Big Freshwater Gulp



As a blog post, more than a barchive, today, I’ll admit that I’m in the process (once again) of trying to secure an agent—a literary agent. Are frog’s feet lucky like rabbit’s feet? Frog legs should be lucky. What could be more lucky than a fish that grew legs?

Anyway, whatever science fiction superstition you can throw my way, please do it. I’m going to put my novels out again to see if someone can help me sell them to a publisher.

If that doesn’t work—if I get a load of rejections again—I’ll default to plan B and start pushing my screenplays through the various screenplay inlets (yes, that again too). Then we’ll have to use a different sort of superstition.

Sci-fi superstition could be like: repeat, “Beam me up Scotty,” while spinning around three times and alternately opening and closing a flip phone. Or maybe whisper, “It’s full of stars,” while banging on a black monolith with a bone. Or maybe shouting, “Moh-ah-deeb!” on the beach while crossing your fingers in front of you and doing a squat.

Whatever works. (A really professional Query Letter? No, that can’t be it. Don’t be silly.)

Screenwriter’s superstitions are easy. You just do the sci-fi superstitions only backwards, on the 13th day of the month, with every TV in your house playing something with Steven Spielberg’s or Alfred Hitchcock’s or Clint Eastwood’s influence on it.

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