I’m writing a short story about figures from Greek mythology stuck slogging about on Earth in the present. Hint: it’s not just the Greek economy that’s collapsed. Also, there is a train in it. I’ve always considered trains sweet and romantic even though, in my experience, they are also rickety and good targets for drunk soccer (excuse me: football) fans with empty beer bottles while pulling into and out of stations in Italy. Also, one time a guy in France…never mind. Not appropriate for this venue.
This short story is part of the childish “no…no…no…not gonna” phase that I go through when I’m just about to wrap up a manuscript and start sending it out to see if anyone wants to represent it. I was feeling good last week after reading that Urban Fantasy writer Jenna Black wrote eighteen novels before breaking through to publication. Then I almost had a mental seizure when I considered that I might have to write fifteen and a half more (I remember you, you strange UF that wanted to turn into a Romance) before I get anywhere. Then again, I once created seven versions of a PowerPoint presentation before I got it just the way I wanted it. And that was just a freaking PowerPoint. I can’t even remember what it was about.
So, this short story will have its day. And then it’s back to the bigger ticket item, and checking my email twenty times a day and biting my fingernails and locking my keys my car while it’s still running. Oh, wait. I finally have a car where I can’t lock the keys in while it’s still running. Thank God for Honda and small favors.
So I’m off. This once-esteemed Goddess isn’t going to depress herself (That’s the story. I don’t call myself a Goddess).
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