Fridge Logic:

Something that makes sense at the time, but when you go to get a snack you open the fridge door and suddenly realize that it didn’t make that much sense after all. (Or it didn’t make sense, and then you realize that it did). I’d link to TV Tropes, but I’d like to go to bed within the hour…

Anyway. So, I’ve gotten some reviews for First Flight; some are great (Serena Yates!) and some are…less so. (Getting the plot that’s outlined in the blurb is apparently not enough for some people.) Some of the other reviews (they liked it, but…) have been nudging at me for the last few days, so I did something about it. I start with a tangent, but stick with it: I promise I have a point.

I like to draw. I’m not all that great at it, but I’ve amused myself and at least one other person – as well as having inspired someone (because, as they said, they could do better than my paltry doodles). This is not a bid for sympathy, but rather the set-up for my next statement, which is this:

If I have to label the parts of the drawing, then it’s a pretty crappy drawing.

I hold a similar attitude toward my own stories: if I have to write a paragraph or more explaining the story, then I’ve pretty much failed and need to start over. That said, what follows is more or less an explanation. It’s most definitely justification, as well, but I’m more comfortable with justifying things. (Friends and family know that they can count on me to justify nearly anything, heh.)

This is in response to a reviewer on Goodreads, who said that there are some big/important issues that are glossed over in First Flight; it’s also something of a response to another that said First Flight was “unrealistic”.

Nota bene: I am not writing this out of anger or a desire to make the reviewers see the errors of their ways – quite the opposite (it’s hard to argue for realism when one of the main characters is a guy who used to be a bird). I know there are some places where I basically painted some vaguely building-like objects on a piece of canvas and nailed it up over a hole in the background, then pointed off into the distance and said ‘Look! Something shiny!’ in hopes people wouldn’t notice.

Short version is: yeah, there are some holes, and here’s why I left ’em instead of trying to explain in-story. Cut for mild spoilers, just in case.

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Ah! The Cover Letter, My Mortal Enemy.

And for once I’m not having a fit because I have no idea what the editor wants in the letter. No, this time, I’m waffling because I really want to say something about Phil and his speech patterns.

I know that, generally speaking, it’s considered a really bad sign to talk about the story in the cover letter except in the most basic of terms. (Unless the guidelines say otherwise, natch.) And with the exception of Amby, I haven’t done that — and I don’t even know if Amby counts, since all I did was include the URL for the research I did.

I love Benny and Phil, and I know that using Phil’s POV can work against me. However, it’s not as if the use of a protagonist who is intelligent but not polished/a product of an education system and whose English skills would (in this day and age) lead to a Slingerland screening test does not have literary precedent. I’m not claiming that I’m on par with Mark Twain, but I am saying that Tom Sawyer’s not exactly an Oxford grad student.

Ugh, I should know better than to try writing cover letters late at night… I just need to hurry up and figure out what (if anything) I’m going to say so I can get my stories sent off before the deadlines!

Well, they finally did it.

TruTV has finally intrigued me enough that I may actually break down and watch an episode of Operation Repo. I will probably have to watch it with the volume turned all the way down, though — not a fan of people shouting at one another.

What’s so interesting that I’ll voluntarily subject myself to dumb “reality” TV? The previews for Monday’s show have scenes of a sub man and a Domme on a balcony. The man is on his knees, and she’s got control of him… It’s just an interesting thing to see on TV, particularly outside of a comedic setting.

Yes, this is how my brain works.

No, I can’t help it.

So I’ve gotten some work done on a story I’ve been working on that features what is essentially a doll turning into a living human. I’m hung up on whether it’s important to mention him learning about being hungry, thirsty, having to pee, that kind of thing, or if I should just skip it and go on.