Archive for June, 2012

Four Types of Books On Everyone’s Summer Reading List

Posted: June 29, 2012 in lists, reading
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"Study drawing shows the allegorical figu...

“God, I can’t believe I have 49 more shades of grey to get through. Maybe reading in the nude will make this seem like less of a piece of shit.” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

When temperatures rise and the television becomes a hopeless vortex of reruns and boredom, people start turning to books again. Most people have a stack that they want to get done between the end of June and the beginning of September. Well, to help you get organized, here’s a list of the four most common specimens:

1. That Book You’ve Been Meaning To Read: Everyone’s got one. It can usually be identified by its presence on a bookshelf, covered in dust, but with a curiously pristine spine. No dog-eared pages, no coffee stains, no notes in the margins. Usually weighs more than the cat, or possibly two cats if you picked up this particular book in a lit class in university. You know it’ll be good for you to read it. Hell, it’s a fucking classic! People are probably judging you right now because you haven’t read it. You’ve just got to get around to it. And maybe stop using it to prop up your couch. Chances of completing: 1/6, unless Armageddon happens and there’s nothing else to do. Then 1.25/6.

2. That Book You Pretend You’re Not Reading: You’re so fucking embarrassed to be reading this one. Often sketchy, incredibly popular but also hated, this is the book you badmouth on the internet. But you heard so much about it that eventually your curiosity got the better of you and you started reading. You’d just die if anyone caught you reading this, which is why you either do it on an e-reader, so no one can see the cover, or in the privacy of your own home. In bed. Under the covers. With a flashlight. Chances of completing: 5/6, but you’ll develop a nervous twitch.

3. The Wild Card: It lured you in with its flashy cover and catchy title, and you added it to the stack. Now it’s time for it to prove what it’s made of or get the fuck out of Dodge. Chances of completing: Roll a dice. Take off two points if the protagonist has an endearingly obscure hobby (luthier, competitive origami, artisanal sex-swing constructor) or if the words ‘nuclear reactor’ are involved anywhere in the back cover copy. Add one if there’s lots of sex/violence/witty dialogue.

4. The Old Favourite: You’re read this book so many times it’s falling apart. Rounded corners, broken spine, herds of old book marks lost in the pages…but you love it anyway. Maybe the summer you first read it, you were having a good one. Or maybe it’s just a damn good book. Either way, when the mercury rises, you find yourself searching your shelf for it once again, thinking that maybe this is the year you finally update to a new copy, one that isn’t held together with a rubber band and a prayer. But you never do, until it finally gives up the ghost and drops into a watery grave in the kiddie pool. Farewell, old friend. Chances of reading: 6/6, and then you’re going to have to buy a new copy and give the old one a proper burial.

Keeping Your Promises

Posted: June 27, 2012 in writing
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IMG_9051

They will be my instruments of vengeance. All shall love them and despair. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Writers, there is no single right way to do things. You can read all the articles and books and blog posts you like on the process and the mechanics of storytelling, and they still won’t tell you everything. There are too many different ways and methods, some of which work and some of which don’t. You don’t have to do them all.

But there is one thing you must do, if you don’t want hordes of ex-fans to break down your door and toss you screaming into a pit of eels: You must keep your promises.

A story is a promise. You, the writer, are telling your audience the following:

Here is a story. There are characters in it that I am going to make you love and make you hate, and things that happen that will make you sad or happy or angry. And, if you read to the end, I will make it worth your while. You may not get everything you want, but the ending will be part of the story. It will work. You will leave here satisfied.

That is the implicit promise in every story proffered to a reader. Or watcher, for that matter; this applies to other media as well. Anything in which a story is told. The creator makes a promise to the audience that, if they stick with it, there will be a pay off. The ending does not have to answer every question—often it’s better if it doesn’t—but it has to wrap up the important parts of the story. The love triangle should be figured out. The big conflicts should be resolved. There shouldn’t be dangling bits left over that just never got addressed, even though they were set up as important. Things don’t have to end happy, but they should end. And that ending should have been set up in such a way that it seems like the only possible way that story could end. It should feel right.

And when that promise is broken…well, you’d better have an escape route handy.* Because, one of these days, I’ll be coming for you.

I’ll argue that this is the worst sin a writer can commit. It’s a betrayal. And it makes the writer appear, not only incompetent, but uncaring. If the writer doesn’t care about their story, then why should we?

I’ve read books and watched movies** where this has happened. And every time, it fills me with rage. These are the times that, if I had latent mutant powers, they surely would have come to the surface just to allow me to raze that piece of shit story to the ground. I would destroy it unto the tenth generation and salt the earth so that nothing would ever grow there again.***

And, yeah, you can argue that the creator owes me nothing. That they should be free to create whatever they want, and everyone else be damned. And that’s true.

But I’m also free to stop reading, or watching. Because, if they break that promise to me, that’s what I do.

And then I badmouth them on the Internet.

* Fun Fact: my notes before writing this blog post consisted of a single, all-caps sentence: FUCK YOU, JJ ABRAMS.

**And TV shows. Seriously, Lost made me believe in TV again. For a while. And then…you know what? I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll just be over here, listening to Massive Attack until I feel calm again.

***I think we can all agree that if I had a superpower, no matter what it was, I would sooner or later become a super-villain. Even if I had something like the ability to turn kittens into slightly cuter kittens. I’d turn to evil sooner or later.

Toys In The Attic

Posted: June 25, 2012 in life, writing
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Seriously, look at this thing. How the hell did any of us survive?

Because it is Houseguest Season, we had another mate in over the weekend. Our friend Ali left the Big City to come out to the middle of nowhere that we live in to see Krys, John, and I. Ali and Krys have known each other for ages, and I met her when we were all junior counselors at, of all fucking things, a church camp in our teenage years.*

Somewhere in between painting our nails, drinking beer, and playing endless games of Settlers of Catan, we got to talking about writing. Ali has also been writing for a long time and misses having other people to talk about it with, so it was nice to get a chance to air some of the more insane parts out before going back to dealing with normal folks.

This is a complaint I’ve heard a lot. Writers are often loners at the best of times, but I will put forth a theory here: we all, at some time or another, need someone to talk to about writing. Otherwise, we go insane. And that shit ain’t pretty.

I think it’s just part of the deal, really. We spend a lot of time inside our own heads. And that’s great most of the time. I know I’m rarely bored; there’s always somewhere else I can go, even at the doctor’s office. As Krys says, we have universes in our heads. That’s a great feeling.

Most of the time. But every now and then, it feels less like god-like power and more like you have toys in the attic. Creepy toys, with the weird bulging eyes and the sharp edges and the lead-based paint.** Other people give you funny looks when you check out three books on poisons from the library. Or when you mumble dialogue to yourself. Or, hell, when you just plain space out in the middle of speaking. They keep talking, the silly bastards. Can they not see that you’ve just thought of something? Christ.

That’s why we need other writers: we need people to listen to the crazy shit that comes out of our mouths and not run away screaming. Or not call the white coats. And we need someone who understands what the hell we’re bitching about when it goes poorly. This stuff, for the most part, comes from other writers.

Also, sometimes they know shit. Like what websites post submission listings, or which coffee shops allow you to nurse single cup while you use their wi-fi and write for seven hours. Or, if they’ve been doing their own esoteric research, what colour cyanide poisoning turns people.***

There are other writers out there, somewhere. Possibly in a chemistry lab, looking through the cabinets for supplies. Connecting with them can save your sanity, or at least make your madness much more interesting. So check the writer’s groups and the online forums and the workshops, and find them. You can help each other.

And if they happen to know where the cyanide is, so much the better.

*None of us caught fire, before you ask. Not even once.

**In other words, every toy I had as a child. I even had Lawn Darts, the old ones with the points. I like to think of the time I spent dodging razor sharp death from above as training for adulthood.

***Pinkish, for the record.

Sell It, Baby: Doing An Author Interview

Posted: June 22, 2012 in publishing
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English: Spilosoma glatignyi caterpillar in su...

Caterpillar says, “Screw you. I’m fabulous.” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I recently gave an interview over on the Third Person Press news blog. In preparation for the launch of Unearthed, they’re publishing interviews with some of the authors, and they’re interesting reads. Go check it out. I even managed to hold back the swears. The power of this blog compels you!

But doing the interview got me thinking (always a dangerous activity). Many authors know the necessity of doing promotion, but aren’t comfortable with it. Well, no worries. It’s nothing to be afraid of. Just follow these simple rules:

1. Stuff The Crippling Self-Doubt: if someone is kind enough to ask you to do an interview, do it. I don’t care if you’re nervous. I don’t care if you have the self-esteem of the half-eaten caterpillar I found in my last bag of organic salad greens. I don’t care if the thought of speaking/writing to a public audience as yourself and not a character makes you simultaneously swear, crap, and faint.* Do it. That’s how you get over it.

2. Deadlines Will Make People Kill You: Also related, if someone asks you to do an interview, especially a written one, get it back to them in a prompt manner. Yes, I know you’re busy. You know who else is busy? The person who asked you to do that interview. And they’ve got better things to do than wait for your lazy ass to complete something that is, really, of most benefit to you.

3. Be Yourself…: By which I mean, don’t be what you think people expect a writer to be.** Be who you are. Talk about writing how you feel about it. You’ve got a better chance of reaching an audience if you’re genuine than if you’re one of a million author-bots cluttering up the world. Also, you’ll be less creepy. Probably.

3 (b)….But Don’t Be A Cock: Don’t twist every question so you can talk about what you want, whether it’s your religion or the latest Justin Bieber album. Don’t compare yourself to Shakespeare unless you are Shakespeare***. Be respectful to the interviewer, the audience, and the publication. And don’t do that fake self-deprecating shit (“Oh, the story’s not really that good, I mean, it was just a little thing I scribbled off”) lest I reach across the miles between us and sterilize you with my mind.

The launch is on the 30th, and I’ll be doing a post on book launches afterwards. And I’ll probably post pictures of myself squeeing with excitement when I finally get the book in my hands. Unearthed contains the story I’m most proud of to date, and I can’t wait to see that little bastard in print. The anthology will be available in print and e-book formats for your reading pleasure, so if you’re interested, check it out. It’ll have some great stories and you’ll get a chance to both entertain yourself and support my  chocolate-covered crack habit writing life.

*I would definitely watch/read/listen to that interview.
**Though of you are a brooding, alcoholic artist crippled by ennui, then, you know, go for it. Though I’d look for a therapist.
***In which case, hail, Undead Bard. Why couldn’t you spell your own name? And why is Hamlet such a douche?

Taking it Slow

Posted: June 20, 2012 in lists, writing
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English: rose bunch, Rosa sp. cultivars, flowe...

I got that idea some roses. Ideas love roses. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I woke up the other day with an Idea. I know this is the cliche of writers, that brilliant lightbulb moment upon awakening, but, I have to say, this never happens to me. My dreams are…well, let’s just say they’re not terribly useful for writing. Unless I decide to have a go at surrealist horror. Then I’ll be prepared.

Anyway, this idea. It’s really the opening couple of chapters to a book, complete with the two main characters and a couple of supporting ones. It’s the beginning of a story.

So. Now what?

Yeah, I could just jump in and start WRITING ALL THE THINGS. And you can get things done that way, no joke.  But a lot of the time I’ll end up driving the excitement of that high-octane creative burst right into a concrete retaining wall. And that’ll be the end of that story idea. I will have destroyed it in my eagerness and desperation, like a teenage boy who just can’t keep his damn hands to himself on a date and ends up kicked in the junk. Except in my brain. No one wants to get kicked in the brain-junk.

This is just an idea right now. A good one, I think, but it’s not a whole story. There’s a whole list of shit that needs to be done before I can start writing in earnest.

1. Character development: I have an idea of who two of the main characters are, but they’re not complete yet. Who are their families? Do they have any? What kind of social circles do they move in? What are their bad habits? How do they take their tea? I might not need to answer all of these, but I’ll definitely need to answer some before they’re a real person. And I need some other people, too.

2. Story Development: I have the idea of what happens in the first couple of chapters. One of the characters has ended up in a very bad situation that she needs the other character’s help correcting. But I think there’s more to it than that; this bad situation is only part of a larger bad situation that affects a lot more people. But I have no idea what that larger situation is yet. Seems like something I might need to know before writing the novel. Otherwise, it’s a short story, and not a great one.

3. Setting: That workshop I went to on creating place will come in handy here. I get the impression that the setting will be very important to this story. At the very least, it’s going to influence the pace and nature of events. Some time spent developing that and creating a sense of it in my own mind will go a long way toward making the story—and the characters—concrete.

4. Outlining: About two-thirds of you just groaned, but I’ll ignore you for the moment. Outlining is important. I need one to write anything longer than five pages. Otherwise, I get so caught up in what’s happening right now that I forget where I’m going. That’s where long, loosely-connected story arcs get introduced. And, yeah, sometimes they can be interesting. But most of the time, they lead me astray. And by the time I get back on track, I’ve lost whatever feel I had for the characters and the story. Story telling is like herding cats: they keep trying to wander off and you can only control about 60% of them at any given time. But try to stay on track or you’ll never get them to the cat-barn. Or wherever it is people are going when they herd cats. Cattery? Cat house? No, that’s something different. The point: I need an outline. And I don’t have one yet.

I probably will end up doing some writing over the next few months on this story. Small scenes, mostly, things that I’ll use to get a feel for characters and the story itself. But officially, writing won’t start until November. That’s right: NaNoWriMo time. This year, I’m getting the groundwork done early.

And in the meantime, I’ll just keep sweet-talking that idea.

The Rabid Badger of Defensiveness

Posted: June 18, 2012 in writing
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"Gathering the Light" from the Taois...

So not me. My mustache isn’t nearly this rockin’. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Because of how I talk about dealing with rejection, writer’s block, and the other pitfalls of writing life, some of you may be under the impression that I deal with this shit well. That I have, through the judicious application of tea and profanity, achieved a writer zen-state where none of it bothers me. Or, if it does, I can take the healthy point of view that this adversity is making me better. And some days, that’s true.

Other days I react with all the well-considered poise of a rabid badger poked with a stick.

Sorry to shatter your illusions. I hope you can recover.

My particular catalyst for transformation into the Rabid Badger of Defensiveness is criticism. Not all criticism; I deal with most types well enough. Written is preferable—I absorb information better in a written form. I’d always rather read an article than watch a video. But even spoken criticism I can deal with most of the time. And haters? Boy, give me haters any day of the week. I fucking love haters. They give me a chance to try new curse words, a gift that should not be wasted.

But if there are nine times when I take criticism in a well-considered and measured way, then the tenth time…the tenth time is a crap shoot.

Friday was one of those tenth times. Here’s how the conversation went:

Krys: Hey, Steph’s new blog post is great! I should point out that typo to her so she can fix it, because no one likes typos out there in the world, right? I’m being a good friend! (Raises voice) Hey, Steph, you typed ‘with’ instead of ‘will’ on that line.

Steph: (turns into the Hulk) MAY THE DEMON CHICKENS OF THE ABYSS PECK YOUR BRAIN BY NIGHT AND BY DAY.

Krys: O_o

(Proceed to chase Krys around the house, pelting her with chickens and smashing the furniture.)*

So that was my Friday: blog post, criticism, Hulk, chicken hurling. Later I apologized for being an unmitigated cock and there was beer.

“But, Steph,” I hear you say.** “I thought you were writing about dealing with this crap! I thought you were better than that.”

Sorry, kids. I fuck up. And Friday I did. I let an emotional, knee-jerk reaction of SOMEONE IS ATTACKING ME I MUST ATTACK THEM prevent me from hearing something helpful. More importantly, I let it prevent me from using that criticism to make the post better.***

Writers need to be able to take criticism. Not hatin’, mind you. But genuine, helpful criticism is something that will make you better. And you always need to be better. And so do I.

So learn from my mistakes: stifle that first reaction and listen. Because, if it’s someone you trust and someone you respect, chances are they’re trying to tell you something helpful. And, if you decide it’s not for you, then don’t do it. But listen, think, and learn first.

Because if you can’t, at least most of the time, then writing is not for you.

*No, this isn’t an exaggeration. Why do you ask?
**I do, you know. I hear all.
***For a while. I fixed it later. Because I’m not that stupid.

Things I’m Judging You For Right Now

Posted: June 15, 2012 in reading, writing
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HoneyBee

The Attack Bees of Violent Judgement are immune to your feeble pleas for mercy. But they do like rum. Fucking drunk bee minions. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(Related to fiction writing, that is. That other stuff is between you and God/The Universe/The police/the neighbour with the restraining order.)

1. Passive voice: I had to put up with enough of this shit in academia. Any attempt to inflict it on my current life will result in the offender being dragged outside and beaten with a thigh-high stocking filled with kitchen utensils.* Knock that shit off. (Edit: some people would like clarification, so here you are. Don’t write, “Jimmy was hit by the car.” Write “the car hit Jimmy.” The first example adds useless words and slows the pace. End side-bar.)

2. Sock Puppets: I’m on to you. Don’t pretend that side character with an inexplicably long monologue only vaguely related to the plot is there for the story. It’s just a way for you to make a point, and a clumsy way at that. You want to make a point, go start a blog like every other maladjusted twat with an axe to grind. I can even give you some tips on how to get started.** But don’t drop that crap on me in the middle of a story. I haven’t been to Sunday School in eighteen years, and I’m not interested in going while I’m trying to read.

3. Tokens: If I see one more shallow, thinly-veiled attempt at inclusion in a work of fiction, I will set the Attack Bees of Violent Judgement on the offender. Gay characters, transgendered characters, polyamourous characters, characters of varied ethnicity, background, or sexuality—they should be characters first. Not shills, not a way to show how cool and accepting you are. If they exist only to fill the mandated ‘not a straight monogamous white dude’ quota, get the fuck out. It’s insulting and annoying.

4. Paper Tigers: If someone’s going to be a bad guy, then for the love of Crom, make them a goddamned bad guy. Don’t pull their teeth. Don’t force them to make choices that help the heroes just because you want the story to go a certain way. If your heroes can’t handle the villain, then they’re not the people for the job. They should go home and hide under the bed while they wait for the real heroes to turn up and kick some ass. Or die horribly. I’m not picky.

5. Born This Way: Related to number four, don’t show me villains without cause. The secret to creating good villains: they should believe they’re doing the right thing. No one sees themselves as the bad guy. Give them a reason why they want to turn the population into viscous gene-spliced soup, and use that. “Because they’re the bad guy” does not cut it. When I come across this crap in a story, I feel like the author believes I’m too stupid to question a character. And then I stop reading.

6. Sad Panda Assassins: Okay, this is kind of specific, but I’ve seen it a few times, especially in fantasy fiction. A serious thought on the sanctity of life and the wrongness of their actions is fine once or twice, but every fucking time? Dude either needs to shut up or find a new profession. Possibly as a flagellant.

Right. That’s my little list of vitriol and bile for the day. So, what’s annoying you about fiction lately?

*Any volunteers willing to check the internet and find out if this is already a thing? I’d do it myself, but I’m all out of mind-bleach.
**Step One: Embracing Your Maladjusted Twat-ness. It’s clear I already have.

Adventures on Zog, Or How Not To Be A Perfectionist

Posted: June 13, 2012 in writing
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English: Dahlia Bloom in Pembroke Lodge garden.

Zog is like this, but with more tentacles.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Lads, ladies, persons of non-specific gender identity, I have a confession to make: I’ve been using you.

It’s true. One of the reasons I started this blog was to stop being such a damn perfectionist.* Posting three times a week on a set schedule was designed to make me more comfortable with completing pieces faster. Not in the sense of leaving the computer-womb less finished, but more not being subjected to the incessant overworking that tends to mark my writing when I get stuck in perfectionist mode. I’ll change a word six times only to change it back on the seventh. In small doses, it can be helpful, but this was not small.

And it was getting bad. I’d actually rewritten some short stories and scenes to the point of paralysis. I could neither continue to work on them nor declare them done and kick them out the door. Actually, there’s one or two that are so overworked at this point that they’re becoming incoherent, if they aren’t already there. I may have to drag them out back and shoot them because they won’t go away. And they’re not getting better, really. They’re just…circling the drain.

This isn’t limited to writing, either. I want to be awesome at everything right fucking now in most parts of my life. And it makes me cranky and obnoxious when the universe sees this sense of entitlement and promptly kicks me in the lady-junk.

It’s not a competitive thing; in the writing, especially, there’s absolutely no one to compete against except myself. And that’s the trick of it: I am competing against myself. Ergo, I can never win. But I try to be philosophical about this. After all, if I was writing a character, I’d always give them some kinds of weird flaws and things they’re not good at to make them well-rounded, right? Because that’s what makes people, y’know, people. And not Pod Beings from the Planet Zog.**

If flaws make you well-rounded, then I am feeling as well-rounded as a fucking beach ball at the moment.

That’s one of the tricky parts about writing, at least to me. With no one to judge me (except for editors and things when I submit stories) it’s hard to know when to stop. When it goes from good to really good without crossing into now you’re taking the piss. There is a line; I’m just having trouble remembering where it is, exactly.

But blogging is helping. The drive to put something out on a set schedule (and, tellingly, something that other people can see) is loosening that chokehold of perfectionism. I can look at my writing and know when good is good enough. And it’s not about putting out something poorly written. It’s about finding the point of diminishing returns, and not going past it. Much.

Someday I will not be a perfectionist. And I will be the best non-perfectionist you ever fucking saw. Just watch me.

*Which is a nicer way of saying obsessive. And I totally didn’t obsess over the right word there. Really. I swear.
**It gets a bad rap, but Zog is lovely in the spring. All the Pod Beings are in bloom.

Angry Beard Power, or Why I Need Book Recommendations

Posted: June 11, 2012 in reading
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George RR Martin at the Comicon

Behold the Beard of Power. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve hit a slump.

Not with writing; that continues at the usual pace.* But I haven’t found a good book in what seems like ages.

Don’t get me wrong—I’ve found lots of okay books. Some of them I’ve even gotten halfway the way through before losing patience and interest. Others meet the fate described here. And a few I finish, but they leave me unsatisfied. It feels like eating a low-fat, low-calorie, no-sugar ‘dessert’ when what you really want, down in the depths of your grubby little soul, is cheesecake. Yeah, it’s sweet(ish) but it doesn’t satisfy the craving.

I’m not sure what’s going on, but I can pinpoint when it started. I began reading The Song of Ice and Fire series about eight months ago. Got all the way through A Game of Thrones and halfway through A Clash of Kings before the ennui set in. Not that they’re bad books; I can definitely see why so many people enjoy them so much. But I wasn’t feeling it.

And that’s when it started. I don’t know if George R. R. Martin is using his fearsome Beard of Power to reach out through the  internet and punish me for not finishing his epic series**, but I’ve hit the worst reading slump ever since putting that book down. It seems like I lose interest in every novel halfway through. Short story collections, too. Non-fiction still seems to be going well, but I need some fiction in my diet, man. I feel bereft without it.

So I’ve been hitting the bookstores, virtual and physical, looking for something. I’ve tried different genres: epic fantasy, urban fantasy, horror, mystery, science fiction, dystopian, literary. I even had a go at reading some sample chapters of Fifty Shades of Grey before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. I’ll admit to being a little stumped as to what to do next.

But I do know exactly what I need: I need a good book. A new one. Going back to an old favourite, no matter how much I love it, isn’t going to fix this. I need something new, something fresh, something I’ve never read before that hits me between the eyes like a squirrel on PCP that has learned to fly.

Tall order, maybe. But it’s been done before. Last time I hit a slump like this, Patrick Rothfuss’ The Name of the Wind pulled me out. And somewhere out there is a book waiting for me to read it. I just have to find it.

So: what are you reading?

*Varying between rocket ship and sea ooze, with nothing in between.
**Of course, he hasn’t finished it, either. So there.

Hate Mail: Dealing With Rejection Letters

Posted: June 8, 2012 in lists, submissions
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English: Rejection

Hey, at least they said ‘sorry’.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Rejection letters: you’re going to get ‘em.*

Sorry, but that’s the truth. They come in a lot of shapes (the form letter, the slightly encouraging personal note, the newly-popular ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’**), but the underlying message is always the same: no, thank you. And sometimes they leave off the thank you.

It sucks. But there’s only one way to avoid getting rejected, and that’s to never submit anything. If you’re okay with that, then fine. You keep doing your thing. The rest of this entry will be directed to everyone else, so feel free to let your mind wander. I hear there are bunnies over here.

For the rest of you, if you’re going to be a writer, you need to learn to deal with rejection. And I don’t mean ‘deal with it’ by weeping into a bag of chocolate-covered Prozac. You can work with this. You just need to figure out how.

But everyone’s got their own way of doing that, or more than one. By dint of some very unscientific research, I have compiled a list of some of the more popular methods for dealing with rejection for your perusal. Consider them along with your next rejection:

1. The Sad Panda: I always knew the world was against me, but now I have proof. I will scrawl illegibly on this with red Sharpie, cry on it a few times, and then post an evocative picture of it with Instagram. Then they’ll understand.

2. The Air Up There: Clearly, this philistine does not recognize true genius when it deigns to place itself within their view. So what if I use words without knowing what they mean? I know what they should mean. Perhaps my gift is too precious to waste in their tawdry, commercial word factory.

3. The Iron Mike: I WILL TRACK THIS ASSHOLE DOWN AND EAT HIS CHILDREN.

4. The Hemmingway: So. This rejection. Burns like salt. But no manly tears. There is bourbon instead. *Rest of week becomes hazy until you wake up in a dumpster with a scar where your kidney used to be.*

5. The Clinger: God, I’m so sorry I offended this agent with my crappy, pathetic submission. But maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I can change. Maybe if I write them offering to change everything about the story and the characters and name the protagonist after their children they’ll love meeeeeee!

6. The Diviner: This is a sign. The universe is trying to tell me that I shouldn’t be a writer. This is too much for me. I’m out.

7. The Down But Not Out: This fucking sucks. Is there anything I can learn from this letter that can be helpful? Oh, you shouldn’t misspell the editors’ names? Gotcha. *Dusts self off* Right. New game starts now. Let’s go again.

*Except for you. You’re special. Your mother told me so.
** The latter is also known as “Passive-aggressive horseshit that makes me want to spit battery acid into someone’s eyes.”

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