And they all had the same pictures of whatever set against a bright colored background. The text was misspelled, but you knew it was a misspelling of love. I miss that.

Now-a-days, you don’t need a fansite to find out about Marina Sirtis. She’s got a comprehensive Wikipedia page. Everything you want to know about her, you can find there.

And band photos? Every band in the world has their own website, where they post all of the promotional shots that used to make up the fan collages. There’s no need for that either.

We lost the fansite and, because of that, we lost some of the Internet’s charm. What happened?

“Do you have Tivo?” She asks. “I don’t want to miss America’s Next Top Model.”

–

I’m alone on my couch. It would have never worked out anyway. We were two different people. For one, I preferred Project Runway.

Point being, I haven’t been doing this a real long time, compared to other writers who have been trying to get published for years. So, a lot of what I’m saying might seem like initial disappointment, or whining. But, it’s not. Contrary to what multiple blog posts might tell you, I’m not an emo kid, who does nothing but whine. I’m mainly writing this to gather my thoughts, to decide what direction I want to go.

When I write a short story, I usually invest around an hour per thousand words. So, a short story of mine, My Father’s Eyes, clocks in around 10,000 words. So, that’s roughly 10 hours of work just to write the thing. Then there’s about ten to twelve read-throughs, each roughly an hour per 10,000 words. So, that’s roughly ten to twelve hours in the post-editing process.

Of course, the total length of this process needs an additional variable: Cool-Down Time. This is the period in which I step away from the story, and come back with fresh editing-eyes. For a story this long, this can be anywhere from a day to a week. At this point, I’m sitting at about 2 to 3 months for the actual creation process.

Then, I’m ready to submit. So, I pick a publication and submit. Then, there’s a down-time, where I wait for the result of the submission, which is invariably a rejection letter. This period is roughly four to six weeks. So, I read through the story one more time (about an hour) and find a new publication to submit. Again, I wait four to six weeks, get a rejection. Rinse and repeat. As my good friend, the King, would say: et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

My point is, I invest months upon months into a single story, but I can’t seem to sell it. At first, I thought there was something wrong with the story. Then, I got depressed. (I actually DID emo). Got drunk. Deleted my entire writing folder. Sobered up. Replaced my writing folder from backups. And started the whole dang process all over again.

Then, I started to think maybe it’s the publication. So, I resubmitted it to another. Again, rejection. Then, something happened… I submitted to Clarkesworld Magazine. Now, Clarkesworld boasts one of the highest rates of all Sci-Fi magazines, roughly 10 cents a word. They also boast the quickest turnaround time.

So, I decided to give it a shot. I took a short story of mine, Elizabeth, made sure I was happy with it, and sent it their way. Now, their submission system is slightly different than the rest. They have a numbered queue, so you can see where you are in the process. Over the course of four days, I walked that queue tick down from around 200 to rejection.

During this whole process, I realized something… I was behind 199, or so, other people, when I submitted. Since it took four days, you can assume they get through about 50 a day. Times that by 30, you’ve got 6,000 submissions a month. Now, this might be a pretty exaggerated figure. I’d expect the actual number to be a little closer to 2,000 – 3,000. But, it could be even higher. I have no clue.

Now, this is the process that not-famous writers use to get published in Clarkesworld, of which the editors choose one story a month. One out of thousands. You can’t tell me that out of the thousands that are submitted, only one of them is good enough to get published. I don’t buy that for a second.

I think so much of this process comes down to luck. You’ve got to catch the right intern, on the right day, to where your story resonates with him or her, and they choose to push your story along to an editor. But, you have to wait a month to find out if your luck has held out? Is this really an efficient process?

When it comes right down to it, how is a writer supposed to know if their stuff is worth a shit, or if they’re just wasting their time? I don’t think it’s this process. It can’t be. I hate the idea of luck dictating whether or not I’m successful, regardless of talent or skill. I can’t stand this concept.

I’ve been looking into alternative publishing. I’ve been reading up on it. I know to avoid Vanity Presses. That shit will just take me for a ride, and leave me high and dry.

So, I’ve been considering self-publishing. It worked for Christopher Paolini and Eragon They made a movie out of that book.

But, unlike Paolini, I don’t have parents that own a publishing company, and considerable resources to help promote my book. Compared to Paolini, my self-publishing venture would basically be me blindfolding myself and throwing my book in random directions, hoping I hit someone in the head.

I’ve been looking at releasing an E-Book. But, I’ve been struggling. There’s a stigma attached to self-publishing–especially an E-Book–which states that it’s only for those who aren’t good enough to get published or the extremely desperate. Which category do I fall in?

Honestly? I believe I fall in the desperate category. But, I’m not desperate to see my stuff in print. I don’t really care about that. I’d go with a Vanity Press, if I was only out for that. Then, I could buy up a few copies of my book, and sell them to friends and family, expecting them to pat me on my head and tell me how great it is. And they would too. I’m not desperate to get published.

I’m desperate to know if I fall in the other category–the one filled with writers who aren’t good enough. I’ve got to know if I’m wasting my time, or if there’s actual skill hidden within me. I can post my books online, hoping I can get enough strangers to come and see them, offering me an extremely low chance of feedback. Or, I can go the Amazon Kindle route, and throw something up and see what happens.

With millions of people shopping the Kindle Story at any given moment, your chances of them stumbling upon your book is quite high. And, then, if it’s reasonably priced, the chances of them buying it is also pretty high. And if they buy it, they’ll review it, hopefully. And maybe, then, I can decide if I should just walk away, and learn to enjoy my fallback career–space pirate!

I’m currently putting together a collection of six short stories. I’m going to put it up on the Kindle store for two bucks, and I’m going to see what happens. Best case scenario, I sell a million copies and become an overnight sensation. Worst case scenario, it sells a few copies, I get a check for two dollars, and the people who bought it rate it one star. Then, I know… it’s time to take to the stars for piracy.

Somewhere in the middle… I sell a modest amount, a few people review it well, and I walk away knowing that I’m not wasting my time. Honestly? This is the one I’m shooting for.

I’ll have mine posted next week. Will you have yours done?!

Of course, with verifiable Achievements and Trophies, there’s much more at stake than there used to be. Think of it! How would I possibly deal with the unspeakable humiliation, if someone, who has way too much time on their hands, found out I didn’t beat such and such game within 10 hours? My E-Penis size would never recover.

But, that’s not me. About a year ago, I came to a conclusion that my time is way too valuable to spend sinking hours into a game that’s not engaging me. And that’s not a statement of arrogance, either. Okay, it is a statement of arrogance, but rightly so. The fact of the matter is that if you want my time, you need to earn it. I work two jobs, I’m trying to get my writing career started and I co-own two independent comic ventures. The time I reserve for video games is very, very small.

So, I need to be very discerning in what I play during that time.

Which brings me to the topic of today’s blog post: Limbo. This little arcade title dropped a couple of weeks ago and, basically, kicked me in the balls and called me “Sally”. Not because it was hard, or because it redefined anything. But, rather, because it was just THAT engaging!

Everything from the amazing monochromatic graphic design, to the unique puzzles and simplistic gameplay, this little 4-hour venture filled me with such awe, I couldn’t even believe it only cost me 15 dollars.

Wha?! You paid 15 dollars for only four hours?! That’s a rip-off!

After I finished the game, I went online to see what people said about it. A good portion of gamers had discovered the experience I had, and had nothing but good things to say about it. But, also, a good portion of gamers have reacted to the game with the opinion expressed in the line above.

Their main point is that 15 bucks is too much to pay for only 4 hours of gameplay. To this, I ask: When did we, as a group, get to the point where we measure a game’s worth, based on length? By that yardstick, every RPG would be worth way more than COD: Modern Warfare, since RPGs tend to be about 4-times longer. But, I can tell you, right now, I’ve played a crap-ton of RPGs that don’t even come close to the feeling I got when the nuke was dropped.

Their other point of dispute is that a puzzle game should never cost that much, because once you figure it out, the experience is over. Again, to this, I would ask: So? I pay 15 bucks when I go to the movies and, once the credits roll, the movie is over. That 15 dollars is no longer offering me any physical or mental stimulation.

Why are games held to a different standard?

I’ll tell you why. Because, gamers are, on the whole, dicks. They are complete and utter dicks, who spend their entire time crying for innovation, but spit in the face of the innovators, because they don’t want to pay for it. They funnel 60-dollars into the latest sequel, while games that attempt to push the bar on storytelling and experience (*cough cough* Alan Wake *cough cough*) are cast to the side, because they dared to take on a blockbuster.

What’s really funny? Those same people who skip the original title for the sequel usually head directly online to complain about how the sequel is exactly like, or worse than, its predecessor.

(Now, to be fair, there are exceptions to this. Alan Wake went up against Red Dead Redemption a game that is, admittedly, far better than its predecessor. In fact, it’s actually a better-made game than Alan Wake, even if it isn’t quite as innovative of an experience.)

And what’s even more frustrating is that companies look at these sales numbers and say “Clearly, they don’t want original IPs, they only want sequels!” And that’s what they get. And then those same gamers that chose the sequel over the innovative game will go online and complain about how all we get is sequels.

And that’s just hilarious.

Usually when I get tired of a record, I’ll put it on hold. I’ll walk away from it for a month or two and then revisit it and see how I feel about it. Thankfully, my return to The Monitor saw the same result as my first experience.

This is the best punk album to come out in years.

A few weeks ago, I wrapped up the first Suikoden, successfully recruiting all 108 Stars, and destroying the final boss without even using my most powerful attack. On the whole, I loved it. I thought it was a great entry.

So, I went into Suikoden 2 with extreme excitement. I’d had a number of people tell me it was the height of the series, and if I loved the first one, this one was going to blow my mind. Alright, high expectations, sure.

In short, I am loving Suikoden 2, but it’s also annoying the heck out of me. See, every single location you visit, in the first 20 hours of the game, is attacked and either destroyed or occupied. At the very least, everyone you loved, within that location, is dead. Oh yeah, and you’ve been betrayed by your best friend. (Spoiler Alert: That was a spoiler.)

It’s this sort of forced angst that I used to find cool, when I was a teenager, but now I can see how transparent it is. I mean, I have real-world angst to deal with. I work 65 hours a week, yet can’t seem to pay all of my bills. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get noticed within the writing world, leading me to wonder if I’m just wasting my fucking time. I have a four-year degree in a field that I want absolutely nothing to do with. I’m stuck in a small town of 20,000 people, a quarter of which are addicted to Meth. And I can’t do drugs to escape it all for a while, because if I piss hot on a random drug test, I’ll lose my primary job. And, as I’ve established, that would be a bad thing.

In light of this, a one-dimensional villain cutting a path of destruction, through a fictional world, to achieve some level of forced pathos just seems dull.

But, things are looking up for my little team. I have won some very decisive battles, recruited some awesome people, and began building a totally rad castle, called the “Radical Castle”. Yes, indeedy, “Francis” and the “Awesome Army” are well on their way to saving the world from the one-dimensional villain.

On a side note, more games should totally let me name things. I come up with the best names.

I’m not even being sarcastic here. I mean every word. And I’ll tell you why… because it takes some real stones to rewrite Paradise City by GnR as Verynice City, and manage to do that with a straight face.

I’ve got mad respect for that. Go ApologetiX–keep doing what you’re doing. I can’t wait for the new record.

Why didn’t I realize I was running dangerously low on God’s precious gift? Who knows. I probably shouldn’t drink. I have to work in six hours. Fuck. Doesn’t matter. Regardless of how much sleep I get, how little I drink or even what I eat in the morning, I’ll still feel like shit. I’ll still feel as hungover as if I downed an entire fifth of vodka the night before.

I’m not complaining. Dear God, I don’t want to be a complaining blogger. But, looking over the past two paragraphs, I think I am. Fuck. I didn’t want this post to turn out this way. I just wanted to talk about drinking and how fucked up my town is, that a dude can’t get something to drink in the middle of the night.

I need to end this on a high note. Two dudes walk into a bar. It’s after 1:00. The sign says closed and the two dudes walk home, sober as hell.

Fuck.