Another preamble before we start!
I spoke with the friend I mentioned yesterday whom I was purposefully vague about, and she’s happy for me to share her story. I probably should have asked if she wanted to be identified before publishing, but that was one of those heavy entries that I just wanted to blargh spew out, and it was too much and I had to spew it out. Everyone understands, right? Right.
Jessica Swift is the developmental editor for all of my Fallen Redemption books, and she’s fabulous at what she does. I learned so much from her about writing, so if you like this blog or any of my stories, you can send her a thank you! 🙂
She recently (er, well, I don’t know how recently is recently, but much long after she contracted it) discovered that she has Lyme Disease. (And yes, she probably would tell me to stop with parentheticals and that I can’t have a pronoun before the noun, but mwahahaha, I did it anyway. See? Did I not say I learned? Doesn’t mean I follow everything.) It was years and years ago that she was actually bitten by the tick, so she’s been living with and attempting to mitigate disparate symptoms for a long time. It’s only recently that Dr. House was smart enough to figure out what it was. She’s also blogging about her disease, so feel free to check it out.
I’ve been working on a short story for a few days, and it’s been an interesting experience. It’s, like, um, this one is fucking good. I mean, I always think my stories are good, but this one is going to rip your heart out and make you cry your eyes out. Unfortunately for you, I’m going to try to sell it to an SFWA market, so that I can win a Hugo and/or Nebula, so you’re not going to go get to read it for a while.
I’ll tell you what it’s about, though: it’s about a woman who’s being treated for stage 4 breast cancer when all electricity ceases to function.
You will cry your fucking eyes out.
I probably shouldn’t say this lest I not actually sell it to this market and the next market I go to knows they weren’t my first pick, but I really, really want to sell this to Fantasy and Science Fiction. For those who aren’t familiar, this is one of the premier, longest-running SFF magazines in the world. I mean, it might be the premier one, but I don’t want to really piss everyone else off, so I’ll just leave it at that. This is the magazine that’s published anyone who’s anyone in sci-fi and fantasy way back to the 50s.
This is the truest, saddest, most intimate story I’ve ever written. And I was saying that about another story that none of the other SFF markets wanted a year ago, but this is so much more transcendent. So. Hopefully this one actually catches Charlie’s (the acquiring editor’s) eye.
If not, there’s other markets that I would be happy to be published in. Good, high(er) paying, awesome, long-running magazines. I think it’s just a writer quirk to have a certain magazine you focus on.
It’s not like I’ve been published that many places that I think I can waltz in with my piddly little story and expect to be scooped out of the slush. But, I mean, I think this is good. I think I’ve been working up to this. I think this is going to get published. It has to, right? If nobody wants it, I’m going to kick a puppy. Not really, I wouldn’t do that.
Please buy my story?
Today, I feel like almost shit. I’ve been waiting for it all day: the chemo to kick my ass. But it hasn’t. On the pain scale, my full-body discomfort is a 3. Not enough to feel miserable, but not enough that I can say I’m feeling good.
I didn’t hardly spend any time with the babies because I was sitting in my room feeling tired and almost sick. I did spend some time with Morrigan, more than other days, but less than others.
The problem was that we cut back on her dairy, so she’s having a lot of… movement… and it’s really rancid for some reason. And it came out a lot today. (And she’s in Pull-ups because don’t even talk to me about potty training.) I have nausea, and being around her was making me ill. It makes me feel like shit for not hardly being able to be around my 3-year-old, poor, sweet Morrigan.
Except she wasn’t being sweet today, she was screaming and whining, and that didn’t help.
She’s had it rough. We’re trying to be patient. But the whining.
Tonight, I read her a book and she was finally being sweet to me, but she was smelling like poop, so I left her (happily) in her room to read her book. And I went into my bedroom and started crying, and I cried because I have cancer and because I’m feeling almost not-sick and because this is so fucking unfair. And then my face hurt because I was crying, so I stopped crying.
It was really random, and then I was mad because what the hell?
This is all so unfair.
All so unfair.
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