No acceptances this week. Five rejections. That sounds more useful than it is, because it was five rejections on three stories. Betcha I could make it six if I sent "Five Brothers Underground" out to the same place where I sent "The Last Egg" and "Things We Sell to Tourists." There are other places ahead of it on my list, though.
Yet another story for which I'd really like a 19th/early 20th century pro fantasy mag. I would rock that thing. Totally. I like Don at Would That It Were, but he doesn't want fantasy. More's the pity.
The rejections -- one of them spotted that "The Last Egg" was part of a much bigger concept. Bang in one. A concept that already has a roughly drafted novel and most of another, say? Yes. That kind of concept. Silly perceptive editors. But I still think the story works on its own--in fact, I think that's the only way it works, as it's certainly not a chapter of a novel.
HOORAY! My brain did not supply a novel for it to be a chapter of! This may be a first.
Anyway, Mark and I ran some errands today and took porphyrin her chocolate and got to play with Roo in his "beebo." He's very, very fond of the gazebo in their local park. And we're very, very fond of him and his parental types.
Also, I got a T-shirt in the mail from the alma mater as an apology for the errors in their alumni publication. Which was nice of them, I suppose, and it's blue, and I like blue.
Okay then? Okay.