I’ve come to the eleventh of the twelve stories I thought were worth salvaging. I read it for the first time last Friday. It is a little scary, actually; 8,000 words–lots and lots of exposition. My descriptions are thick and stultifying. Reading it is like trying to breathe in an August swamp.

The fact that this story ever saw market is a little embarrassing.

That it saw market so many times is an indicator of where my brain was at.

Thank the powers that none of the editors I sent it to actually printed the thing. [Fat chance, but stranger things have happened]

The story itself is perfectly fine, by the way. By that I mean the story’s purpose and its fundamental content. The characters and plot are interesting (to me at least), and are meaty enough to hold structural integrity with regard to story mechanics. I’m convinced the manuscript’s past failure had nothing to do with the story itself, and everything to do with the writer.

I wish I could describe how freeing that feels.

Problems within me can be overcome, you see. But a dead story can only be grieved for and left to clog hard drives.

Ron’s corollary: There are, in truth, very few truly dead stories.

So this morning was spent ripping up this manuscript. Most of my manuscripts I can improve merely by cutting words, but this one requires major surgery. I’m stripping expository stuff, mostly, and I’m trying to juggle to story components so that they make basic sense. When I’m done with that, it will be time for a serious pass at the micro-writing.

Today was Market Day, meaning that I set aside serious time to look at markets, and did my best to match them with two stories I think are ready for release. I always look upon these days with a great sense of hope and expectation. Yes, I am an optimist. You may humor me now.

I have never really stopped writing. I’m not totally rationalizing here–I’ll have more on this tomorrow, I promise. Tomorrow’s entry is, in fact, written. But I wanted to spend more time thinking about what I’m saying in it. It feels like an important set of statements, and I didn’t want to post it without letting them settle. While I never really stopped writing, I sheepishly admit I violated the Heinlein doctrine. I stopped sending my stuff to the market.

Anyway, I look forward Market Days for more than just the usual daydreams of acceptance letters and publication that invariably tag along like floppy-eared dogs heeling and rolling over at my command. Market Days are also pieces of work in themselves. I’m remembering names and histories, trying to piece together the parentage of various publications and to figure out where the gaps are in what I used to know versus what is real today.

I feel like an ice man just being thawed. It’s not quite that bad, I guess. At the upper level it’s not all that different these days than it was in the past. Not a surprise there–take a look at magazine covers in the 70s and 80s and you can see a lot of the same names as those on the covers of magazines today. But that mid-level is a different beast, especially in the area of electronic submissions, a change that I roundly applaud. It saves a good deal of licking and stamping and postage cost. [grin]

So, anyway, two stories are locked and loaded.

Eight more are already on the market. If I get these mailed I will cross the double-digit mark for the first time in, well … awhile.

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A tiny milestone, I know. But a milestone nonetheless.

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Have a great day.