The Demonweasel Speaks

This week has had a lot of quiet melancholy to it. I don’t know why I’m glum about getting older, but I am. A little bit. Not a whole, crippling bunch, but enough to kind of make me do the deep sighs every now and again when I think no one is looking.

It probably has a lot to do with eating a lot of crap (and erratically, to boot), not writing and not exercising as much as I should. These are all really easy things to fix, and nothing cripplingly horrible, but it still manages to give me grief. At least it’s stuff I can easily fix. I’ve been kind of mentally holding my breath and waiting to hear back about the revisions to SHADOW OF THE PAST, and I’ve read that most of the stuff should be read through the week of the 14th. So next week, at some point, I should hear something. It’s also funny because after I’d gotten permission to re-submit the manuscript, the agency made a blog post about resubmissions and how they were really not cool and if you get rejected that’s it, don’t try to resubmit. I read this feeling like a total ass, until I got to the end and it said “Unless we say you can resubmit with changes, then it’s fine.” I took a deep breath. I don’t know if that means I have better chances or not, but I’m just glad to get the nod to resubmit. Hell, I’m just glad I went back in and made it a better book. Even if I don’t get the tap, I’m going to query with a little more confidence now.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m still gonna query like a nervous spazz, but that’s just how I do everything.

I think I’ve mentally stalled myself until I hear about this re-sub. That’s kind of dumb, and I kind of need to move on.

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Speaking of getting old, I think my beard is calling my bluff. When I was younger I thought to myself that I’d grow a beard until I started to get white hairs in it, and then I’d shave it off. Well, the white hairs have come (and in greater numbers), but the shaving will not.

Well played, oldness. Well played.

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I’ve been listening to a lot of MF Doom lately. I put the whole DANGERDOOM album on the store MP3 player, and both Zane and Max made me CDs with other Doom albums on it. It’s pretty cool of them, even though I clearly can get them myself. It’s the thought that counts, and those two are dope. You have to love a man who bases his man rap persona on Dr. Doom, and samples to old Fantastic Four cartoon and the Herculoids. The motherfucking Herculoids!

God damn do I love the Herculoids.

If I could write one property in my time here on Earth, it’s the Herculoids. A serious, PULP FICTION-esque Herculoids. Like rebooting STAR TREK, but with more rock apes and laser-eyed dragons.

“AND YOU WILL KNOW HIS NAME IS GLEEP, WHEN HE LAYS HIS VENGEANCE UPON YOU!”

Yeah, that’s where it’s at.

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I joined a fantasy football league. Not just any, but with the StandardAttrition.org people, including awesome comic writers David Lapham and Jason Aaron. Virtual elbow rubbing with people that I respect and admire in the industry I want to work in make me feel all special.

I will probably feel less special when I come in last place and horrible embarrass myself.

Good times!

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I started this post when I was 32. Now I’m 33. And so double-30 begins…

When all is said and done, I’m in the best place I’ve ever been in my life. It’s the best birthday present I could ask for.