Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Damn That Witch Who Put the Evil Eye On My Family In 19th Century Abruzzo!

I’ve written maybe two or three posts about my ever-present difficulties regarding writing, the strange happenings surrounding my attempts to produce fiction for publication, the odd and too-constant-to-be-coincidental events that have tried their best to make me break down and scream for mommy, events that include editorial oversights, E-mail glitches, computer crashes, printing errors, embarrassing reviews, lack of familial support (extreme lack) -- frustrating, disappointing events that happen to every writer at least once in their lifetime. But these mysterious happenings present themselves to me all the time.

No exaggeration required here. But the reason I didn't post more often about these happenings is a simple one: I don't want to bore you. If I wanted to subject you, my regular, wonderful readers (all two and a half of you), I would list in excruciating detail, by date, no less, each unfortunate event that has caused me to come to the following conclusion, but I won’t do that lest I lose the two and a half readers I’ve managed to hold on to. Suffice it to say, I have come to the conclusion that there is a curse woven throughout my writing endeavors, and I’m sick of trying to ward it off. My poor fingers are tired of being pointed in a perpetual mano cornuto, my heart is exhausted from the disappointment, my mind warped beyond repair from beating my head against the wall in disbelief. The injustice of it all, the almost laughable way I’ve become Murphy’s bitch has, despite my perseverance, my love of words, caused me to hate writing.

Okay, I can’t help it -- I must tell you about the last unfortunate event (and I do mean last). Okay. So you know how my old whore died and I lost all of my work? How the floppies I’d used to back everything up were somehow ***cue spooky, maniacal laughter*** corrupted? Okay. Okay. Well, after that, the one hundred and fiftieth unfortunate event, I thought I’d just lie on my back and expose my neck to the demon dogs of hell, just accept the fact that I am doomed never to publish again, and end it all with a modicum of dignity. But I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t lie down and die. I’ve been going through a very different kind of hell lately, an even more painful one, and I guess I felt the need to hold on to something that gives me the illusion of being in control. As you will see, however, that illusion has been shattered forever.

So I began writing again, even started a novel that didn’t repulse me to the point of abandonment. Over four thousand words into it, and still going. Well, was going. Anyway, I began writing again, feeling that old hope and excitement regarding submissions -- I’d submitted a story to The Barcelona Review last May and was optimistic about possible publication there. I truly felt that my story would be perfect for this venue, and I so needed a recent publishing success to boost my spirits, get me going again. Make me feel worthy during a time when I’ve never felt so worthless.

But it’d been quite some weeks over the stated response time, so I queried the editor yesterday, confident that she was simply mulling over which font she would use to print my byline in the next issue. Um. No?

She never received my story. I have an auto-response from TBR to prove it got there, but she can’t find the fuck. She kindly asked me to resend, promised she’d “look at it right away,” the dear, but guess what? Remember my old whore, the corrupt disks? Yeah, that’s right. My story’s gone forever, gone, gone, gone. And so, my darlings, am I.


At 2:23 PM, Blogger Katie said...

Grrrr... how annoying.

At 2:27 PM, Blogger J. Stephen Reid said...

That's some bad luck of truly epic proportions.

I'm really sorry. Try to look for the silver lining, though. As far as I know you've got all four limbs. You've got a husband who, despite the fact you routinely describe him as "monolithic," must be a pretty swell character to be married to you. You've got some pretty neat kids and a roof over your shoulders.

So look at it this way. At least you aren't a broke, lonely, homeless human torso trying to write novels on paper sacks with an ink pen clutched between your teeth.

At 5:41 PM, Blogger Jas... said...

What a pain in the inkjar. I say screw it, and write when you get to Heaven. That way, it'll be easier for you to just think the story and let it write itself, and it'll automatically be published and cataloged in God's library!

Or something. Okay, I picked a bad week to quit caffine.

At 6:23 PM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

It is, Katie. But more than that, it's like a cruel slap in the face from God Herself.

Speaking of which, I like that thought, Jas. And beware the caffeine withdrawals -- Lar gave up coffee a few months ago, and he sprouted gigantic breasts, a set of labia majora, and a monthly visitor. He is now the biggest bitch I know.

Joshie, you're right, of course. About having some pretty neat kids, that is. ;-)

At 6:33 PM, Blogger k1tchenwitch said...

Well, crap. That just sucks all around. The good news is that with all that bad luck, you're OVERDUE for some good luck. If I were you, I'd start buying lottery tickets by the bushel.

At 12:48 AM, Anonymous Jeni said...

You know that only crazy people actually approach writing as a craft, don't you? I mean, it's lonely and boring at best and we won't even talk about the constant rejection...

But it's what and who we are, there's no getting away from it.

Writing to some of us is as essential as breathing, if not more.

You know this...

At 8:48 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Ooooh, Theresa, I sure hope so. Been a crappy two years filled with crappy crap.

Jeni, I'm about as nutty as they get, too. ;-) Wish I could be a vapid ball of Play Doh, uninspired, a shell, just for one week. You know, like Paris Hilton...I need a break from my own brain.

At 6:30 AM, Blogger Alexis said...

Oh, Ms. Lori - I am really sorry - the universe always seems to get over its constipation suddenly and without warning - just sending a shit storm down all at once.

I will light some candles and incense and binge drink in your honor - and will attempt to cast the demons aside with the mighty power of Greyskull and cider. xxxx

At 9:41 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Thank you, Alexis. You are a complete and total sweetiepie hunny bunch. MWAH!

At 4:10 AM, Blogger purpleelephant said...

That sucks big time.
What kills me is at school you had to MAKE UP this kind of stuff to get out of handing anything in.
Now it is IMPORTANT it actually happens all the time.


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