I didn’t expect to be this late.

Putting up firewood and making jelly and re-writing have had me hopping, and then, when you add in all the parties & visiting in the last five days, well, you’d be running a tad behind, too.

Or not.

 Striving for efficiency in my life is a fad that comes and goes. I even have seasonal ‘to-do’ lists and plans, affirmations and reward systems; I’m lousy with ‘knowing’ what I ought to do & how to set goals… then {chip} I get a call from a friend {chink} and we discuss something that sparks a memory or an idea and {drip} I go to jot down a few lines, {ping} a premise, {clink} or search out a folder…

And then the roof that had been holding all my high ideals collapses and as I stumble over the wreckage of my daily planners and multiple calendars, I brush off pieces of description and fragments of phrases. I yank on the arm of a character I thought I knew only to discover they have transmuted into different being entirely and I write some more…

Are all of those good intentions and goals leading me to hell or publication? It’s hard to say.

 Labor Day saw me scrappy with submissions. I got 9 out. One was rejected by one of the ‘swiftest’ markets, (with a note to go ahead and try submitting there again) so I sent it right back out to another market, but still–8 different stories are in the queue of 8 different magazines at this moment from that fit of fury.

 I’m very nervous about one of them. I sent “Unwitting Witness” to Vestal Review. As you may know, they accepted “The Virgin Forest” for their 36th Issue. I haven’t submitted to them since because I wanted the same ‘quality’ and ‘tone’ as that piece, and in my humble opinion, I think I was finally able to match it.

 So, with the previous submissions, I am at 20 things sent out. I just checked the mail and there was a copy of Tin House waiting for me, but no rejections (or acceptances) so, I’m going to finish watching “My Hero,” then I’m off to read, and write and most importantly, re-write.