These things happen -

See postscript for loose image relevance. This gentleman and his harvest also reminded me of an apt Chinese proverb: That the birds of worry fly about your head you cannot help. That they make nests in your hair, this you can prevent.

- and I'm better at digesting them than I used to be. When my first MS title was appropriated by someone else under less-than-sunlit circumstances, I fumed. I well understand that titles aren't protected, but after finding a snappy word that captured the essence of my story, checking various places online to make sure it hadn't been used (recently), it was disheartening to be back to nothing on the title page before 'by'. And the interloper was a debut author whose agent coincidentally ( I must assume) had my MS which she'd requested in its entirety and had been sitting on without communicating yay-or-nay nor even responding to my few courteous follow-ups for over 6 months. Black Hole of Calcutta meet Salt in the Wound.

Of course, even once you've found a monikker you love, your agent or editor might despise it. Coincidences of awful duplicate timing do occur, but- demmit!- that's not the point, because I'm talking about the special self-pity of feeling ripped off by people who don't know I'm alive!

And it's happened again. Two days ago, a close (and brave) pal sent me an e-mail with a link to a new, bona fide entertainment entity using the same name as my latest, almost-done project. Sure, if I'd had already had my work sold and circulating, no one would've had the opportunity to use MY TITLE for their current project, and that's my fault. My artist-partner and I are tantalizingly close to having a portfolio package to share in the next month or two, but that's not even also-ran status really. As it turns out, the latest copycat is another SF/F concept, like what I'm developing. It's a different-enough premise, but it's already a fully-fledged interactive online animated series which has posted 23 of 130 splashy episodes to-come. It's no puny, stale graphic novel, oh no. Apparently today, that fixed-frame jive is the province of only osteoporotic Luddites like me. But truthfully, I'd already been concerned after noticing that fantasy juggernaut Neil Gaiman has an emerging film project from his previous book that's got a close name, too. Anyway, I was happy around a year ago when I found the name basically wide-open for use. Having failed to capitalize on it, those syllables are off to dance with better prospects who have cooler duds and their own cars.

Practically, my losses include the use of a related domain that I reserved, but thankfully, hadn't built yet. The online placeholder was cheap, but I'm grateful for more than just that. The premise is still good. The characters and storylines are still good. The artwork's still good. All the fundamentals are there, and this creative gig is about execution as well as luck. But only one of those aspects do I control. So, unlike the lousy rock bands who spend their hazy hours arguing over names and T-shirt logos rather than practicing, I just have to keep producing, let the ideas start percolating again and see what new identity pops up.

Also, due to our casual discussion here of daily word quotas in WOM's comments, I have made a personal pledge and have been faithfully tallying. Therefore, I'm 3000-ish words along in a new story draft for this now-anonymous concept, much further than if I hadn't been inspired and encouraged by you, my pace being a Graham Greene-y saunter without the high quality, of course. So, what I most appreciate in this situation is that I have much more to offer a publisher than just a title. I've only really lost one word. I'm a writer. I ought to have surplus.

P.S. However sanguine I thought I was feeling, to my surprise, subterranean angst burbles. The evidence came during my therapeutic pie-baking as I failed to dust the apple slices with nutmeg and used red pepper instead.