Pardon my slight crankiness this morning, but I've reached yet another impasse with my apparently unpublishable essay manuscript--this time involving a careless rejection letter that lumped my ms into a submission category I didn't even apply under. What is going on here? I am bewildered by the number of times this ms has been lost, forgotten, or misfiled. Probably I should just give up and let the poor thing retire to the dusty back corner of my bookshelf, where its shreddable paper and delicious ink can entertain a few generations of mice.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
I am wondering why I am never satisfied to be doing whatever it is I'm doing. If I'm outside splitting wood, I think I ought to be inside working on my copyediting project. If I'm working on the copyediting project, I think I ought to be writing poems. If I'm writing poems, I think I ought to be sorting laundry. If I'm sorting laundry, I think I ought to be researching pieces for the anthology. Practically the only time I don't think I ought to be doing something other than what I'm actually doing is when I'm driving. And I don't even like to drive.