Grand Old Harlot

A couple of days ago I finally got around to computerising my submission records (since 2001 they've been entered into a cruddy old exercise book) and I discovered that I am still waiting for a response from Aurealis on one of my short stories, 'Fresh as the Bright Blue Sky'. Now, I have no problem with waiting – it's part and parcel of the short fiction market – but I have previously been burned by this mob, who seem to be getting more and more slack with each year that passes. A couple of years ago I submitted a story, then sat down to wait. And wait. Finally I enquired, to be told that the story had been recommended for a second read. So I waited. And waited some more. Then I learned that the editor was about to move on, so I fired off an email to see what the hell had happened to me story. Apparently it had been lost, and all he could say was that I should submit it again. Which I did. A few weeks later, I received a lame critique that made me wonder whether the slushie had read it at all. Twelve months of hope and suspense crushed. Rejection is one thing, being strung along for a year before being dismissed with a casual shrug of the shoulders is quite another. Aurealis might be the Grand Old Dame of SF in Australia, but it's quickly becoming the Lumbering Old Dinosaur as well – especially when juxtaposed with the funky, writer-friendly Andromeda Inflight Spaceways. Which, incidentally, has much better stories anyway. Who's to say 'Fresh' won't also be 'misplaced'?

Managed to get a seat on the train this morning, so I was able to add some more words to Truck Me. It was hard going (sometimes it is in the morning) but I'm still feeling quite positive about it.