Yesterday, early in the day, I was just down. (No, this is not an emo post. Shush.) I was feeling pretty sad about the whole writing thing, and the likelihood of publication, etc, etc, etc, ad nauseum. You know. You’ve been there.
Then I rolled up my sleeves and did some work in my real world. I checked finals, portfolios, and figured grades for six hours. And when I wasn’t doing that, I solved student and teacher problems, and worked on a budget, and just made myself thoroughly useful. Then, after that, I went home and I critiqued all the short stories I had to critique for a workshop at the end of the month. In between, I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting since bronchitis, and the gain was not that bad.
Puritan work ethic, you served me well. At the end of the day, I went to bed tired, but satisfied. Today, I’m working through several things as well. Yes, I like getting things done. It just makes me feel good.
I then realized that the problem wasn’t the lack of acceptance. The problem was too much going on in life, too much hanging over my head. I needed to dig out some, and that made me feel better.
Which is not to say that if the universe felt like it could throw me an okay on this book, I wouldn’t say no…but that’s obviously not the real problem here.
Just interesting when you figure these things out. Let me write you a real entry now.