Run for the Roses

So it's almost Derby here in Louisville, Kentucky, and while the horses dance in their stalls the jackasses wander the streets clad in garish suits of expensive cut, fueled by bourbon and boorish manners. My reaction has been to write, again, though I'm not making much headway.

Still waiting on rejections. In the meantime, I pounded out a short rough of another story that needs some expanding, but not too much. I'll most likely work on that for the next couple days, fleshing it a little more and smoothing out some rough spots. There's no excuse for me rushing through the first draft, other than I was on a roll when I started writing it, and wanted to get at least the major plot points down while the idea was fresh. A few extra paragraphs, some trimming of the fat and some rewording, and that'll be all she wrote on it. We'll see if it turns out as well as I think it will.

Job interview on the phone went well yesterday. They're passing my resume on up the ladder to see if they want to call me in for a face-to-face interview concerning the job. AFL-CIO accepted me for their second round of interview/training in June if I want to go. However, none of it is happening fast enough. Last week's illness has caused a major hit to the pocketbook, and rent is due tomorrow, so we're scraping and crying as that $1500.00 may be a few more days (or weeks. I hate office politics) in getting to my bank account. So we've got to come up with the rent, then another $200.00 to keep the power on. We'll live, we have so far. It's just tight around the house while I'm looking for work. But I'm not complaining. I've got neighbors, friends, and family willing to lend us a little cash if we need to, but I hate taking money even if I need it. I've placed a moratorium on Ebay, to the point that it is no longer accessible on our computer. I'm trying...just trying...to keep my head afloat for another week or two here.

Alright, complaints done. I'll be writing tonight, then starting in on a little bit of planning for anohter short story, another horror piece, that sorta leaped into my mind the other day. Needs some serious developing, but I know there's a story behind that image. Peace, J.C. Tabler

Edit 13:19 05/01/08

Going through a website or two of abandoned hotel photos, I found this picture. I don't know why, but there's something inherently creepy about this image. Especially that chair. Hence the reason that it has kicked the horror portion of my mind open again, and started sprinkling story dust. Yes, although I mainly enjoy listening to music while writing, today I think a story idea has started with this one picture.


Steal it, and I swear I'll kill you. It's just too bad this sucker is too late for Voices.

Another Doldrum Day

You have to love Kentucky. One week it gets cold, then chilly, then you walk outside and it's 80 degrees in the bright sunshine, humidity has started to come into play, and you sweat like a stuck pig. I think when we eventually move I'll go somewhere with a more tolerable climate. Like Hell.

Started on another bit of work last night, actually on three different stories. Starting on one about an old lady who refuses to leave her land, a bit about a liar who traps himself, and a strange bit that features Papa Ghede, the Voodoo spirit/god of the dead. I don't know which one will take precedence, but they've all started to develop pretty well so we'll just have to see. Rewrote "The Tribe of Harry" after getting a pleasant rejection letter back from 94Creations for it that insisted it was "just not what they're looking for". Put it in the second person, made it a bit more...oh...blunt on some things, removed a little of the subtlety that both helps and hinders the work. Already resubmitted it, both to a "pie in the sky" market and a down to earth choice that is much more likely.

Waiting on rejections from the following:

"Linguistic Prescription" - ASIM
"Demon Whiskey" - Harvest Hill
"Fragile Obsession" - Ghost in the Machine
"Dead Air" - Aberrant Dreams
"Weekend Trip" - Unspeakable Horrors
"Colburn Men" - McSweeney's Quarterly
"No Tell Motel" - Voices
"Tribe of Harry" - The New Yorker (I just couldn't help myself. I want a rejection from the New Yorker to frame, damn it!)

Soon as those rejections come in, I'll be hopping ready to get started on finding homes for these wayward pieces, or tossing them in the kindling pile, as is appropriate when I read back through them. Hoping to finish three-five stories in the month of May, and get some more work done on "The Long One". I'm not exactly prolific, mainly because I have a habit of getting distracted by other things for a day or two, and falling off track. In June I'm going back through my Disk of Beginnings, where stories that only made it two to three pages before another idea knocked them out of the running. I'll spend most of June figuring out which ones, if any, I can get back to work on.

It's a hard knock life, that's for sure, but hey. I chose it, right?

Peace,
J.C. Tabler

Blocked

Alright, so normally I don't like to talk plot. This time...well...

The other day I got to thinking about how annoying it is to be a Kentuckian during the Derby. That is a truly horrible time of year. People from all over flock to get a taste of "southern charm" and generally make our lives a living hell for several days in a row. Meanwhile, we can't go anywhere or do anything without getting asked directions, told how different things are where they're from, or even eat out because every table is taken.

So, on a boring day last week at the office, I decided to get my own version of revenge by playing out every Louisvillian's Derby fantasy. The problem? I've been away from the story for a few days now, so what was once very clear has become fuzzy. Today I only got two hundred words on paper before calling it quits.

This, ladies and gentlemen, sucks. So tomorrow I'm coming home from work, sitting down, and getting this damn story rolling again. If I don't i want one of you to come over here and smack the hell out of me.

Time to smoke a cigarette and hit the hay. I'm dead tired tonight.

Peace,
J.C. Tabler