_____Here's my plan. I'm giving up on submitting items to literary agents and publishers. That's it. Twelve years of rejection, and enough's enough. I'm going to do a quick-line finish to my current trashy comic sci-fi novel. Meanwhile, weeks in advance before the actual typing, I'll be working on plans for one of the most heart-felt novels I've ever written before. It's going to be something very much in line with what Stephen King did with his break-out novella and what Stephanie Meyer has been doing. But at the same time, it's going to be the sort of science fiction novel that hasn't been written for at least the past thirty years. You go into any bookstore, go online, go anywhere, and you'll be hard-pressed to find the same thematic subject matter. But I'm not going to tell you. No way am I going to let New York's publishers get wind of my novel-to-be and hire some hack to give it a quickie treatment. Nope, given its thirty-year absence from mainstream publishing, the subject matter of my next novel deserves a full and proper work done right. _____Here's a little background. The word WHATEVER just about sums up how I'm feeling about New York and the mainstream publishing industry. For goodness sakes, I've been submitting items to New York's publishing industry for twelve years now. The rejections have started to hurt recently, and a dude can only take so much. Take suggestions, listen to writers, attend writing conventions, attend writer's gatherings, submit, submit, and submit, there is nothing that I have not done to try to get published in the mainstream press. So, I'm giving up trying to get published through New York's publishing empires. Are you happy, New York? I'm in retreat. Twelve years of rejections, and you've won. I just won't submit anything to you anymore. With that region-locked, New Yorkers-only attitude of yours, good luck finding the next Stephen King, Stephanie Meyer or J.K. Rowling. In other words, I'm saying, WHATEVER. _____That doesn't mean I'm done with writing. A writer is never done. Twelve years of composing novels means that I have it down to a technology. Don't say "science," because science is more about discovery and theory than practice and skill. I won't submit to New York, but that doesn't mean New York is the only game in town. New York's publishing executives can't regulate who gets to sit down at a word-processing computer. In fact, given the garbage coming out of TOR that passed for sci-fi these past twenty years, maybe New York's execs ought to ban some of their own. Given the rise of self-publishing and the drastic closure of bookstores in New England, maybe the so-called amateurs are getting better while the published professionals are getting worse. I'm not done and won't be in this life, writing being the ability to craft lives on paper. Who the Hell would give up that kind of power? Okay, I'll probably be back tomorrow.