Matthew S. Rotundo's Pixeltown

Last week, I mentioned that I needed to get back to busting out some copy.  That didn’t, strictly speaking, happen . . . but I have a good excuse.  For realz this time.

Got a request for a full from an agent, see, and apparently the manuscript was (ahem) in need of some proofreading.  Now, this took me by surprise; my stuff’s usually pretty clean by the time I send it out to market.  But hey, nobody’s perfect.  Maybe I rushed it last time.

So I spent several days poring through the manuscript again—a reasonably tedious task, as you can well imagine.  Truth be told, I didn’t find much, which made me a little paranoid.  What if this agent is seeing some of my stylistic quirks as typos?  Most readers seem to catch on that I’m doing those things deliberately.  Wouldn’t it be my luck if this agent didn’t get it, or got it, but just didn’t like it?

See what we writers do to ourselves?  Pathetic, I tell ya.

Anyway, with that task done, I need to get back to that rewrite of “Just a Game.”  I’m gonna get make some serious headway on this thing this week.  For realz.

Other than the previously mentioned request for a full, no updates for Write Club.

I’m out.

Database updated, some novel queries sent.  Some more WRPA needs to be done, but doesn’t it always?  I might do a bit more this week, but I simply gotta get back to turning out copy.

Since we have a moment here, however, allow me to amuse you with a small personal anecdote.

As I mentioned last week, I’ve recently returned from a trip to Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, and Phoenix.  In Phoenix, I attended a family reunion, where I had the opportunity to hang out with aunts, uncles, and cousins I see far too seldom.  My uncle Alan and I were catching up, and he asked me what I did for a living.  I told him that my day job was in insurance, which it is.  And without missing a beat, he said, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Likes to speak his mind, does my uncle.  It’s a Rotundo trait.

But I couldn’t argue with him.  He had me dead to rights.  And that made me a little contemplative.

Not that this was a revelation to me; the day job has always been about keeping a roof over my head, food on my table, money in the bank (or the 401K, as it were)—and nothing more.  It’s never been my life’s ambition, and even my boss knows that.  Nor am I about to chuck the day job; that would be damned irresponsible of me.

But still, to hear it put so bluntly . . . yeah.  It’s not me.

I’m not sure what any of this means, really.  Maybe it’s just a reminder from the universe that I need to get back to work.

All right, then.  Thanks, universe.  Message received.  (And thanks, Uncle Alan.)

Write Club update:  Tier one bounce from an agent on a novel query.  Response time—one day.  (Seriously, dude?  You couldn’t at least allow me the satisfaction of having a query pending for a few days?  Yeesh.)

And I’m out.

A bit behind, owing to a long but lovely trip to Vegas, the Grand Canyon, and Phoenix.

Oddly enough, I didn’t get much (read:  any) writing done last week.

Shocker!  Do pick yourselves off the floor.

Anyway, since I’m already a bit derailed, I’ll take the opportunity to catch up on what Jay Lake calls WRPA (Writing Related Program Activities).  Then, it’s back to work.  For realz.

No updates for Write Club.

And I’m out.