Tag Archives: Arts

Wading into the Slush Pile

I was rabidly devouring info on turn-around time for submissions to certain pubs on Absolute Write yesterday.  That’s a productive use of writing time, no? Okay, it’s not.  It’s about the same as haunting Web MD in search of an ailment that matches the numerous questionable symptoms you (I) have lately.  It’s enough to make you think you’re dying as far as the symptom-checker goes, and enough to make you second guess the submission you (I) just sent and get absolutely no work done.

46. symptoms of cancer Courtesy of techtechboo...

46. symptoms of cancer Courtesy of techtechboom.com (Photo credit: TipsTimes)

In my case, it made me realize that I never wrote “Dear [Anybody]” at the top of my submission.  Nothing.  Just tacked my synopsis and full onto the attachments and launched into a brief description.  The automatic response email didn’t flat-out call me an a-hole, but I doubt it has those detection abilities.

So then I had to search for the etiquette behind the “Dear Editor” thing.  Is it really necessary?  I know I’ve read “the rules” before.  I planned to send my sub in as picture-perfectly as possible.  I read everything on the site numerous times, and triple checked to be sure I had included all of the requested info.  I self-edited until my eyes bled.

But they never told me to be polite on the web site and I just plum forgot.

Crud buckets.

I’m not rude, generally speaking.  When I burp, I say the word “burp” which I think is way classier than a loud belch.  I always remember my “pleases” and “thank yous”–case in point, I remembered to thank the mysterious entity on the other side of my email for their consideration after I dumped my electronic business in their inbox.  Perhaps I earned back one of my demerits in the closing.

Well, the fact is, I don’t believe I’ll be summarily rejected for lack of an opening greeting.  Me being me, I feel like if I received a tug boat full of perky, overly friendly, and downright presumptuous submission emails each day, I’d want to punch someone in the face.  Cut to the chase.  We all know why we’re here.  Sorta like long-winded and cocky bios–I don’t like to write them and it pisses me off/gives me a reason to make fun of people when I read them.

Halifax Harbour

Halifax Harbour (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear Editor,

You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I think you’ll be interested to read what I am sending you.  The fact is, I’ve been having sex for years now, and I fancy myself an A+ fucker.  It was only natural for me to translate my sexpertise into smutty fiction.  I’m sure you’ll find my submission to be the best you’ve ever read and will want to thank me in person.  I will graciously allow you to buy me a drink at my earliest convenience   I just know we are going to be best friends.

You may find a link to all of my illustrious writings below.  Once you sample my authorial prowess, no doubt you will be interested in purchasing my other work.  Use coupon code IMAJERK10 for 10% off for a limited time only.

Thanks for your consideration,

[insert revoltingly flowery pen name here]

I like a bio with a bit of mystery.  Or maybe that is just my excuse for keeping them as short as possible because I hate writing them.  Food for thought.

Back to my point (if I ever had one, other than trying to justify my stupidity).  Does placing a specific editor‘s name on the top of one’s submission help it out of the slush pile?  Without an agent or a well-known name, aren’t we all just doomed to doggy paddle around in the slushy pool?  A flashy swimsuit won’t get us out of there any faster, will it?  I like to think, if I don’t drown immediately, I’ve got the same chance as the kids with the Speedos on, right?

Here is an interesting link on the subject.  I like this guy’s style.  Of course, in the end he says “Dear Editor” is just fine.  Nothing about having a cheesy log line for a greeting…

At least it got me off of Web MD for a short while.  I can’t die from idiocy, can I?

-Kimber


Crazy-Awesome News!

I just found out that Cowboy Lust, the anthology from Cleis Press, edited by Delilah Devlin, and available right now for pre-order from Amazon, is going to be featured in Time Magazine’s Summer Reading Issue due out on July 9th.

From the Back Cover

Cari Quinn–Riding Double Cheyenne Blue–Under the Southern Cross Randi Alexander–Banging the Cowboy Cat Johnson–Ladies Love Country Boys Michael Bracken–Drought Charlene Teglia–Roped M. Marie–Rough Stock Sedona Fox–The Ranch Hand Lissa Matthews–Small Town Famous Tahira Iqbal–The Storm Nena Clements–Caught Unawares Kimber Vale–Some Like It Dirty Chaparrita–Raney’s Last Ride Delilah Devlin–Runaway Bride Anna Meadows–She Don’t Stay The Night
—————————————————————————————–

Needless to say, no matter how much my home-for-summer kids are driving me batty and making it damn-near impossible to get any work done, my day is solid sunshine and roses as of this moment.

Add to this stupefying news the fact that I am going to see Avenged Sevenfold in concert tomorrow night (read amazing band with the hottest guitar player ever and an overnight with hubby away from kiddos at a casino) AND the fact that I just got a fabulous new hat with feathers on the brim, and I think it’s safe to say that this day can officially go on record as one of my best-evers.

Perhaps a celebratory drink is in order.  🙂  And here I thought it couldn’t possibly get better!

P.S.  Sorry for all the bold type.  I was excited.


Where the Hell Have You Been?

I’d like to say that I was travelling, backpacking across Europe and didn’t have one of those plug converter thingies.  Or that I was abducted by aliens and just returned from the probing of a lifetime.  Or even that I was called to the bedside of a rich and ailing great-aunt to be told that if I nurse her for her last two weeks of life, I would receive her entire inheritance.  And now I’m rich and trying to drown the horror of the last fortnight in a vat of gin.

Alas, I’ve still only ever been to Germany and that was thirteen years ago, my ass feels just fine, and all of my middle-class relatives are alive and kicking.  Sadly, I also don’t have a “vat” of gin.

So, what the fuck have I been doing lately that I’ve shirked my blogging duties so tremendously?  Ehhhh…

Well, lets start with the writing.  I found out recently that my novelette-sized M/M erotica called ‘Bound by Ink’ was accepted by Storm Moon Press for their “Written in Flesh” anthology.  I am so stoked about this as it’s a double milestone for me.  It’s my first gay erotica that will be published and my first longer story that, after it spends a year wedged in what is sure to be a delightfully steamy book about tattooed men getting busy, it will be released solo as an e-book.  So, only my name on the cover.  Did you get that?  Only my name on the cover.  I actually just repeated that for myself because those words are almost better than sex.  Almost.  Yippee ki-yay motherfather.

I’ve also been working on a full length gay romantica novel.  Currently in the 26K department (with a 40k goal) and a little stalled because I forced myself to do my fourth read-through of my 40K hetero alien erotica and send to beta readers.  I’m sorta stuck on a name for this one, but we’ll call it “The Star Catcher” for now and maybe I’ll run some sort of naming poll or contest.  I love the name “Sextraterrestrial,” but don’t think I can be taken seriously with such a title.  Because, otherwise, I can be taken seriously, of course.

Gee, that contest thing is a swell idea, Beav!  I’d love to do some t-shirt giveaways.  If only I had some t-shirts.

What else?  Well, my horror persona has a recent anthology release and a blog tour (sometimes I feel like a cheating spouse, bouncing between blogs like a horny housewife when her husband’s away).  That little minx has another antho release set for mid June and a couple of deadlines to get some short stories finished and sent.  She is also working on a horror novel…very…very…slowly.  But, whenever she gets it all worked out and written, boy-ola is it gonna kick ass.  Maybe.  And no zombies, this time.

And finally, the kids are wrapping up school and there are final projects and performances and baking and meetings for Sunday School teachers and bible camp helpers (if this makes you laugh, go ahead and join me in the mirth.  I, too, can see the irony).

And I babysat Satan yesterday, but I’ll keep that story in my front pocket and smoke it when the urge strikes me.  Suffice it to say, everyone is alive and well and I plan to never again fall prey to that bit of neighborly niceness.  Asshat.


Good Place, Bad Place: Sex in Public

In mulling over a good place for some public snoo snoo in my current WIP, I find myself at a PDA crossroads.  So, to clarify a bit in my own mind and to help others (curious bystanders or writers, virgins or sluts) I endeavor to create a list of the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.

1. I’ll start off with the ugly.  I’m embarrassed to say that I considered this (not doing it, but writing it).  My locale doesn’t leave me too many options, but despite the lack of available space, I stand firm on my decision not to make my guys have sex in a porta-potty.  Not even a fancy version with antiseptic gel.  Not gonna do it.

Well, maybe I’ll write it just for fun, but no way is it getting into my manuscript.  Maybe a freebie to be posted here at a later date…?  I know, I’m such a porta-potty cock tease.

And I had no idea that Gerard Butler had a recent porta-potty screw until it popped up in my related links.  Freakin’ weird.  Butler, you idea-stealing bastard!  Way to one-up me.

2. Bad.  Bad, bad, bad.  I give you the swimming pool.  I’m sure a large percentage of teenage whores fell for the allure of the deep blue community pool in the dark of night.  Probably intoxicated, but you never know.  Maybe even completely sober, because from the outside looking in, the pool sings a siren’s song.  Slippery when wet, right?  Afraid not, Bon Jovi.  Water is not lube, my friends.  If it were, why would people even buy lube?  In fact, it is the anti-Christ to KY jelly.  Go ahead all you zealous teens, don’t take my word for it.  Let me know how that goes.  Or doesn’t, as the case may be.

3.  We need a good one, here.  Things are looking dismal.  You went to the concert and the porta-potties were just too damn nasty for a little love.  Back at the hotel, the pool keeps winking at you, but you do the smart thing and give it the finger.  Sure a hotel bed is just fine, but we’re looking for a little fun and excitement, right?  Enter the hotel room balcony.  The cool night air kisses the sweat right off you as you get down and dirty standing up.  Or bending over.  Or both.  Just don’t sit on the railing.  No orgasm is worth plummeting to your death.  Voyeurism never felt so good.  Bring your binoculars and when you’re done, check out the competition, or at least the pervs jerking it off to your Bittersweet Symphony.  That’ll throw them for a loop.

4.  Back to the ugly.  Tall grass.  Sure amber waves of grain will hide you from prying eyes, but then there are snakes, ticks, sharp blades of grass where no man has ever gone (okay, maybe he has, but still, it’s not meant for grass-blade paper cuts).  Again, I could probably get my characters here, but do I want to, really?

5.  We’re at a bad, and so I give you…the floor.  It’s not horrible.  Wouldn’t make the ugly list, but rug burns hurt for a while.  And they are easily identifiable.  Maybe you’ll wear that badge of honor on your lower back with a cut-off shirt and glowing pride.  But if the skanky boy in your English 101 class looked good enough to fuck after you ate that tequilla worm the other night, but now you want to douche with bleach and change schools, chances are, you don’t want the raw patch on your back to corroborate his story while you’re changing for gym.

6.  Well, where the hell can we screw?  I know, I know.  I feel your pain.  I’m not trying to be a negative Nancy.  I’m still looking for the perfect love connection for my literary dudes as well.  Shed?  Storage unit?  Public restroom with a glory hole?  Closet?  Under a band stand?  Colonel Mustard, in the kitchen, with a wrench?  The world may be my oyster, but I’m not finding any pearls.  I’ll keep you posted, and if anyone has any brilliant places for sexual encounters (whether tried and true, or just a fantasy) I want you to lay them on me.  Now.


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