Doomed, we’re all doomed and the Death Feast!
It is with heavy heart and humble bearing that I have to report yet another failure to reach the seemingly unattainable goal of publication. No reason given this time, just a plain, “We hate you, we hate your work.” email that crumbled my prior confidence and self esteem quicker than an awkward premature ejaculation.
The whole question of whether I want to go ahead with a POD outfit is now moot, but to be honest, I wasn’t too happy with the idea in the first place. It all seemed so threadbare and “off the cuff” and my reservations would only have increased if I had put pen to paper with them.
Perhaps I will one day, due to my massive lack of talent, have to move as my ability takes me, (i.e. self publishing… Bah!) But at this moment in time I don’t feel good about it.
Whatever, the dream is dust for the time being and the workhouse calls…
On a more buoyant note I’m off to the Death Feast tomorrow. This was the festival which involved me scribbling a couple of band write-ups for the organiser in return for a VIP pass for the 3 day event.
VIP pass sounds all very red carpet but it basically means I’ll just get drunk with the bands after they’ve played and in the spirit of Dionysus swear undying devotion to a couple of the drummers. I’m quite sentimental when I’ve had a few I’m afraid.
So I’ll be drowning my failings and regaining my denial about my literary gift with Dani, (our organiser and Darling of the Death Feast), Holger, Ads, Carsten, Jan, Bjorn, Connie and a whole army of long haired weekend anarchists. Check it out:
So that’s that then.
Needless to say the covering letter, synopsis and first three chapters are away already; so the dream does live on, all be it now among the ruins and shards of my dashed hubris.
Have a good time peeps, I will.
Catch you al next weeks