Ritual rejection

I received word back yesterday, an email from the publisher Darkscribe Press, that my short fiction submission for an upcoming anthology has been rejected.

Thank you for submitting your short story for our consideration in the Unspeakable Horror: From the Shadows of the Closet anthology.  We gave “Nightmare on Valencia Street” a thorough read.

Our biggest concern with this is that the story is neither scary nor unnerving. This comes across as a straightforward coming-of-age tale with a dark twist versus horror.  You missed a golden opportunity with the Harvey Milk angle – you have the makings of a great queer ghost story centered around the mural of Mr. Milk that Johnny finds in the store and that you refer to in your footnote.  That said, we’d also recommend that you watch when shifting from one setting to another – you need more than a new paragraph to do so successfully without throwing the reader off.

At this time, we’re going to pass on this with our best wishes that your story finds a suitable home.

So one down, many more to go. I’m at Ritual Roasters on Valencia this morning, working on a new piece now, but will go back to ‘Nightmare’ and do some further editing and rewriting, before sending it out again.


Around the ‘hood

Yesterday as I was in a hurry to get home and avoid the impending rain, I was waiting for the 24-Divisidero at 18th and Castro.  A young man pushing a baby stroller was walking down Castro toward the bus shelter.  A young man wearing red tights, bright green shirt, and bright red hair.  (Not orange, red!)    Later, as I was riding the bus up the hill above the Castro, a young woman pulled the cable to get off at 21st Street.  I hadn’t noticed her, although the bus wasn’t crowded.  As she rose to leave the bus, my gaze went to her feet – or really her legs and feet.  She was wearing shiny black vinyl boots that came up over the knee, with at least a dozen buckles, and three inch platform heels.  With the goth makeup, she looked like Severin the depressed Dominatrix in Shortbus.

To top off the trend, as I was walking through the intersection of Castro and Market today, I overheard a stout woman, at least in her forties, saying to her friend on her cell phone “Honey, I am going to get my nose pierced again.”   She was indeed walking in the direction of the The Gauntlet, the premier piercing  joint around.

Point Break Live!

For one of his birthday presents last week, I took my husband to an off-off-Broadway stage production.  We both like small quirky productions and hadn’t been in a while.  The production was “Point Break Live!” which recently debuted in San Francisco’s Potrero Theatre, across from the Buena Vista School on Potrero Avenue.  In what I suspect was a former auto-body shop.  It’s a theatrical adaptation of the DVD cult hit Point Break, which ‘starred’  Keanu Reeves, Patrick Swazey and Gary Busey.  It’s part action film, part performance art parody.  Yes, I think that’s what it’s striving for, to be a parody of performance art, using the vehicle of an audience participation, stage adaptation, of a cult-hit action film with wooden actors.  As you can see, it was fantastic!  No really, it was.

In addition to a General Admission seat, you buy a disposable rain ponch for $1 when you come into the theatre.  That’s to protect your clothes (should you have been foolish enough to have worn nice ones), cell phones and cameras from the spray of red-dye#2 (blood), water (50-year storm surf), and Coppertone (oops – we got slimed anyway!).

The play starts with the casting of the lead role, Johnny Utah.  I had thought that this would require a lot of cajoling to get audience members interested in taking part and reading all their lines from cue cards.  Au contraire, no fewer than fifteen young men and one woman hopped up on stage to try out for the role.  After some trials,  Sam Sheldon was selected for the evening’s performance and he was taken backstage for wardrobe.

How, you ask yourself, could a stage play re-enact the surfing, the sky-diving, that are integral to Point Break?  How could a lowly newbie from the audience render believable the performance of Johnny Utah, played with such emotive force in the movie by young Keanu?  Well, you will have to find out for yourself.  Suffice it to say it involves campy, fun stage props and suspension harnesses.  Some photos are included but my pathetic Blackberry Pearl camera lens really was not up to the task.

All said and done, we had a great time and highly recommend Point Break Live!

YouTube official teaser:

The thrill is back!

Ahh, that thrill is back in my life!  For the first time in weeks, since my old shredder, that measly 8-page + staples pile of sh*t, gave out at the peak of need during tax prep season, I am enjoying the tingle that goes with shredding documents.  I feel like a veritable Ollie North.  I should be doing this at midnight, in the dark, slipping the remains of tax season and credit card junk mail through the powerful maw of my new 12-page + paper clips(!)  mailmate cross-cut chipper.

Runway spinoffs and more

Buzzsugar reports that Lifetime, still in litigation over its recent swipe of Project Runway from NBC/Bravo, is already planning not one but two spinoff shows, to air at nearly the same time in the Fall that Project Runway starts up in its new home.

As if that’s not enough news,  Bravo has another season of Project Runway to air before the move, should it occur.  So, there’s lots in store for Runway fans this year.  Let’s hope it all doesn’t just lead to a bad case of Runway-fatigue.  In which case I will just head over to Mood fabrics and grab me a bolt of the blue.

Judges for the Lifetime version are not completely settled.  We do know that Michael Kors is “in” as a judge.  My favorite fashion queen, Nina Garcia, recently departed from her post as head of Elle, a Runway sponsor, may be in or may be out.

This will come back to haunt me…

In San Francisco one dares not complain when the sun shines and it actualy feels warm.  So this is surely going to come back to haunt me.  The last two days ago I kept having to move around the house to stay in the sunlight, because the house was, as usual, too cold.  This morning I find I have to move out of the sunlight because its too hot.

Wah!  I just know that by 4pm this afternoon a cold finger of fog will be pointing at me from Twin Peaks, egged on by a skin-slicing wind.