Facebook Selfishness

“I’m still numb,” the Facebook post reads.  “Sitting in the hospital, I can’t imagine this happened to me.”

Followed by a comment of “OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED?!?! ARE U YOU ALL RIGHT?!?”

Followed by me wanting to punch someone in the face.

It’s a small mercy, I admit, but if I see someone posting incomplete snippets about some major tragedy in their lives, I click on their name and see what else they’ve posted recently.  Because, you know, if someone’s undergoing a mind-shattering trauma, the last thing they probably want to do is bring lazy sons-of-bitches up to date on something they posted about half an hour ago.

Yet I always see that flood of slothful, inconsiderate ignorance, and the only reason I don’t start a flame war with these morons is because, well, “moderating a flame war between two friends in the middle of a mind-shattering trauma” is probably actually the last thing they want to do.  But still.  These people are oafs, selfishly shouldering their way to the front of the line and saying, “Yeah, I could click something to find out what’s going on, but instead why don’t I suck up more of your time and energy with demands for news you’ve already given?”

How self-centered do you have to be, really?  Not to see what else they’ve been up to, and find the news so easily discovered?  Do you think you’re actually being a friend by offering not support, but a redundant demand?

What dicks.  I hate them with a tabasco-fiery passion.  Unless I click through to that poor suffering bastard’s Timeline to discover that no, they’ve given no other updates and are just being annoyingly cryptic about the nature of this hospital stay, in which case I’ll ask, “OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED?!?! ARE U YOU ALL RIGHT?!?”

Cross-posted from Ferrett's Real Blog.

Four Years After Clarion: The Work Done And The Results Achieved

So four years ago, I graduated the Clarion Writers’ Workshop – six weeks of intensive training that broke a decade-long stagnancy, and allowed me to “go pro” when it came to writing.

But writing?  It’s a lot of work.  I used to do monthly round-ups of everything that I submitted/wrote/got rejected, but it was a lot of work and was usually boring.  But since it’s been four years, let’s tally up everything that I’ve done:

In four years of writing, I have:

Started 62 stories (or, started one new story every 3.4 weeks).

Finished the first drafts of 57 stories (or, finished 91.9% of all stories I started writing).

Polished and submitted 39 stories (or, gotten to a final draft of 62.9% of all stories I started writing – which is a misleading number, since I’ll complete some percentage of the stories I started during this four-year period – it can take me up to two years to get to final draft).

Sold 25 stories (three of which were to markets that imploded, or sold 40.3% of all stories I started writing).

Retired 6 stories, deciding I wouldn’t be happy at this point if someone actually bought them.

Received 219 short story rejections, or an average of 1.05 rejections every week.

Each published story was rejected by an average of 6.42 markets before it found a home.

Written 1 complete novel.  Which is currently making the rounds among too many agents. (Will share data once it’s accepted or retired.)

Been nominated for 1 major award.  Reprinted in 0 best-of year’s end collections.

Made infinite supportive writer friends at conventions and on Twitter.  Thank you all.

Based on a calculated life average of 75.44, I intend to keep at this for 32.24 years.

(If any of this impresses you, then I urge you; please donate to my Clarion Blog-A-Thon.)

Cross-posted from Ferrett's Real Blog.