My Sweater Has Poofy Sleeves Like A Pirate And I Do Not Like Them

At the risk of sending my readers [all two of them] running screaming from their computers in disgust, I have a very painful zit right at the entrance of my nostril, and I think it is trying to take over my brain. It’s certainly big enough. So if I suddenly start discouraging washing your face, or scream out against Neutrogena, call the paramedics and tell my roommate she’s psychotic.Anyway. The zit thing is kind of the biggest piece of news I have to offer at the moment. Work is astonishingly dull, mainly because everyone is on vacation. I sit here and read slush. I check my Amazon wishlisht. I post on LibraryThing. I’d look for writing gigs on craigslist, but unfortunately Gmail is blocked on our server, and our E-Mail can be read by supervisors at any time. So much for that.Got bootleg copies of Grindhouse, Knocked Up, and 28 Weeks Later... Bought way too many books this weekend, and am now on a spending freeze. Got stuck on one side of the Gay Pride Parade, with my friend Kay on the other. I had one of those moments where I was sincerely proud of where I live: watching people celebrating who they are [gay, straight, transgender, republican], while others sat on their roofs and joined in. Of course, I almost immediately felt a momentary twinge of extreme loneliness when I realized I was quite possibly the only straight single girl on the block. There were a lot of heterosexual couples. At least nobody called me a breeder. Relax, I’m not going to suddenly start howling about my angsty single life. Mainly because it would be a horrible, clichéd lie. Yes, there are times I would like to have a boyfriend. But at this moment, a relationship would only be a nuisance. Of course, if Hunter S. Thompson came back to life and demanded I be his bitch, that would be another story. Also, I imagine my posts would be much more interesting.It is blindingly hot out. The heat hits you like a wall, knocking the wind out of you and, with it, the will to be a constructive human being.I’m getting to the point in slush reading where a few spelling errors on a cover letter is enough to send me into a rage.For those of you who didn’t read my comment on an earlier post: it was brought to my attention that perhaps I shouldn’t be airing people’s inability to write on my website, as other publishers might be insane enough to like them. Or, to be more diplomatic, it would be very hurtful for a random person to see me openly mocking their hard work on my arrogant and admittedly self-important website. Therefore, I will no longer be doing the slush coverage. Weep over its demise. However, I WILL continue to comment on the stupid/insane things people do when sending in their stories, so hopefully it will balance out.I love me some Starbucks.

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Girl Stuff Is Boring, But In A Really Fascinating Way

An acquaintance of mine recently told me, “You’re just like Bridget Jones!” I immediately killed this person, and sold their body to McDonald’s to be used in the Fish Filet sandwich. Not that I didn’t enjoy the book and movie [the original – the sequels were trash, save for Colin Firth being blindingly sexy], but I am very, very different from Ms. Bridget Jones.Ways I Am Like Bridget Jones• We both work in publishing• We both smoke• We both drink• We are both single• We both have wacky friends• We both have family drama• We both worry about weightWays I Am Unlike Bridget Jones• I am a publishing intern, who wants to be a journalist. Bridget becomes a television reporter.• Bridget keeps trying to quit smoking. I do not.• Bridget is a functioning alcoholic. I am not [an alcoholic, although some days you could argue I don’t function either].• Bridget hates being single, because she is in her thirties. I love being single, because I am in my twenties, and frankly have no time for a significant other, considering the fact that I go home and immediately go to bed. I have an imaginary boyfriend, like Amy Sedaris. His name is Phineas.• Bridget’s friends are wacky and endearing. My friends, while endearing, are also debatably homicidal, which makes them slightly less endearing.• My parents do not have affairs. They have hobbies. • I do not whine endlessly about my weight, and use it as a conversation topic, because I would have no friends.• I read a lot, and Bridget does not.• I like comics. Bridget may like comics, but clearly not enough to have it mentioned in either book.• Bridget is fictional. I, to the best of my knowledge, am not.And so much for that. Huzzah for today, because I will be going to Forbidden Planet, mecca of all things comic. I will also be going to the Strand, but I’m not excited about that, because I need to buy a few Dean Koontz books for work, and the people at the Strand tend to make me feel hopelessly illiterate if I’m not buying, say, Jean Genet or Dostoevsky. Come to think of it, those are probably too mainstream. I shouldn’t be ashamed. After all, there are people out there who religiously read Nevada Barr (if you do, please leave immediately. Go cry in a corner over how mind-numbingly bad a writer Ms. Barr is). But I’m an intellectual snob, despite my rampant delight over Spongebob Squarepants and fart jokes, so I only have myself to blame.Back to work, or something like it.

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On Monday, I Was Hit On By A Midget

Rather than bore you with my mundane, excessively trivial worries, here are the daily highlights from the slush pile:* A woman who rhymed ‘friend’ with ‘dead.’ The friend was dead. * Another obnoxious submission from a former SNL writer. Nobody should spend that much time and energy decorating an envelope.* A vaguely depressing tale about a boy who could fly, but found out that if you want to have friends, you must be just like everybody else.* A picture book about a little girl who is too fat for her mommy to love her.* A pre-schooler stripping in class when she is bad.* A deformed husband and wife who give birth to an angel that stops the war in Iraq.

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Publishing Advice #1

How To Submit A Manuscript And Not Piss Off The Reader [Meaning Me]: Tips For Submitting An Unsolicited Manuscript* Research the companyThis is imperative. Google the companies, buy Writer’s Market, join a message board. But make sure you are sending your work to the right people. Do not send poetry to a non-fiction publisher. Do not send children’s books to horror publishers. Don’t send erotica to children’s publishers. Please, please don’t send erotica to children’s publishers.
Again, this takes a little research, but can make a big difference. Even if your work gets sent to a reader like me instead of the person you intended, it is much nicer to see a human’s name, rather than ‘To Whom It May Concern.’ Also, I know one editor here gets deeply offended if her mail is addressed ‘Dear Sir.’ And you don’t want to piss someone off before they’ve even read your pitch.* Don’t give us your life story. Unless it has something to do with your proposal, that is. If you grew up in Africa and are submitting a children’s book on African animals, that’s something worth mentioning. However, describing your experience bursting from your mother’s womb will only bore people. Unless you’ve written a womb-bursting children’s tale.
Where I work, we don’t like it when you submit a story with a SASE [Self Addressed Stamped Envelope]. I’m not even supposed to read those. Some companies require a SASE. Some want only an outline, some want the full manuscript. Once again, either look online, or write to the company. All those people who sent me their stories with a SASE get a reply – a copy of our guidelines. And my unending contempt.* Use standard stationary. There is this one woman, whose name I won’t mention because I don’t want to get sued, who is the sole cause of this suggestion. Her cover letters are, besides being cut and paste jobs [more on that below], the most disgustingly cute stationary I have ever seen. Little kid’s handprints outline the paper. I now twitch uncontrollably whenever someone mentions finger-painting. Plus, it looks unprofessional. But think of my twitches.* Send one manuscript to a company at a time. This also has to do with the woman mentioned above. I have worked here for two weeks and one day, and have received twelve submissions from this woman. Four on the same day. Look, if a company rejects your manuscript, send another. I’m not saying give up [except to this woman]. But either wait until you get a response, or a decent amount of time has passed [we say four months; other publishers vary] before sending another. Otherwise, you will get many, many copies of our guidelines in all the SASE you keep sending me, as a passive-aggressive reaction to having read twelve stories by the same person before I got my first paycheck. Also: don’t send multiple copies to different editors in the same department. I get them all.* Don’t send random pictures. Illustration ideas are great – if you can draw. I cannot draw. Therefore, I do not try. How a person can be so diseased as to think that a stick-figure dog will make it into a published book is beyond me. Send pictures if you can draw [ask for outside reviews of your work if necessary], or hire an illustrator. Or let us pick one. And maybe this is just me, but I have no clue as to why people keep sending me pictures of their kids/grandkids. It certainly doesn’t improve your story. And to be honest, it kind of freaks me out. I have a small pile of pictures of stranger’s children. That's just creepy.* Use spell check. For the love of all that is holy, in the name of any and all gods you might worship, please use spell check. People that don’t should be neutered post-haste.* Type in a normal font. Yes, we publish children’s books. However, I cannot read a 100-page manuscript written in some Wingdings/otherwise illegible font. And none of those ‘cute’ fonts that make it look like a little kid wrote it. Not only is that irritating, it’s really unprofessional.* Nothing handwritten. I cannot read my own handwriting. I am not expected to read yours. Once again, it is professional to type. Neatly. And nothing says professional like scribbling your grocery list on the corner of a cover letter.* Don’t expect your manuscript to be returned. Other companies might. At mine, we dump unsolicited manuscripts. If I don’t like them, they go in the garbage. We do not send them back, even if you give us a SASE. You will get a copy of our guidelines, but not your manuscript. So don’t send out your only copy.* Don’t be cute. Just wanted to stress this one more time. These books are written for children. However, the people who publish these books are not children. We spend our days surrounded by people who know how to be cute professionally, and even THAT can be pretty trying on your patience. Don’t draw smiley-faces on the cover, don’t write corny jokes in your cover letter, don’t have your kid write out your cover letter.Feel free to ask questions. Or give me money. Preferably the latter.

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Due To Extreme Emotional Insanity, Today's Post Has Been Cancelled

Yes, you're all howling with sorrow.On a whinier note: I really love being there for my friends and supporting them, but sometimes I need to crash too. And I really hate feeling guilty about asking for their help and attention. Anyway. On Monday, I'm posting a list of tips to help people get published, and make my job slightly less infuriating.

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I Really Intensely Dislike Pain

Yesterday was one of those days that hack writers use for inspiration when writing crappy sitcoms. Crappy sitcoms that get cancelled before the first season finishes.I put my shoes on the wrong feet, and was genuinely confused and alarmed when they did not fit correctly. I seriously considered the possibility that something horrible had happened to my feet while I slept. What horrible thing, I honestly can’t say.I spent about fifteen precious minutes staring at my computer screen this morning, giggling psychotically over Bunny Suicides. After realizing that time had not, in fact, stopped while I was engaged in this useless activity, I panicked and sprinted to Starbucks for my daily overpriced-but-delicious caffeinated treat. And nearly missed the train.While on the train, which was naturally packed, a charming gentleman dumped half of his steaming coffee down the front of my white, man-tailored shirt. I’d like to stress the word WHITE in this description. He laughed, and I am now convinced he is the guy who has been submitting all those creepy ‘God loves you, especially if you are a blonde pre-teen girl who likes long, deeply inappropriate hugs’ stories I keep having to read.Sprinting from the train to the office, I burned the sleeve of my poor, abused shirt with my morning cigarette, which is probably punishment for not working out the past few days. I slunk into the office, and spent ten frantic minutes scrubbing coffee from my shirt. I was only partially successful, and my shirt adopted a lovely transparent quality which the maintenance guys deeply appreciated. Then I was nearly ten minutes late for the production meeting. By the end of the day, I expect to be mugged by a clown.And I was just informed that, once again, the editorial meeting for Peeled was moved. Not that I spent an entire evening laboring over it or anything.Today: Better. Got lots of books, discussed the new Joan Bauer book [my boss liked my suggestions!] and discovered I WAS being paranoid, and nobody was, in fact, pissed at me.Downside: My feet. I am in such excruciating pain that it’s not even remotely funny. Well, you might think it’s funny that I’m limping like a diseased geriatric, but I don’t. I nearly cried in the Book Room. I seriously think I’m going to have to take a cab home. And as some of you may know, and the rest of you now will, I am a notorious cheapskate. Or, as I prefer to think of myself, thrifty.So yeah. Work ends in four minutes. I’m going to go home, and read. And drink. Drink a LOT.

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Sleep Is A Great And Glorious Thing

The new Nick Hornby book Slam is quite good. I suggest everyone grabbing a copy when it hits bookshelves.I came home from work at 5:50, and fell asleep at six. I woke up at 10:30, and ate dinner. Now I am going to go smoke a cigarette, take a shower, and return to the sweet, sweet oblivion of sleep.I'm serious - this job MAY kill me.Driving Instructor: In this country, a woman has the right to choose who she has sex with.Borat: WHAT?!Driving Instructor: Yes. It's a great thing, really.Borat: Is not good for me.- Sacha Baron Cohen, as Borat

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Technology Hates Me So Much

I spent about three hours today destroying people's hopes and dreams [read: reading unsolicited manuscripts]. I no longer have faith in humanity. Nobody should ever write anything. Ever. Including me, writing this. They were that bad.My personal 'favorites':* The woman who dedicated her book to Oprah.* An ABCs book based on diseases.* The magical adventures of a bubble.* This girl whose father dies tragically, then spends nearly a chapter complaining about how she's in sixth grade, and STILL hasn't gotten her period.* Poems about cerebral palsy.* Poems by a woman who had a seriously creepy fixation on her son.* Poems about stone bunnies. The bunnies don't do anything. They're fucking stone.* And the winner: the delightful story about a little boy who dies and goes to heaven. But he misses his mommy, so an angel takes him to her, and he gives his mother the kiss of death. She dies. That's the end of the book.Most popular topics: autism, death, dragons, balloons, bugs, bunnies, and amputees. One woman sent us eight stories. So I sent her eight copies of our guidelines, which is basically a rejection letter, only nicer. I hate people.It's weird, though. I'm a writer, and have experienced the trauma of rejection letters. But the stories were SO FUCKING BAD. In other news, I had no internet yesterday at work OR at home, the toilet in my apartment was broken, and now the bathtub is. I am done with the words now.Josh: You see what you do? One night, just one night, I ask you to help me and you ruin it! You know how important this dinner was to me because it was my last chance to impress Mindy's parents. I spent like two hours on this dinner, one hundred dollars on an ice sculpture, and three hundred dollars on a dumb harpist, who at this point SHOULD STOP PLAYING! And I don't even care what you think of Mindy cause she is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I can't date her anymore because you ruined it! You wrecked my dinner, you wrecked my one hundred dollar ice sculpture, and you wrecked my relationship!Drake: You spent one hundred dollars on ICE?- Drake & Josh

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It Is Not Wise To Fall Asleep During A Meeting On Your First Day

See? I am learning things after college. I can't even begin to talk about work. It was exhausting. I have a pounding migraine, which I am blaming on the weather. Curse you, WIND! And fuck you, nimbus clouds! I have no idea where that came from, but I hope it doesn't come back.I really thought I would have something to say about my first day. I have a cubicle. And an extension number. And an E-Mail address. So I'm in the system. I am part of the corporate machinery. It was like a cross between Office Space and The Devil Wears Prada, only less funny, more fat people, and everyone is talking about books instead of clothes or software. Well, at the very least I'll be making minimum wage [hello, second job] and it will look good on a resume.Oh, another lesson I've learned about life post-college:* Things get even more complicated. So don't start relaxing yet, fuckers.Incidentally,CTRL+ALT+DEL is probably the funniest webcomic I've read in years. Go look for it, for I am too tired to find the link, and you must all learn to be self-sufficient.Olive: Do you think there's a Heaven? Frank: Well, it's hard to say, Olive. I don't think anyone knows for sure. Olive: I know, but what do YOU think? Frank: Well - um - uh -Olive: I think there is. Frank: Think I'll get in? Olive: Yeah. Frank: Promise? Olive: Yeah. - Little Miss Sunshine

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I Feel Sick [No, Not Really. I Just Happened To Glance At My Comic With That Name]

Finished Voices of a People's History Of The United States last night. It made me want to go start a revolution against corruption and evil, to write articles that would change the world. Instead, I just went to bed.Today seems to be a day of people whining at me. My roommate is babbling about how she fell asleep during sex, and her boyfriend continued to erm... yeah. I laugh viciously at her pain, because I am a bad person. And she puts on makeup to go to the gym, which I think is a sure sign of pure, unmitigated evil. I mean, MASCARA? I start my job tomorrow, and I'm kind of nervous. A few reasons:* I am not a morning person, and I have to be up, showered, and looking relatively like a human being in order to head out the door by 8:15 AM. Which means I'll be up by 7:00 AM. I had trouble getting up for noon classes.* Since the video store where I worked closed last summer, I haven't had a steady job, besides the occassions where I would play receptionist for my father at his office. Which basically entailed me answering the phones and reading all day.* I really, really need this to go well so that I can either get a full-time job at this company, or they can at least refer me to someplace where I can write.* I also need to start freelancing. I have like no clips. To make up for the whining I just subjected everyone to [whoever may be out there... helloooooo?], I humbly offer another list which mayhap will tickle thy fancy.Movies I Have Cried At That Aren't Sad At All, And Make Everyone Around Me Uncomfortable1. Independence Day2. Benny & Joon3. Matchstick Men4. 8 Mile5. Spider-Man 3 [Which I HATED, otherwise]6. The 40 Year-Old Virgin7. Armageddon [fuck you, EVERYONE cried]8. Serenity 9. 28 Days Later...10. Shaun Of The Dead11. Kill Bill: Volume 212. The Big Lebowski13. Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest14. Secretary15. BrazilOnce again, this does not bode well for my mental stability. Stay tuned for my next post, which will be about work, martial arts, and a list of movies where I laughed at the tragic ending, because I sold my soul for some Ruffles and a really cool throw rug. Luckman: Well! So much for our great trip to San Diego, Bob. I TOLD you we should have gone to San Francisco. Barris: What, like going to San Francisco would NOT have caused this problem with the engine? Luckman: Yeah, because when you're going north, it screws this way, and when you're going south it screws that way! Barris: If we were in AUSTRALIA! - A Scanner Darkly

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I Am The Super Bug Mother

Well, I had a day. Did the usual [worked out, got over a minor Bloody Mary/pot hangover, etc]. But rather than bore you with that shit, here's the cool stuff.Jim Hanley's UniverseWent with Aye and Kaye, since Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson were doing a signing. For non-fans [read: sane people], Garth Ennis is best known for Preacher, and Darick Robertson draws for Transmetropolitan. They were doing a signing to promote the newest issue of The Boys, their joint effort. Now, I'm a devoted fan of Forbidden Planet [although I can't go often, because I wouldn't be able to afford my rent], but JHU is a fucking great place for comics, and I highly reccommend it to all. To be honest, JHU is more like a cozy comic store, although it's enormous. Something about the atmosphere is much mellower. It may become my favorite. Only time will tell.Anyway: I was a wreck, per usual, because I'm always afraid that when I meet someone I admire, I'll say something weird ["I have a blister on my foot shaped like Mars"] or just downright creepy ["I love you"]. Luckily, I was the sane one today. Shocking, I know.Kaye, who is a minor celebrity there since he goes constantly, was the local lunatic. He was asked by some guy filming to do a little stunt. So he ran up to the front and screamed at the top of his lungs, "THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN!" The whole, packed store was silent for a good fifteen seconds. Aye nearly died; I took advantage of my height and hid behind a Neil Gaiman display.The meeting itself was kind of incredible. Garth Ennis signed three things for me, and had an accent, so I was having fangirl glee. Darick Robertson, who was incredibly nice, drew me a fucking gorgeous sketch of Spider Jerusalem which I am going to have FRAMED, and signed one of my Transmetropolitan trade paperbacks. We also had a really nice conversation about journalism, and he told me he has enormous respect for anyone seeking out that career who is focused on the truth. So I was a happy giggling ass. To be honest, I was nearly like a normal human girl.Here's what I bought today, and why I am now spectacularly broke.* The Boys: Volume Seven w/ alternate cover [signed - Ennis]* Hitman: Volume One [signed - Ennis]* The Boys: Trade Paperback [signed - Ennis]* I Feel Sick: Volume Two [because I can never find ANY Jhonen Vasquez besides JTHM]* Transmetropolitan: Volume Six* Transmetropolitan: Volume Seven [signed - Robertson]* MY SPIDER JERUSALEM SKETCH THAT IS SO HOT I WANT TO MAKE OUT WITH ITYeah, that last one was creepy. I'm better now. Honest. If anyone asks, I'll post a picture of my sketch. See? People who comment get rewarded! BugHoly, holy god, this movie was bad. I did not intend to see this movie. I WANTED to see Knocked Up, but it was sold out, which kind of ruined my perfect day. So we decided to see Bug, with Ashley Judd and Harry Connick, Jr. This was a mistake.This may be the worst movie I've seen in theaters since Primeval. It was supposedly based on a play, which makes sense. A play version probably wouldn't have sucked as much. Basically, lonely hick Judd does a lot of drugs and falls for this looney guy who thinks the government has infected him with bugs, and sometimes her ex husband [Connick, Jr.] shows up and acts like an asshole. THAT is the movie.There was quite a bit of nudity, and one of the worst sex scenes I have ever witnessed in my entire life. Seriously, this movie could make people celibate. It was heinous. The sex looked PAINFUL. Or at least weird and uncomfortable. And Judd screamed a lot. I never liked her, and now I fucking despise her. The title of this post is my favorite line from the movie. The other is "MACHINE!"This would make for a good drinking game - take a shot every time someone says 'Bug,' or someone says something paranoid. Except you'd die within twenty minutes from alcohol poisoning, which would be a downer. We had no alcohol. But when the entire audience is howling with laughter, and you're making your friends look on their phone to see how long the movie runs - these are not signs of a good film.Whoever made this movie should be punished. They'll go to Special Hell, and be forced to watch this movie over and over and over. And invisible bugs will make them itch. And they will have drooling, special-ed sex. This movie just added about six years to my therapy sessions. Yay.

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