To be a rock and not to roll

(No, this isn’t another music post. Unless you’d like it to be.)

I got a call from the “Power of Ten” casting crew again, wanting a longer audition tape. When I even mention this to my family, they fall apart. They say that this must be a scam, for the game show could not POSSIBLY be REAL. Their rep said I looked photogenic in my photo (well, that DOES make me a bit suspicious, but consider that this is a Drew Carey-produced and hosted show) and that they were looking forward to my audition tape. Hubby says he can’t and won’t go with me, that it’s probably a trick and I’ll be kidnapped and locked in a basement by the tricksters until I die, that it could be a makeover show or a torture show where you’re stuck on an island. (And I thought *I* was the paranoid one in this marriage.) Mama says I might have a seizure or a low blood sugar event or one of those ocular migraines, that I could panic and collapse, that I could “never go up there and DO that,” that everyone here would die as soon as I left and it would be my fault, etc. *sigh*

Now, they DO have some reason for being this way. I did have health problems for many years, and I used to have trouble sometimes when I tried to travel alone. Still, I think they’re being crazy. It would be fun to be on the show, whether I won any money or not. Sending in the tape doesn’t mean you WILL be picked, either. I don’t THINK I would make a mess of things. And I do have a cousin who travels frequently and who would probably agree to go with me (you get to take one companion.)

Am I being crazy? Or are they?

Here’s a link to the show to prove that it exists. Now, that doesn’t mean that the people who called me (three times now in the process of elimination) are really FROM that show or its production company, but why would anyone want to pull an elaborate stunt on ME, anyway? I don’t have any money. I’m not famous. If I disappeared, the world would just say, “So?” Surely this isn’t a scam of some type. My *entire* family and circle of “intimates” seems to suspect this so highly that I begin to doubt myself once again.

# # #>
Time: That which tries to keep everything from happening at once. Schedules: Tools to keep anything from happening at all.

Getting tired of waiting for the results of various contests. The Writers’ League of Texas had a contest that was supposed to have been judged and announced in May, but now they’re saying June. I entered “The Zap Palace,” my illness essay/memoir, in that contest. Was hoping to get some kind of feedback from them (because this is one of those contests with score sheets that you get returned to you in exchange for your entry fee), and there’s still no mention of the winner. They even moved the entry deadline back a month in March, possibly because mine might’ve been the only entry they’d gotten–maybe the contest wasn’t publicized enough. Anyway, that one is in limbo. Also an RWA chapter contest that I entered has not been heard from.

It’s tough to be a rock and not to roll.

There *is* that Southwestern MWA conference coming up over the 15th-16th. But really, all I’m going to get to do is sit and listen, and do my pitch to an editor and an agent. I *will* get to see Jerrilyn Farmer, and I enjoy her books, so I suppose that’s good. Still, I can’t get very excited. Now that I know more about how agents/editors really feel about these pitch sessions, I’m not really very jazzed about doing one. So they feel obligated to ask for a partial . . . so they get it in the mail, glance over it cursorily, and stuff it in the SASE. Big whoop. Doesn’t mean they were really interested in the first place, and now we’re $3 poorer after the postage.


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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