I dreamed last night that I went to get the mail at my old house, and the mailbox was full but the mail was all frozen with snow and ice so I could hardly drag the envelopes out. My subconscious is drubbing me over the head worrying about non-responses from editors, apparently.
The Battle Royale is over without any blood shed, incidentally. Thanks to the mediation of Jordan Lapp, co-editor of Every Day Fiction, the K.C. Shaw of Utah is revealed to be Kirk L. Shaw of Utah, and all the confusion was simply a mistake. Kind of disappointing, really.
Between work, my extra long commute, and the revisions to the sequel to The Weredeer, which has a working title but I don't like it, I haven't really done anything else in the last week. Except play Exile II, which I beat tonight. That'll free up some time. My goal is to finish the revisions by this weekend--and since I'm nearing the end of the rewrite portion and it'll go very fast after that, finishing in the next two days shouldn't be a problem--and then spend the weekend plotting that urban fantasy romantic comedy novella so I can get it written, polished, and sent out to Samhain by the end of May.
Hopefully, by the end of May my mail will also have unfrozen, because I don't think I can take much more suspense. I don't mean I haven't been getting any rejections at all, because I did get one this week and a few last week. I'm thinking about half a dozen or so subs that have been out far longer than I expected. Two are novels (one a requested full) and the others are stories, two of which I know have been held for further review by the editors because they sent me emails. The stories aren't a big deal--although it would be nice to actually sell something again for a change--but the novels are a huge huge huge deal. Huge. Because the requested full is from Wizards of the Coast Discoveries, and the other is my Beloved Masterpiece, The Weredeer, at a good small press. I don't actually want to hear back because I know it'll be bad news, but I hate having to wait for bad news because it gives me hope that it will be good news after all. And then my hopes will be dashed and I'll be low and out of sorts for weeks, and--aw, hell, I'm going to bed. Hope I don't dream about mail.