Let The Delusion Begin:

So this is my very first ever Blog post. Why am I doing this?

Wait, back up. I suppose the first question for anyone reading would be who is doing this, then “why”?

I’m Wayne Santos. I’m a writer.

I’ve been reading too many blogs by my still living literary idols and have decided to imitate them in the inane hope that this will somehow make me interesting too.

At the moment I live in Singapore. I’m not Singaporean though, I’m Filipino-Canadian, though I’m more Canadian than Filipino, since I can’t play the Bass guitar, don’t own any semi-automatic weapons that I break out as a conversation piece at dinner parties, and I pronounce “Fish” with “F”, not a “P”.

I’m hoping very soon to stop being a writer and start being a Famous Writer, ’cause I’ve got a couple of books sitting around at a publisher who’s name I can’t mention, and while the guy who actually received the books seems pretty hot to print them, his higher ups (Who I have been psychotically tracking via their own blogs on the ‘net, just to see if they’re really that busy…) have been unable to reach a decision as to what to do with my books.

Apparently they haven’t known what to do about them for over a year.

Does this happen to Neil Gaiman? William Gibson? Nooooo… they just happily blog away while people throw money at their feet for left over ideas they throw at the masses from the dinner table. Then again they’re geniuses, I am not. I keep forgetting about that part.

Other stuff that might be of relevance:

I have a cat. His name is Zero. He is beautiful and stupid and has a tendency to fall off objects or bump into things. Once he accidently got drain pipe cleaner in his left eye and ran around the house meowing like the apocalypse had come knocking and had decided he was going to buy all the apocalypse products none of the other homeowners wanted.

I have a girlfriend. I won’t mention her name here, but she’s an incredibly talented artist and one of these days I’ll have to buy her a fur coat when I’m not starving to death.

Oh yeah, in true, typical, writer’s fashion, I’m starving to death. Well, to be honest, I’ve only got a few dollars in the bank, am currently unemployed, and am very nearly an illegal alien.

In Singapore of all places.

Bits and pieces of this will make themselves known over the years, but for those curious readers who are actually checking this out, RIGHT THIS MINUTE, you can all tell yourselves, “Hey, I was reading Wayne Santos’ (Y’know, the famous novelist) blog before he even became famous!“

From The Actual News Department:

I should write about something that actually happened today. This is it. After a hiatus of a few years, I finally decided to submit short stories again. I sent one off to a Canadian anthology and got an answer that I wasn’t quite expecting. They told me that they liked the story mostly (NOTE FOR LITERARY HISTORIANS: THIS NEXT SENTENCE COULD BE *VERY* IMPORTANT IN YOUR ANNALS IF I’M FAMOUS), but that they wanted to make a few changes to it.

The story in questions is called The Ghost Girl. It’s about a girl who, not ironically at all, sees ghosts. I actually wrote this short story a few years ago, then turned around and based an entire novel off it, Broken Presences. That novel is one of the ones sitting with a publisher I’m not naming (It’ll all come out once the fame hits, promise…), and it also prompted me to write a few short stories based around the characters from both this initial short story and the novel that came of it.

Problem: They want to make Jen (My heroine) a lesbian.

There was much rapid blinking upon receiving this news.

It would rather break with several years worth of continuity that I’ve already established in all the other stories, and besides, Jen is categorically NOT a lesbian. Attractive women are to threatening her. Much as they are to me, but that’s a whole other load of neuroses… I think it’s something like Hemingway (Yes! I’m about to embark on literary sacrilige!) having “The Old Man & The Sea” read and receiving a comment like, “Man, why does he have to fish? I think this would be a much better story if he played golf, don’t you? It just scans better, the old man and the green, can’t you just hear it?”

At this point Hemingway breaks a bottle of Jack Daniels over the head of the offending commentator, but only after drinking it first.

Anyway, I think I just broke some rule for the size of a readable blog or something so I’ll sign off now and try and find out how I can stop being an illegal alien.