Note to Self

When pitching an idea to an editor at DC imprint, mentioning a supporting character who could conceivably be perceived as a Superman analogue having a monogamous, loving homosexual relationship with a character that might bear some passing resemblance to Jimmy Olsen is probably not a good idea.

In my defence, the editor really liked the pitch. So much that he sent it to the higher-ups, who were less impressed. It took them all of 15 seconds to come back with the thumbs down. In retrospect, I'm not really sure what I (or the editor) was thinking...

But he really did like it--was more enthusiastic about it than the one that's moving to the next phase of development, and even advised me not to let the rejected idea go but continue shopping it around to other publishers. Which was quite nice of him, I thought.

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In other news, I feel like crap. Not the normal crap I feel, but a kind of mutated supercrap. On the verge of throwing up all day, back's tweaking in just the kind of way that generally ends up with me spending four hours in an emergency room waiting for a demerol shot, and if I had the right powertools, I'd probably have cut my head off shortly after the snow started falling this afternoon.

I hope I'm sick, because if this is the new normal...well, it can't be. It just can't be.

A