Contract!

The contract has arrived so that's my weekend decided. I will check and double-check everything then send it away on Monday. I have a considerable amount of procrastination to get through but that will just have to wait. It's a shame, I hate being behind on my procrastination but some things just have to take priority.

Then the Editing begins. I have no idea how deep the cuts will be nor how many stitches will be required to seal the holes. The book must be ready by April because that's when the publishers plan to unleash, er, I mean release it. By then they might well have seen the second one and if I can get time in between bandaging Senga and fending off Caligula I'll rewrite the third and start the fourth.

There is also the matter of cover art, and I have gently informed Senga that her stick-figures and crayon attempts simply won't do. Caligula shows more promise. His installation of 'nailed rat' on the wall of his room shows creativity, imagination and wanton cruelty. However, he is far too young and dangerous to be let loose upon the publishing world. Perhaps when he's older. No, this is best left to professionals, I think.

It's going to be a busy weekend, so I expect visitors will arrive to get in the way. Death, Red Stan and the Professor have not been around for some time.

I hope they don't all turn up at once.

Learning the business.

Senga has taken Caligula to stay with her parents for a few days. I was invited but I've met her parents and we have little in common, I've said everything I need to say to them and I hate repetition. We'd just glower at each other all the time and then Senga would get in a mood.

Long evenings spent in sullen silence are fun, but you can't really enjoy them if there's someone else there. There's always that possibility that they'll try to start a conversation just as you reach the Nirvana of gloomy contemplation, and just before you get a decent hold of that story idea lurking there.

So I have peace for a short while. It's a nervous sort of peace. I'm still waiting for that contract to arrive for Jessica's Trap. It might be worth letting the postman know that Caligula is away. There might be something of a backlog of mail waiting.

I have a film-maker lined up to make one of those 'book preview' short films but he needs the cover art but that won't even start to happen until I send back the form dealing with it but that form requires a 'date of signing and returning contract' section. It all hinges on the arrival of the contract. The moment that arrives, things start to move.

The publishing business isn't fast. I already knew that but hadn't experienced it before. I'm going to have to get used to a different pace of life. Still if there are long gaps between contacts, I can work on that third book.

In fact I'd better get some writing done while Caligula is away. He's good at disturbing me although to be fair, as he's growing he is at least learning only to howl at full moons. This makes the peak noise predictable, at least. Which reminds me - it's his birthday at the end of the month. I'll have to think of something he hasn't dissected yet.

Once the book is complete I'll have to go searching for reviewers. The Horror Zine has already promised one and if I can get anything like the ones here, here and here I'll be delighted. Well, I'm already happy about those reviews because I'm in that book. It's a pity all this didn't happen while Alienskin was active. Oh well, too much good luck in one go can be dangerous.

Speaking of good luck, I have a few days of peace to relax with nothing to disturb the distant groans of the Rarely-Glimpsed Slimy Swamp Thing, the faint rattle of ghostly chains and the far-off shrieks of the Ferals. It's like the old days.

I'd like to encourage Senga to take Caligula to his grandparents more often, but I suspect they won't be too keen to make it a regular thing.

They used to have a dog, you see.

Stage 3.

I have been in the village today for a little celebration. I would have taken Senga and Caligula but they were locked in mortal combat over lunch and I thought it better, and less painful, not to intervene.

So it was that I wandered into the Throat and Razor for a lunchtime pint of Jock McSquirty's Bowel Purger. As usual, the buzz of conversation I thought I heard from outside proved to be an illusion because as soon as I entered, I found the place to be silent. Must be a trick of the wind in the eaves. The pub was occupied only by those who stare morosely into glasses that are half empty.

I was surprised to see Tumbleguts McJoystick serving at the bar. It seems his video game business is not doing well because of a recession somewhere, so he's supplementing his income with odd jobs. I confess I have not bought a game from him since Deathmatch Golf in which I'm still working on my handicap. He told me of a new game he has in stock, Street Snitch, which could be interesting. It's based on real life, well, on life outside the swamp which is increasingly unreal. I'll call in and buy a copy when he's not working elsewhere.

On my return, it seemed that Senga had won the Lunch War and was deservedly ecstatic. So I decided to withhold my own news for the moment and save it for a time when she can properly appreciate it.

It is, after all my first ever acceptance of an entire novel by a publisher. It's not easy, this writing game. This acceptance took three attempts. Nevertheless, 'Jessica's Trap' now has all sorts of forms associated with it, which I will deal with over the weekend.

Perhaps the next one will be quicker.

A place to put the scary stuff.

I'll put this into the sidebar and make it a link. Its creator works like a demon and might well be one, so it's best not to annoy her.

Just as Alienskin closed, the Horror Zine appeared.

I have to wonder if there is a plan in there somewhere. A diabolical plan.

The best kind.

New tales from the darkness.

The Horror Zine has a new issue online, with new stories to delight your adrenal glands and tickle your pancreas. Many talented writers, poets and artists have been selected by the tireless editor for this issue, and she has even found time to write more of her own.

The first part of Jeani Rector's novel, We all Fall Down, is here, and you can get the whole thing here (for the UK, here). I have to visit Amazon soon anyway because I loaned my copy of Twice the Terror to Hamish McBookworm, he's passed it to someone else and now it's going around the village at a rate that suggests I'll never get it back. If I do, it will probably be all creased and I like my books pristine.

The news section is big this month, and starts with a short story competition that pays out prizes but is free to enter - my favourite arrangement for such things. Best get the thinking cap on. Mine really works because it's made of dried and cured cerebral cortex and has batteries. It even has a light bulb on top for those 'Aha!' moments. Not one of those eco-bulbs that take hours to warm up, but a proper filament bulb that comes on at once. I don't have all day.

At the bottom of this month's news is the little book of old stories I put on Lulu. That's free too, if you like downloads, and cheap if you prefer print. It's not there to make me rich. It's there to keep all those old stories I sold to magazines and Ezines that have since folded their final pages closed. Since first rights have gone for all but two of the stories in there, they won't sell again.

I'm not sure whether I'm a turncoat for abandoning the still-cooling corpse of Alienskin so quickly, or a parasite for latching on to the Horror Zine.

Oh well. Both are noble professions, embraced by many a Dume down the ages. Either will do.

Stage Two.

I have been somewhat lax about submitting novels, it's true. They never seem quite finished. Then there are the distractions - bandaging Senga after she's fed Caligula, soothing Caligula after he's failed to catch the postman again, supper with Red Stan (I'll never understand why the spoons have to be so long), evenings in the jolly company of Death and the rather more morose company of the Professor, constant social worker visits to check on Caligula which at least keeps the larder well stocked... so much to do.

Those are all excuses. The real reason for sporadic submission is procrastination. I'm never sure the stories are just right yet and I want to check them over. And over, and over. Once in a while I get up the nerve to send some sample chapters.

This time I sent Jessica's Trap to a publisher, and today I responded to a request for the full story. It's the first time I've had a request for the full manuscript although to be fair, the number of submissions I've sent so far is still in single figures.

So, fingers crossed, and by that I mean I have opened every jar of fingers in the laboratory and stitched them into pairs. I might not pass stage two this time but I have at least reached it, and that is a milestone in itself.

If they like Jessica's Trap and want to see more, Samuel's Girl is ready to go too.

If they don't, I am encouraged anyway.

The Social Lunch.

Someone calling herself a 'Social Worker' visited today. I'm not sociable and don't like work so it was clear from the outset we weren't going to get on. She claimed she wanted to check on little Caligula and was empowered by law to enter. I've met one who claimed that once before. He was a bit stringy but this one looked plumper.

I let her in, closed and locked the door. Sometimes they try to make a break for it and their screams set the Ferals off. I have researched the matter and it is true that they have hundreds of laws saying I have to let them in. They don't have a single one that says I have to let them out.

"Why have you locked the door?" She folded her arms and looked prim and proper at me.

"Ferals," I said. "They steal food, you know."

"Hmph" she said, although I am not sure that the noise she made could be considered conversation. "Where is your wife?"

"Recovering. She fed Caligula earler and it takes quite a toll on her." I guided the bun-haired harpy along the corridor.

"Breast feeding, is she?"

I laughed aloud. "Of course not. She's not stupid." The idea of putting anything made of meat into Caligula's mouth and expecting to get it back had me chuckling all the way to his room.

She tried the door. "It's locked. That is child abuse. If there is anything wrong with this child, I will report it and you'll lose him forever." The look of malicious glee on her face endeared her to me briefly, but I'm already married and I'm not going to do that again. It's just too much of a chore.

"Wrong with him? Well, be my guest." I checked through the peephole before opening the door. Caligula is pretty fast these days. He was in the corner of the room, playing with a mouse. They taste better when they are properly scared.

I opened the door, let her in and shut it quickly. There was a brief interlude of 'Hello little boy, I'm here to help you', then a short period of screaming.

When Caligula is full, he'll fall asleep. Then I'll clean his room and put the rest in the fridge.

With any luck, someone will come looking for her soon.