The Great Exposure Fallicy.

Excuse the title, which I realise sounds like some sort of post-modern funk/jazz fusion band. That aside, I do feel it perfectly apt for what I want to talk about.

Temporary is in the bag as much as humanly possible. I went through once more with a fine-tooth comb to primp and polish it as much as possible with another grammar run through – which felt much like the Death Star run, looking for all those cheeky errors in much the same way Luke sought the exhaust port (is that dirty? It sounds dirty.) All that’s left now is to try and wait patiently for the agencies to eventually respond in kind. Until then I remain on my ‘stepping stone’ home.

In the interim, however, and in an attempt to cajole myself into writing more consistently, turning the practice into a resolute habit, I have taken to writing articles as well as offering my assistance as a narrative consultant to a gamut of differing potential opportunities. None of which offer any pay. Which is fine, to a point. Afterall, one does not simply walk into their dream job. But after years of stop/start chances (video games, anime, wrestling – all the fun, pop culture touch stones, none of the long-term monetary benefits of steady, loyal paid work!),  it’s hard not to wonder why one might bother working so hard for nothing in return.

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If only it were that simple, Joker, old chum…

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Stepping Stones, Empty Thrones.

Do you want to know a secret? A frustrating, annoying, internally – and eternally – sore spot of contentious reality?

This thing I want to do with my life, this wondrous ambition of wanting to, somehow, write for a career as a means of putting food on the table forever more? Well, and lean in close now, here’s the thing: there’s no ladder. None. Zip. Nada.

With a lot of other jobs and career paths, there tends to be a path. Some are more defined than others, with a clean chain of command. A hierarchy that is evident to those that want to clamber up that chain until they attain the position they so desperately desire.

Others…well, others are chaos, with no defined objectives and pathways.

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The +/-

As I settle deeply into my bear-like cave (which is my mind! Whoa…), ready to continue my long, quasi hibernation-esque meditation, tempered with perseverance and sprinkled with a healthy garnish of doe-eyed naivety, waiting for literary agents to get back to me with either good or blegh (official term) news, it has given me the opportunity to ponder my personal framing of receiving rejection.

Rejection is a part of this game, and it’s an element that I am becoming quickly familiar with. Some might say we’re becoming bosom buddies. Others would agree. Like BFF shit. In truth, I actually prefer receiving a bonafide rejection. A lot of agencies don’t have the time or inclination to send you this formal, kind announcement, letting you know that you no longer have to hold your breath on them. Because, y’know, continual breathing tends to be a good thing…

Since being officially recognised as depressed, I’ve been going through a lot of emotional introspection and reflection whilst waiting on these potential acceptances and rejections. It’s a turbulent time to be throwing yourself out there in a creative way, opening yourself up to rejection whilst trying to deal with these other elements.

I travelled back home to try and reconnect with my roots, having an awesome time and saying goodbye far too quickly for my liking, and have dedicated many accumulated hours in pondering what I want, where I’m going, and just how to deal with certain voids I have and demons that haunt me. So, when rejection e-mails come through it’s always a conflicting feeling.

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Yes, I’m grateful that I’m no longer on tenterhooks and can cut the cord with that particular agency, but at the exact same time…oh man, another rejection?

And yet, recently, in the run-up to flying away, I had become the recipient to a few more…uniquely written responses.

Spoiler: still rejections. BUT, the wording, the phrasing, the intent…I believe I had just encountered the positive/negative.

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Wipe Out.

It’s been a month to the day since I updated the blog. A lot has happened since I last tried to capture my thoughts.

First and foremost, just to get this on front street…I’ve been stamped, man. Officially marked and recognised as ‘clinically depressed.’

So, yeah…there’s that…

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Ride The Wave

Today marks the sixth wave of submissions that have been sent out, like little hopeful messages in bottles thrown errantly out into an uncaring ocean, all in the hopes that one will be found by that one person that will see it, resonate with it, and decide to join me on this journey to publication.

Because that’s a key thing to remember here: even if I do find representation in between the mountainous piles of (virtual) rejection notes, it’s simply another step towards the eventual end goal: getting the damn thing into your hands.

Whether it’s via a brick and mortar bookstore (kicking it, old school) or through the magic of the magnificent inter webs, delivering it to your Kindle, all that matters in this long (arduous) endeavour is that you can read it, absorb it and, hopefully, enjoy it.

Just today I came to a double-edged realisation: I’ve been submitting longer than I thought. Also, time is a cruel, harsh mistress. *cries deeply as, like sands through an hourglass, yada yada*

In the time I have been sending Temporary out to agencies, one particular agent (that I had high hopes for) has actually switched to another agency. Its also been about six months since I contacted him at his previous agency. So, why does this matter?

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(Emotional) Rock Bottom, (Emotional) Rock Bottom!

Two weeks ago I was hit with an impactful, decisive, game changing (emotional) rock bottom.  It wasn’t fun.

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Fourteen days ago my girlfriend and I got into a barnstormer of an alcohol fueled (her, not me) late night fight, which led to her saying a lot of things that I’m still carrying with me, rattling away, as they can, in the back of my mindgrapes. Thankfully, things are working out and with a little effort on both our parts, I’m confident that everything will realign for us. We’re on the mend, we just need a little TLC. (In a cute way, you pervert!)

The reason I want to try and paint a little context, dabbing it into this post like a cloud loving Bob Ross, is because it does, believe it or not, relate to my writing…

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It’s Not Much To Ask For, Is It?

 

Take solace in the small victories, the tiny accomplishments. Who knows what they could all add up to.

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