Things I Know I Know

So I have been visiting the various BitterCon venues here, here and here. But, really, there is too much non-bitterness for me. People are proposing actual non-bitter panel topics and how to have a more fun sort of imaginary con.

People, you have no idea how to be bitter. Work on that for next time.

For an actual demonstration, here is my panel proposal for BitterCon:

As this is BitterCon, I think we ought to have a panel called 'Why Am I Not Rich Yet?' in which we talk about how totally BRILLIANT we are and, yet, inexplicably, not yet filthy rich. Then we can complain about those stories/novels/whatevers that are rejected because they are just TOO DAMN GOOD!

And also everyone hates us and we have to eat worms.

Also, it can quit raining like the Flood Years any freaking time now.

In other news, I've written 1600 words on my novel.

Posted by debco at 08:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I have promised Chance five pages of the novel I haven't started yet by Saturday.

Posted by debco at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Everyone but me is on their way to, getting ready to go to, or already arrived at Wiscon.

I would be more bitter about this if I hadn't just CLOSED ON MY HOUSE today.

Expect greater bitterness later in the week.

Posted by debco at 09:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Old house closed today.

My old mortgage is paid off. My bridge loan is paid off. And I have deposited money in the bank.

In a comedic ending that would never play in fiction, I managed to lose the set of house keys that I have been using for twenty years as I was on my way to turn them over to the realtor (no, seriously, like, lost). Fortunately this was not the only set of keys to the house (also, fortunately--although I suspect that they are either at work, at my new house or in the landfill, in which case it doesn't matter--they have no identifiers on them at all so no one would ever be able to tell that they were house keys let alone what house they go to).

But that aside, it is done. And once again, I own just the one house. Woo-freakin'-hoo! :-)

Posted by debco at 08:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I finished 'What Makes a River' which is too long, in present tense and may have structural problems. I'm reasonably sure all of this is fixable and, I hope, not particularly difficult. But I probably need to set it aside for awhile before I make changes.

So, most likely up next, revisions to 'Cowgirls in Space,' which has been languishing a bit lately.

There is a SOLD! sign on my old house. So, I am all the happy. I have almost everything done over there that I said I'd do and it closes on Wednesday the 23rd. And, trust me, there will be much celebrating when it is final.

I have not made much novel progress of late, but must get back to it. Plot is still giving me fits although I am fairly certain of the first two scenes so may just write those and see what further inspiration that leads to.

Posted by debco at 09:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

...actually Chance heard it first on IM, but I am writing a novel this year (shut up, yes I am).

I have the two main characters, a vague notion of their problems, a title, and though I'm still working on that thing called plot, I do know that it will include sex, violence, ghosts, and snarkiness, not necessarily in that order.

It currently opens with the MC's father telling her that she's 'the most pissed-off, useless piece of shit ever.'

But in a totally supportive way.

If I actually write this novel, though, I can't stop writing short stories, need to keep sending things out. So, yell at me, okay? I mean it.

In that vein I wrote 927 words on 'What Makes a River' today (I'm pretty sure I'll break 1,000 before the end of the day). I hope it's getting close to finished (I'm at 4,300 words total) though there's a bunch of stuff that still has to happen.

A bit from 'What Makes a River':

Beth closes her eyes and rubs her hand across her face. She pulls herself out of the chair, feeling like she's a hundred and two. Upstairs, she sits at her computer and writes an email to Paul with everything in it, what's happening to Amy, what she's seen, everything she's done, everything she's thought, how she's feeling right this minute--like her bones have turned to jelly, like she's all alone in the world, like she wants to cry. Before she can think any harder, she sends it. You can fix this, she thinks. You have to fix this.

There are not enough swear words in the world.

Posted by debco at 07:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)