The story goes like this.

Last year, I wrote a book.  It took about seven months.  I edited it for another seven and here I am.  I've got a third draft of a manuscript that needs more than a drawer-- more like a coffin.  It's ample and I'm not entirely sure what to do with it going forward.  I've sent out about 20 query letters.  Not enough.  I've heard back from one agent who wanted to read more, but not the whole thing.  I've received five rejections.  Everyone else remains intractably quiet.

The book is about dead kids.  Who doesn't love them?  Before you get in a huff, they're teenagers-- human enough that compassion doesn't have to take the shape of repulsion.  The kids are in charge of the stage set; without them, we'd live among bleak utility.  The context wouldn't be inspiring.  We'd wonder why anyone ever bothered to write poetry or take pictures.  Not that people don't wonder that already.  To them, I say, be grateful something is there to catch you up when your head gets too full up of self.  To them, I'd also say, good luck in love.

This December, I promised myself to try to write a novel in a month.  Sure, I was supposed to do it in November, but I was busy with some stories and a fair bit of hysteria over my future.  This month, I'm calm.  And I'm rushing headlong into a loosely outlined story to follow up on our heroic dead kids.  I'm promising myself it won't reach the paunchy proportions of the first.  After all, I only have a month.

So here's the thing.  As with all phases of delightful hysteria, its passage has left me feeling a little rambunctious; I'd like a little upheaval in the story.  So while the first book concentrates on the young female protagonist, this one is following her partner, a guy who knows just a bit more but doesn't realize what he actually knows.  I guess my question is whether this is a ridiculous mistake?  I like his voice and I wanted to hear it.  So fuck it, I suppose.  It's my story to tell.  And if I want to tell the second part through him, then I guess I get to do exactly that.

You've been most helpful.

Surprises in various sizes

The news this week is good.  I'm admitted to a Masters program at Victoria University's International Institute of Modern Letters.  I heard a couple days ago after I'd spent a fair amount of energy convincing myself-- and concocting pretty decent stories in support of-- a rejection.  Rejection is sometimes easier than success.  I know how to file it away.  Even after a couple nights of decent sleep, I'm still not sure how to respond to the good news.  Instead, I'm sort of pretending like there might have been a mistake.  When March rolls around and the class starts, I'll attend and deal with a new reality.

Although not so much a surprise as a shock, I discovered this morning that we've stumbled into December. Once again, I'm faced with the brain twister that wants me to reconcile Christmas trees with summer light.  I may have grown up in San Diego and I may have experienced winters far warmer than any summer day down in these island parts, but at least we pretended.  We wore scarves and boots because the calendar-- if not the sun-- asked for it.  And no matter the temperature outside, we weren't throwing carrot sticks on the roof under a sky that slowly goes grey after 9.  At least we all take many days off.

The novel writing project starts today.  I've written, oh, a paragraph or two.  With the news about the MA program, I'm a little more committed.  I want a second book in draft before I start all the shenanigans of the new year.  And then, when the Mayan calendar collapses us, I'll have three, which is nice little way to complete my universe.  Ah, good thoughts.

Here's a picture of clouds over Sydney.  These clouds existed at a moment when you were not there so you should feel very lucky for a peek.  I'm just saying.  Be grateful that you stumble into December with me.  Because even with clouds, it's a pretty spectacular moment in time that hosts them.

And when you're in Sydney next, consider that you've already missed this particular grouping of cloud bits.  You'll get your own, I promise.