Implausibly Profane

I recently received a submission response [1] from an established Sci-Fi/ Fantasy publisher. It was a reach, but I was hoping more for constructive feedback than I was expecting publication.

A paraphrased excerpt from said response:

The term: Hasidic shit farming Wop was used quite early in the story; this took me out of it. In total you used the word fuck, or some derivative, 51 times in 32 pages: when you factor this with the numerous other profane words and terms, some of which appear to have been created  whole cloth for the story, it stretches the boundaries of realistic speech.

I enjoyed much of the story but the profanity was so excessive and the tone so base it continually jarred me from the narrative. You need to consider your readers (and potential publishers) sensibilities when shaping the verbiage of your characters dialogue.

The Best Man’s Wedding

I was recently the Bestman at my friends Jay and Vanessa’s wedding. In lieu of an in depth and respectful accounting  of the happiest day in a couple’s life… I give you a photo essay about myself. This wrong of me and I’ll likely die eating cold soup in an abandoned playhouse as a result. Let us begin.

Happening/Ain’t Happening: Getting older

The War at Home

There is a certain cat to person ratio where they cease being an adjunct to human life and begin puttying their own tiles into the domestic mosaic. And not just dictating the agenda, but shaping the culture.  My lady friend is currently on sabbatical in the wilds of Delaware, leaving our home and catfolk in my capable (?) hands. For those keeping score at home that is three and one half cats-to-one disheveled and malnourished A.J. The tide turned quickly.

The drugs and I

As the doctors tell it I have Attention Deficit Disorder. ADD. This is not a new diagnosis. I was tagged as soon as the fad hit in the late 80’s, medicated for a time, and then spent the next twenty years railing against it. I felt blaming my poor decisions on some loosely defined structural flaw was a cop out; a cowardly dodge. I still largely feel this way, but I’ve read enough literature to realize there may be some correctable flaw in my wiring.

I discussed this with my childhood doctor and he suggested a regime of exercise, quality sleep, and daily amphetamine use. The entire consultation lasted ten minutes. It amounted to “Hit this crank and call me in three months”. Curious, but not unexpected.

Bum-bum hair. (A dispiriting true story)

On my way home from the gym I stopped at a street light beside a father and his daughter. The father ignored me. The little girl[1], however, locked eyes with me, stared for a few seconds, then raised an accusing finger.

“You have bum-bum hair” she said.

Admittedly I had just finished at the gym so I wasn’t finely coiffed, but not to the point it should elicit cruel personal attacks from preschoolers.

“Pardon me” I asked, thinking maybe I’d misheard her.