So today’s accomplishments:
* Wrote 1400 words of new novel. Initial drudge work turned into smooth sailing.
* Purchased, prepped, and grilled steak. Consumed steak. Mmm.
* Finished edits on short. Printed and resubmitted to one of the biggies. If one is to aim, aim high.
So will I reward myself for all this labor? Hell yes.
Away with you computer! Hie thee to a nunnery. I am off to spend quality time with the family and rot my brain with tv.
8100 words down to 6800 words. I would rather have run a marathon.
And yet it is done.
I celebrate with the drinking of alkaloid beverages.
Offsetting yesterday’s upbeat rejection, I got a form rejection today. Rejecting a story I quite liked, actually.
Sigh. This is why they (they being the published) tell you not to read anything into rejection letters. They are no more and no less than they seem. A rejection of that particular piece for that particular publication at that particular time.
Still. It blows.
Epic fail such as this leads me to examine the state of my writing. I must conclude I am:
1. Within inches of a wildly successful career involving awards I will collect like garden gnomes, OR
2. Submitting my work to the wrong publications, and I must therefore resign myself to posthumous accolades, OR
3. Not as good as I think I am
The empty shelf on my left screams #1.
Another nice rejection today for one of my flash pieces. I sent it on a lark and got a quick response. The friendliest bit:
Some micro-fic horror market it going to be very lucky to get this.
Hopefully not just blowing smoke up my rear portion. Regardless, a nice ego boost. Not an acceptance, but not a punch in the face either.
Did study technology allow him to shoot Jester below the hard deck? I’m just curious.