Post by rockefeller on Jan 23, 2019 19:41:32 GMT
Wow, that's a seriously comprehensive list of publishing credits. Goes all the way back to 2007. Rocks is impressed. Not so much with the credits themselves per se, but with all the trouble this VC's gone to to record and compile them. All Rocks (who only subs as an excuse to reread some trunk story anyway) ever puts in his cover letters is something to the effect, "I think I've got a bunch of shit published in a bunch of places, a few of which might've even paid. Thanks for your time and consideration." So this VC's enumerating every score by date and, if applicable, accolade and publisher, reflects serious organization and effort. Has his Wiki page pretty much ready.
So yeah, send whatever it was up. What's not to like. Clearly this writer has skilz.
Ha. Rocks is just kidding. Not about the skills, but about implying his maybe not having read it, and deferring instead to the author's CV. Because Rocks did read it. Found it well penned. There's some nice description and credible characters. The voice is solid, but with a bit too much UK lilt for the setting maybe. It's the sort of prose Rocks can read pretty fast before he's actually skimming, and the sort of story that seems to have discovered itself on the fly. It casts about well, but, still, seems to cast about. To summarize, Cliff ignores warning signs and gets eaten by a tribe of nasty miniature folk (Littlefoot?) living in some golf club's dunes. Neil spends most of the narrative wondering what happened to and looking for Cliff. Neil's loser kid's in Russia (to Rocks, the most interesting bit) on moratorium, and regularly calls home for $. But this conflict never really goes anywhere. Though it does serve to distract Neil while Cliff is being eaten. So even though the writing is competent, at times downright beautiful, the whole thing moves along too slowly for old Rockslide's ADD attention span. He got it. Cliff has disappeared. Something bad has happened to Cliff. Where the fuck is Cliff. Neil is worried sick about Cliff. Cliff is nowhere to be found. Luckily, some drunk spills the beans in the 19th hole's bar re the eight-inch tall 'pygmies' living in the dunes (that ate his dog). But which was probably unnecessary since Neil discovers them all on his own and gets eaten too. The end.
This vetting thing's all so subjective. A worthy effort (despite lame title). Not quite Monkey fodder.
So yeah, send whatever it was up. What's not to like. Clearly this writer has skilz.
Ha. Rocks is just kidding. Not about the skills, but about implying his maybe not having read it, and deferring instead to the author's CV. Because Rocks did read it. Found it well penned. There's some nice description and credible characters. The voice is solid, but with a bit too much UK lilt for the setting maybe. It's the sort of prose Rocks can read pretty fast before he's actually skimming, and the sort of story that seems to have discovered itself on the fly. It casts about well, but, still, seems to cast about. To summarize, Cliff ignores warning signs and gets eaten by a tribe of nasty miniature folk (Littlefoot?) living in some golf club's dunes. Neil spends most of the narrative wondering what happened to and looking for Cliff. Neil's loser kid's in Russia (to Rocks, the most interesting bit) on moratorium, and regularly calls home for $. But this conflict never really goes anywhere. Though it does serve to distract Neil while Cliff is being eaten. So even though the writing is competent, at times downright beautiful, the whole thing moves along too slowly for old Rockslide's ADD attention span. He got it. Cliff has disappeared. Something bad has happened to Cliff. Where the fuck is Cliff. Neil is worried sick about Cliff. Cliff is nowhere to be found. Luckily, some drunk spills the beans in the 19th hole's bar re the eight-inch tall 'pygmies' living in the dunes (that ate his dog). But which was probably unnecessary since Neil discovers them all on his own and gets eaten too. The end.
This vetting thing's all so subjective. A worthy effort (despite lame title). Not quite Monkey fodder.
