So I've made another post to my LGBT historical blog.

In this entry: Sappho versus Cthulu!.

Okay. So not really. Actually I devote about four paragraphs to the bitter rivalry between H.P. Lovecraft and Elsa "Sappho" Gidlow over morals, aesthetics, and control of an amateur journalist's association.

But you have to admit, Sappho versus Cthulu! is the kind of thing that piques people's interest. I feel fairly confident that at least half of you would go to see a movie entitled Sappho versus Cthulu!

Besides, it does answer that age-old question, "Who will be eaten first?" Given Lovecraft's hatred for Gidlow, I suspect he would've put her at the top of Cthulu's to-chew list.

So I'm playing Phoenix Wright again, and I'm wondering if in the entire history of modern law enforcement, has there ever really been one of those Sherlock Holmes/Perry Mason/Phoenix Wright-style murders...?

You know the ones - where some genius murderer creates an absurdly elaborate plot to pin the murder on someone else with disguises, fake planted evidence, and fake scenes staged to fool innocent bystanders into thinking they saw the dupe kill the victim?

I've heard of murderers using gloves, and police faking evidence when they were sure they had the guilty party, and things like that, but never the real mastermind murder that's been with us in fiction since Sherlock Holmes.

I tried googling and came up with nothing but movies, TV shows, novels, and video games. I'm just curious because it happens constantly in fiction, but I've never once heard of a real-life case, and I wonder if anyone ever really did try it and got caught.

So we had a quiet, little party today. We played Gloom and talked, to celebrate the completion of my novel.

For the record, I'm already sixteen pages into another novel, first draft. It's going to be a lot funnier. I'm having a lot of fun writing it.

So I've got a confession to make - I put the novel through one more edit, and then the first fifty pages through yet another one.

I call this a confession because I'm pretty sure most of my friends have given up on my ever sending this thing for publication. And I had declared it finished.

However, I feel fairly safe making this admission today, because I sent it out to Arsenal Pulp Press - the largest publisher of LGBT fiction in Canada - for publication about an hour ago.

That makes it real, though it hasn't quite hit me yet.

Arsenal Pulp Press says they sometimes take as long as six months to get back, though they always get back. In the meantime, I've had a lot of other novel ideas in the queue - six to be precise - and I want to get them on paper before they're lost. So I'm going to set myself six consecutive NaNoWriMos, starting in December. I start the planning tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I want to celebrate. Anyone up for a café or restaurant this weekend...?

So it's Remembrance Day - a day to remember all the naive kids who went off to the meat-grinder of two World Wars, without any real idea what they were getting into.

In the US, it's a shopping holiday. In Canada, it's a solemn event. We wear poppies and gather at cenotaphs to remember the dead, and talk about trenches and No Man's Land fenced off with barbed wire, and a generation of kids whose fathers didn't come home. Increasingly we talk about the things in World War II that can't be forgotten either - Nazism and the Holocaust first and foremost.

True remembrance can only serve the cause of peace. Maybe that's why this country was so committed in those two wars, and so reluctant since to go to war - maybe this yearly ceremony is part of that reluctance.

This year I'm thinking especially of the gay veterans never compensated for what they went through, in two World Wars. I hope the apology I proposed goes somewhere, but it seems every reporter wants to talk to a World War II vet over this, and it's too late for most of the victims in that war.

The apology should still come, though, while there's still a few around to hear it.

Anyone worried about the religious right in the US (or elsewhere) - or who's ever wondered where America's frequently evil foreign policy comes from - should read this old interview with Jeff Sharlet, the journalist who's done more than anyone to expose the activities of a Christian fundamentalist group known simply as The Family.

These are the same people who are responsible for the extreme anti-gay initiatives in Uganda right now.

It makes me wonder if Stephen Harper has connections to the family. Anyone who doesn't think Christianism hasn't deeply infiltrated Canada should read this article I put up here last year.

This is stuff everyone should know.

We're looking for an English teacher willing to trek out to a distant town called Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu - "Saint John on Richelieu." So far no takers.

I've been on the internet too long. My first thought was, That's a crack slash pairing if I've heard one.

After all, everyone knows Saint John was an uke.

I've recovering from the mad rush to send out stuff for the CBC literary awards. I'm behind schedule for sending out my novel - I've prepared half the required materials already and reformatted my manuscript.

Tonight I'm finally going to tackle that "marketing analysis" thing this publishing house wants.

On a happier note - Happy Samhain to those who celebrate it, and Happy Halloween to everybody else.

I didn't have the energy to go to the Witch's Ball last night. Naturally, everything's happening this week.

Yesterday I ran into Brian Mulroney, former prime minister of Canada. I recognized him immediately - not just his face but that distinctive baritone of his.

Not that that's surprising. Mulroney calls Montreal home, and the business district where I work is the water that fish swims in. He was getting his shoes shined in the Place Ville-Marie, which is a very Mulroney thing to have been doing.

But it's a strange thing to see a man you've hated since you were twelve, but never met up close.

( A bit long, so I'll cut to save friends' pages )

Anyway, the whole reason I was at the Place Ville-Marie was to mail off my short story in poetry. I feel a lot more confident about the poetry than the short story.

I had no time this month, thanks to all the overtime - the third October in a row where the universe conspired against my preparing anything for the awards.

But now I can go back to preparing my novel to send out.

So I really have to send off my short story and poetry on Wednesday - Thursday at the latest - for the CBC literary awards. The short story needs a lot of work especially, though the poetry's almost ready to go.

And I'm still working on all the material that has to accompany my novel to the publisher.

So naturally my brain shuts off tonight, and I'm internet-surfing. And not even useful, good stuff like answering e-mail, or reading well-thought-out blogs and articles.

Tonight's interesting fact: the makers of the Silent Hill horror franchise are not only returning to psychological horror, they claim their new game builds a psychological profile of you and adjusts the story and characters accordingly, presumably for maximum horror.

(Frightening and not-worksafe trailer here.)

I'll believe it when I see it. But if they do pull it off, it'll be the scariest in the series, if for no other reason than that it'll mean something as low-tech as the PS2 can understand a human being and react accordingly. This is Turing test material right here.

First off, Happy Birthday to montrealais. I'll be at work all day and so I might not see you. I hope it's a good one ^_^

The weather's been really nice lately, at least for me. I'm sure I'll hate it when it gets really cold. But for now the leaves have turned, and it's been raining. I love how the city looks in the rain. And lately I've been going to work at dawn, so when it is sunny I get all the dawn colours.

This morning, there was a cacophony of dozens of birds of different types, singing in the same tree. It was louder than any of the other city sounds in morning. If that's how they mark territory, it must have been an avian World War I.

So yeah. Almost all my waking hours are work and writing now, though I've still had a chance to read The Iliad in bits and pieces, going to and from work. I can't believe it's taken me so long to start this wonderful book.

At long last, I have the first of my sections on early gay poets on my blog. This is the first of a few articles, and deals with two poets who might have been gay. There won't be any might in the next article, which'll deal with Elsa Gidlow.

Wow, I'm a real post-bunny this week. Three posts in three days. I'm still not on speaking terms with FaceBook, however.

I'm learning a lot about formating cover letters and manuscripts - I bought a book on the subject put out by editors and publishers on what they want to see and not see. A lot of the information seems slanted toward working through an agent and houses that only accept solicited manuscripts, but I think it's adaptable.

But my chosen publishing house also wants a "marketing analysis," presumably how to sell it. None of my references are any help. I might just ask the salespeople at work.

Breaking radio silence again here. I've been completely wiped out lately, because all the extra work hours - I did eight days out of nine, ending Friday, and collapsing asleep most nights. The last two days I was scarcely online.

I did visit jenjoou, but mostly I've been in bed sleeping, working on a draft for the CBC Literary Awards, and occasionally playing The Sims 2 for PS2. I beat that game.

(I can understand the appeal of the game - it strikes just the right balance between realism and wish fulfilment. Beautiful people you can dress like dolls, in beautiful houses you can renovate for cheap so long as they are not actually on fire.

I also like how the grim reaper can be bribed - he gets really excited over receiving $100 earth dollars* - as a system for getting your Sims back to life. But it's also depressing how quickly your friends forget you in that game. I mean, a few days away, and they forget who you are.)

Today, I'm going to finish a draft for my short story for the awards. Then I'm going to pull out my usable poetry and see what I can refurbish for the said contest. I'm determined to enter two categories this year. If nothing else, it'll increase my chances.

*Bonus internet points for those who get the reference

So, yeah. I finished the novel about an hour ago. Not as in, pending another edit. Done done.

I'm reading up on general advice for submission. I'm going to keep studying up on it for another week or so. I've already selected a publisher for my first attempt, and gotten their submission guidelines.

That's the reason for my near-total radio silence this last little while on LJ, and the total deadness of my Facebook account. Well that, and all the overtime. I've worked six of the last seven days, and I've been bringing my laptop into work to keep up with the editing.

It's a little scary. But mostly I'm too busy to think much about it. I'll be full and more-than-full-time at work for the foreseeable future, I have a short story and poems to prepare for the CBC literary contest. Somewhere in there I'd like to sleep, too.

I hope everyone's doing well. I'm getting slowly caught up on friends' pages, I promise.

So I said I'd review some of the books I've been reading.

I finally got around to Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur this summer. I chickened out and read it in translation - I've got some Old French on my to-read pile, but I wasn't ready to tackle something as long as Malory yet.

For those of you who don't know, Le Morte D'Arthur is the version of King Arthur that inspired pretty much every movie, TV show, novel, and video game you've ever seen. It's not the oldest version - people had been telling King Arthur stories for about 1000 years before Malory - but it's been the most influential.

I've read most of the older surviving stories now - The Mabinogion, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Wace, countless French romances, Chrétien de Troyes, among others. So I have a pretty good idea of what Malory put in and what he took out.

( Cut for length - no spoilers for anyone who grew up in Western Civilization, unless they were raised in a Skinner box )

I'm on a semi-regular schedule at work this week, so I'm going to try and get caught up on my writing. My goal was to finish today. That's not going to happen, but if I hurry I can maybe make it tomorrow.

Just thought I'd pop in to wish a Happy Mabon to those who celebrate it, and a happy spring equinox to those who don't :)

I actually had today off as a religious holiday. No static on that. As bad as my workplace has been lately, there are still some things that make it head and shoulders over any other job I've had.

So on to happier posts.

I've been editing a lot lately. My novel should be finished by a week Tuesday. For real. I'm already looking into modes of submission for major publishers.

I've also been reading a lot lately, in my long commutes to and from English placement tests (I'm full-time at work lately. I've got a lot I want to review here, but we'll start with the novel I just finished, Rick Riordan's The Lightning Thief, the only recent young adult fiction I've read besides Harry Potter.

And in fact it's rather similar to The Philosopher's Stone.

( Review continues, with minor spoilers but nothing major. )

I'm always so critical in my reviews. I will say this, though. Among the many things he pillaged from Rowling, he got much of the sheer addictiveness and pleasure. I read it faster than Philosopher's Stone, and it's almost four times as long.

And yes, I will be seeing the movie when it comes out in February, even though it's Chris Columbus and I can already see strange changes in a short trailer (Trailer here).

I've been quite silent this week. I'm working lots of extra hours, and have been on my feet a lot otherwise. There are currently five cats in my care, instead of the usual two. I had blisters for the first time in years. I marched in a second pride parade (Ottawa) this week with beblistered feet.

(Which was fun, in spite. The rain held off, and the crowd was better. And as montrealais points out, that one guy who's there every year with the big sign quoting Leviticus gets sadder and lonelier every year. I got to carry a flag.)

There was also a wonderful Pet Shop Boys concert. I was close enough to see Neil Tennant's white hair, but everyone was packed in so close in the pit that I dancing on tiptoes. But it was visually amazing. No one puts on a show like them -- amazing props, dancing, visuals. Of course, since most of my favourite musicians have the piano as their instrument of choice, dancing is a little impossible for them.

I haven't time for anything else, except writing. I'm trying to balance full-time writing with full-time work. I'm still on schedule for sending this monster of a novel out before the end of the month, which remains my goal.

(Though it means stuff like editing 19 pages - one-tenth of the novel - before I go to work, which I did this morning.)

Once I'm done the novel, I'll start sending it out to the big publishing houses first, and get to work on material for the CBC literary awards. I want to enter both their poetry and prose sections this year.

I've also been reading a lot as I move from place to place - Douglas Coupland, Émile Nelligan, Elsa Gidlow. But I'll have to save that for a future entry.

It's summer, and construction is in the air. In particularly, there are places in northeastern Verdun where the roads look like they've been turned over to the Silent Hill urban planning committee -- every day, the possible path through the labyrinth of deep gulches changes, and only one road ever takes me where I need to go.

Speaking of Silent Hill, I finished the first game in the series this week. Good, and very scary, but still not quite up to the standards of the second game.

For those who don't know, Silent Hill is the scariest work of fiction in any medium. Each game, some ordinary person is trapped in an empty city in an unspecified part of New England, looking for some lost person. The town is semi-aware, and every once in awhile the hero/ine falls out of the world and into its twisted dreams.

( Description of the series continues, not for the squeamish )

So I got H. P. Lovecraft's book of early essays, just so I could see what he wrote about Elsa Gidlow's and Roswell George Mill's journal of avant-garde poetry and gay liberation, started in 1917. As I predicted, he hated both the poetry and the gay stuff, and found it "artistic chaos characteristic of the late Oscar Wilde of none too fragrant memory."

Apparently the whole thing turned into a literary shouting match. Gidlow describes him as "Mr. Lovecraft with his morbid imitations of artists he seems not even able to understand." Lovecraft described her in turn as perpetuating "morbid imitations of morbid artists that nobody outside the asylum is able to understand."

Really, the next best thing to finding out that two of your favourite writers were close friends, collaborators, and readers of one another's work is to find out that they were bitter archenemies. Not that I imagined grim, moral, conservative Lovecraft to get along with a hippie lesbian poet from Montreal, but I didn't expect that depth of mutual loathing.

I am disappointed that Lovecraft refers to Gidlow as neither "cyclopean" nor "eldritch." Everything in Lovecraft got to be one or the other, if not both. He must've really hated her not to let her even be "eldritch." Every man, woman, child, and fish-dude in Lovecraft got to be "eldritch."

I've also been reading Émile Nelligan's journals and poetry this week. For those of you who've never heard of Nelligan, he's considered one of Quebec's greatest poets, if not the greatest, even though his career only spanned three years -- published at 16, insane at 19, which I suspect remains an Olympic world record for poets.

The onset on his schizophrenia is usually blamed on his having an English-speaking father and a French-speaking mother, and being unable to reconcile the two cultures. Apparently, it was a form of schizophrenia not yet in the DSM -- Type 6, the Poetical Type, triggered by bilingualism in the home.