The Butcher DVRed an episode of Ghostland Tennessee for me in which the ghost hunters made a “Devil’s toybox” which they claimed was on the cutting edge of paranormal research or some such shit. But it was just an old hoodoo mirror box!
I was so excited to see it redeployed for new purposes.
And I point it out because there’s a discussion of one in one of the October stories.
I’m tired of people who hate New York and Washington slobbering all over those cities today.
I cannot stand that conservatives can’t just be content to hate Obama, but that they have to say things that, if anyone took them seriously about, would result in his death. And yet, if something happens, they’ll all act shocked. I loathe it. How unseriously they take what they say.
Yesterday was weird. And I was feeling like I don’t know how to get where I want to go. Like here’s me, trying as hard as I can, and there’s what publishable writing looks like and I don’t know how to get from here to there.
The Professor called me and she said, and I’m paraphrasing, that it’s time for me to stop pretending things are within my control, which is what she thinks my constant fantasy of “just needing to get better” is about.
All the things I want to happen aren’t happening because of something I’m doing wrong. And, if only I can figure out what I’m doing wrong, all my dreams will come true.–that’s the fantasy.
It kind of took me aback to hear this, because that is my fantasy in so many realms of my life. But I forget and then get surprised to discover that I’m saying it to myself about the thing I’m fretting over at the moment.
She says it’s time for me to accept that I need, also, to get lucky. I am a good writer. People enjoy my stories. Yes, of course, I should strive to be better at my craft, but I’m also at a place where I’m not getting rejected because I necessarily am not good enough as a writer, but more because I’m just trying to find an editor who likes it and thinks his or her audience will, too.
Personal preference.
Not talent at this stage.
I’m having a kind of hard time accepting that. I want to be universally loved, or hated for things I can control. But it feels true. So, I’m going to sit with it a while.
Tiny Cat Pants 