Life is a mountainous, rutted road. I bitch a lot about all the change and turmoil in my life but, I freely admit, that a garden path leading to a safe, uneventful life would bore me out of existence.
For years, my default excuse for not writing and submitting was all the stuff I have to do on almost a daily basis. I'd point at my calendar and think about how terribly busy I was and then I'd probably look sad or frustrated. But the truth is that you can find the time to write if you really feel the pull. A little here and a little there isn't ideal but it's doable. (Doable is one of those words that looks worse in print than it sounds) I have been trying to send in two stories for a local anthology the library is putting out. It has the double-attraction of being a local publication as well as being a part of the community I am trying to become established in, preferably as a writer. The more I tried to get the stories rewritten (an unfortunate compulsion), the more I found to fix. But I worked a little bit at a time on the pages, and stayed up late last night, and got the blasted stories sent in today. I feel like I just drove a Honda 50 over Independence Pass naked in a snowstorm. (translation: tired and burned out)
For years, my default excuse for not writing and submitting was all the stuff I have to do on almost a daily basis. I'd point at my calendar and think about how terribly busy I was and then I'd probably look sad or frustrated. But the truth is that you can find the time to write if you really feel the pull. A little here and a little there isn't ideal but it's doable. (Doable is one of those words that looks worse in print than it sounds) I have been trying to send in two stories for a local anthology the library is putting out. It has the double-attraction of being a local publication as well as being a part of the community I am trying to become established in, preferably as a writer. The more I tried to get the stories rewritten (an unfortunate compulsion), the more I found to fix. But I worked a little bit at a time on the pages, and stayed up late last night, and got the blasted stories sent in today. I feel like I just drove a Honda 50 over Independence Pass naked in a snowstorm. (translation: tired and burned out)
My new muse.
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