So Tuesday night gets here and I settle in to get my critiques. Surprise, surprise, I’m at the top of the chopping block (I mean, I know I need to make myself scarce around Thanksgiving, but this is March, damn it).
The critiques are spot on – nailing me where I need it, complimenting me when I need it (you know, right before the knife goes in and twists). Thinning characters . . . possible. A little more juice at the end . . . sure. Typos . . . absolutely. But Kari finding a double meaning with my “hung” corpse swinging overhead had me stifling snickers all evening. Soooooo not what I meant.
At the end of the meeting I asked if there were any volunteers to read my Masters of Macabre competition story when I finally get it written. My challenge phobia is coitophobia. I mean, how the hell do I end up getting assigned to write about sex phobias? Granted I’ll be blushing and laughing my ass off when I write it, but being able to keep a straight face when getting a pre-publication critique’s another thing entirely. Most of the group volunteered right out of the gate to help. Talk about gluttons for punishment.
I’d say, “on the up side,” but it’s really all an “up side” with these people. They really bust their collective tails on delivering good critiques and insight – that’s about members of both groups . . . hell, that’s about all members of all four groups (yes four, boys and girls). I can’t wait to see what they say about the novel chapter I submitted tonight. The next meeting’s a whole month away . . . . Arrrrrgh!
My biggest complaint of the moment is finishing off the Dorothy/Oz story (and editing it, and rewriting it, AND getting Hollie to look it over, AND rewriting it again) in time for Thursday’s deadline. Where the hell’s the monorail to Oz? I need to get to my destination quicker.
It’s fantastic knowing I have a literary dysfunctional family just waiting to bludgeon me on a regular basis.
<Doing my best Cartman> “I really love you guys.”