save up for or do without something if need be. Credit cards have their uses, I know, but (my opinion, of course) they use the holder more than he or she uses it.

But we got it, racked up more debt than either of us had possessed in a long time, and handed our dog over to the vet. Surgery went well, and after a few days of observation, we brought her home with a doped-up smile on her face and a scar full of staples that went the whole length of her underside. The staples just came out Friday.

So I've been coming home on my lunch hour to let her out of her crate (cage) and allow her to stretch her legs for a little while, then locking her up and going back. Claudia has been giving her extra TLC before and after work, and we've both been taking turns sleeping with her on a futon to be there in case she had problems.

I never knew a dog could snore. Did you?

I've still been writing this time, but not at the same pace or with the same zeal. Knowing you suddenly owe that much puts a new light on little things like a cantankerous refrigerator or a headlight that's out. It's worth it though, especially every time Diamond smiles, runs up to get affection, or thwaks the floor with her tail because she's wagging it and she's also too lazy to get up. It's worth it.

Then, good news. I got paid for Dirty. The check arrived, and I sprained my lips from grinning and bruised both ears because I did it so fast and wide. I got paid. I'm in print, and I got paid. Words? What words? This is emoting and floating and running down the street shouting 'Eureka!' I got paid.

Did it cover the vet? Oh heck no. It'll put a scratch in the bill, is all. But I got paid. If I drop dead tomorrow, I'll be talking about it to the valkyrie who picks me up or the ferryman who gives me a ride. No one ever actually came out and told me that I wouldn't make money from this, but a look that lets you know someone thinks it's just an indulgent fantasy, especially from someone close to you, sticks, and not in a good way. I ended up divorcing the person who gave me that look.

But I got paid. For writing.