In the past week, I've submitted "Hands" to three more magazines, finished another short fiction piece that now needs to be edited, plotted the first third of my NaNo novel, and contacted three published authors (who also happen to be people I know personally from writing workshops) about looking over my work and helping me get it submitted to the right places. And that's just on the writing front...
I have another story in the works that would make the writer's of Seinfeld proud. It is definitely about nothing and has some really weird phrases in it. It was intended to be ready for a November 1st deadline; we'll see if that happens.
As November creeps closer and closer, I vacillate between feelings of joyful anxiety and paralyzing fear. Do I really need a fourth novel? This is one of my very best short stories, is attempting to grow it going to kill it? What if I finish it and it's decent? What the hell do I do then?
No matter what, I'm plodding along, and feel kinda good about it at the moment. Maybe I'm starting to get the hang of how all this works.
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