But what the hell, lets wallow!
After the frenetic pace of last year, the book-thing has gone into a bit of a chilling phase. Read into that what you must. So my confidence in that regard has bottomed out. I thought that by now everything would be great. PLOT TWIST: IT ISN’T.
I’m writing another novel - fortunately I completed the Shittiest Of Drafts, so writer’s block isn’t on the cards. I don’t know where my career will be in August. I just don’t know. I could be back on the query train again. I’ve been here before, and I know how quickly things fall apart.
I was up for an award, in Brisbane last month, but I didn’t get it. Nobody on my table won anything. It was pretty fucking depressing. “A Name!” I yelled at Joel, who’s small press Best Novel nomination was taken from him by a Big Five airport novel whose movie rights had been was optioned by Brad Pitt. “A Name and Money! Money!” I didn’t even have a novel. Only a shitty short story. I got really drunk. I got so drunk, which was hard because there was No Wine Allowed On Good Friday In Queensland. I found a room party. I got drunk. And depressed. We aren’t allowed to be depressed. But I was. And the next day I was depressed and so hung over and had to fly back to Melbourne like that.
Then my great short story I wrote back in March made it up to an editor’s desk at a major Magazine. He passed with a form letter. So Depressing.
A couple of days later, Cat Sparks managed to bully another acquisitions editor into saying he would look at a novella for this big-ass website if I chose to submit one. Considering this guy has never accepted anything of mine ever, it seems to be the greatest time-suck of all time, but I feel horrible to Cat if I put her effort to waste.
Yeah, so I could use a break right now.