I'm sitting here crying. No, my family is all well, thanks. No, I'm not hurt (anymore than usual) or damaged more than normal.
I had the first results come in from my short story contests that I'd entered. It was from the story that I was most sure of, most proud of, was so certain was the BEST work that I'd done.
Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.
So, I sit here, sobbing like a spoiled child whose just been told she can't have the chocolate treat she wants.
I know, I KNOW intellectually what a crapshoot these contests are, that what one editor considers a steaming pile of dung another considers the literary boon to mankind. I know that.
I also know that literary accomplishment aside, placing in the contest would have meant some badly needed funds into the Stepford home.
So I'm sitting here crying.
I'll get my spoiled rump off to bed shortly. Assuming I quit sucking my thumb long enough, of course.
Countdown to my 41st Birthday
9 months ago