March 30th, 2011

crossed heart

True Blood

Originally published at Cassie Alexander. You can comment here or there.

Hello, new people reading this blog. If you're reading here for more feminist cinema commentary, you'll have to wait until I get pissed off again. (Or until Republicans do something else to fuck with health care.)

For the number of hits I got on my dissing Suckerpunch entry, there were surprisingly few trolls. Thank you dark internet Gods. I wanted to point out here that one of the reasons I saw that film opening weekend was that I was pretty sure it was going to fail (somehow. On some generic level. Not as catastrophically as it did.) and I wanted to see it before I read any reviews about it. I wanted it to work...but alas.

Anyhow, back to the micro level stuff I normally do here -- Nightshifted is in the can. My editor read my edits, requested a few more, I made those changes, and voila, it's really, this time i really mean it, done. Off to my German publisher for them to translate, and now I get to cast a net for blurbs. It's not as frightening as it might be, seeing as I have now the combined power of belief of my editor, my agent, and myself in Nightshifted...but still, it feels a bit like shilling my baby. "Isn't he cute? Isn't she the __adj__-iest ___noun___ you've ever seen? And can I quote you on that?"

I'm beginning to understand the cyclic nature of the publishing beast, too. I got Nightshifted out the door, but I need to send Moonshifted out to critters this Sat, so I didn't really feel like I had a chance to celebrate or take a break, I just switched projects and kept running. And what do you precisely celebrate anyhow? Receiving the editorial letter, doing what's been asked of you, or redoing what you didn't quite get done? Sending it out the door? Who has time to celebrate, or rest, when there's more work to do? And I'm always about tomorrow. I'm lame at appreciating the now, especially when tomorrow's always just around the bend.

Case in point -- I've got three out of a four pack of True Blood soda left in my fridge. (Courtesy of my husband being awesome.) For me, they represent the end all be all of reaching writing life goals. I mean you know you've made it when you've got bestselling books, a TV show, and a beverage themed after your creation.

I cracked one open when my agent signed me. That fizzy orange drink tasted like victory. The empty bottle is still on my nightstand. It's become a totem for me.

When my book sold part one, I thought about cracking open a second. But since there was an auction, things bounced around a lot, and I wasn't sure when I could really celebrate it. So I didn't, not proper-like. And then there were the German rights, but...not yet. I thought about drinking one when i got my editorial letter (because that did make me feel really-real) but...I keep thinking there might be some other even more awesome occasion out there.

So because I am who I am, I still have three of them left. My husband keeps warning me that they'll go bad and I should drink them soon, but I can't help myself and my meaningful (for me) hoarding of fridge space. At the very least, I'll have to drink one when Nightshifted comes out. But as for the other two of them? There may always be something else good coming around the corner. I'll just have to let them ride -- and keep on working -- until we see.