Crossed several things off my to-do list today. The first was grocery shopping. We now have bananas, grapes, oranges, tomatoes and avocados. And cheddar cheese, and non-fat milk, and Wallaby Farms yogurt in raspberry, peach and maple flavors. (Yes, they make maple yogurt. It's yummy.) So, we have all the necessities of life, here.

According to William Gibson, the banana may become extinct in the next decade. Because they're clones, they lack the necessary genetic diversity and evolutionary nimbleness to keep ahead of parasitic banana fungus.

The pedant in me feels compelled to note that just because bananas are clones doesn't mean they can't evolve at all. Occasional mutations must arise from time to time in the propagation of bananas, and those are as subject to natural selection as any other type of variation. (Though, when you have a plant that is as dependent on human cultivation for its existence as the banana, you're probably never really talking about natural selection.) But it's an inefficient way of generating variation for natural selection, which is why sex was invented.

That does make me wonder if the banana might yet be saved if growers adopted a conscientious program of applying mutagen to their bananas and selecting only the most fungus-resistant strains. That idea probably would not go over well with the fruit-eating public, though.

But instead of ranting about the fuss over genetically-modified foods, let's get back to my to-do list. The second thing I did was finish up a draft of a proposal that I'm putting together with some of my classmates from a tech-writing class I took last semester. I sent it out to my classmates for comments, with a long list of questions like, "Does this part have too much detail? Is this part clear?" My classmates in this class are really smart people, but they have a distressing tendency to respond with things like, "Yeah, looks good," when I give them a draft and ask for comments. So, I'm hoping that asking more specific questions will get me more feedback.

I guess writers' groups and Clarion and so forth have spoiled me. When I write a piece of fiction, I can generally count on getting detailed and well-reasoned feedback from a group of peers. Perhaps I should put together a technical writing critique group.

The third item on my list was printing out fresh copies of three stories that were rejected over the course of December and January, picking new markets for them to go to, and getting the submission packets assembled with cover letters and SASE's and so on. I'd been lax on doing this: my usual rule is that a story goes back in the mail to the next market within 72 hours of being rejected, but I let these pile up for assorted reasons. So, off they go.

There's been some discussion lately in various journals that I read about whether the publishing industry sucks or not, inspired mostly by Columbine's pair of entries here and here. Marissa's thoughts in response are very much worth reading. (Though my first thoughts on reading them were: "400 rejections! I'd better get those stories in the mail -- I've got a lot of catching up to do!")

Certainly, there are plenty of reasons to feel negative about publishing. I certainly know of plenty of good work that's been rejected because it was too experimental or too slow-starting or just because the editor "didn't fall in love with it" or it "didn't suit their needs." And the process of selling a novel in this day and age is complicated enough that I often give thanks that I am a short story writer who gets to work within the relatively straightforward slushpile process of the magazines. (But still, dismal as all the business of agents and queries and three-chapters-plus-outline is, it hasn't blunted my ambition to someday write and sell a book.)

But, on the other hand, there are lots of reasons to feel good about publishing. A few months back, in a semi-despondent mood, I grumbled to my paper journal that my Clarion class was packed with talented writers, many more talented than I, and I didn't understand why none of them had made any major sales.

Now, just a few months later, two of my classmates have made sales to Asimov's and F&SF. And I've made my own first sale. And a number of other writers I know have been making sales. And I actually think that I can say, without being insanely over-optimistic, that two or three people that I know may sell their first novels before the year is out.

So, from where I sit, it's hard for me to feel too down on publishing right now. But who knows? Maybe when I've accumulated another few score rejections, I'll feel differently.