11 January 2002

Well. I said what I needed to yesterday, I think, about the specific behavior that initially offended me and about professionalism in general. It has not been a pleasant experience, but I think it would be inappropriate for me to go into the details of what happened in private yesterday, here in this journal. There are several journals I won't be reading any more, so I don't know if they'll be in attack mode (for the first time or still); if you're reading them, please don't write to tell me what they say unless they call upon you to do something in regards to me, or unless there are things about which you feel you need to know my side of the story. Around here, we'll be trying to get on with it, and sometimes without it, depending on what "it" is. Remains to be seen.

Bleah.

In happy news, a publisher rejected Reprogramming yesterday. It was a smiley happy rejection with direct praise and little direct criticism. This did not make it better. I'm not sure where I'll send it next -- my first urge is to send it directly to another publisher, especially since I have a pitch out to an agent for Fortress, and I would want the same agent for all of my books. But I'm not sure, and most publishers take forever and a year with a book manuscript.

On the other hand, if I did get an agent, I hear tell that agents can go to publishers who already have a manuscript in their slush and say, "Hey, you have this in your pile, I'd like to show you its niftiness." If you've heard otherwise, please let me know.

I started reading Susan Cooper's The Boggart yesterday, leaving Perdido Street Station for a better mood. Also for a better state of the stomach: King Rat was pretty much the best diet book I've ever come across, and today I really need to eat substantially. And deal with all manner of things.