It still surprises me that even being, for me anyway, well orgainzed, how time consuming it is to prepare submissions for publication. I prepared two submissions last night and it took me over an hour all-in-all.
Then I took them by the post office this morning and sure enough, they weighed more than an ounce. This makes me feel better about my usual habit of putting two stamps on the envelopes. Still, it may be time to invest in a postal scale.
It was cold over the weekend and thus the walkway from the house to the driveway and the walkway in the back from the garage to the back door both had about half an inch of ice (or more). I spent over an hour this morning chipping most of the ice from the path in the front but didn’t have a chance to get to the back.
I’m praying that the weatherman is right and tomorrow will be warmer — above freezing — because otherwise I’m in for some pretty sore arms and shoulders.
I really don’t mind shovelling the driveway — I can use the exercise — but I *hate* driving in icy weather.
We had about an inch of snow around my house. I spent a bit over an hour shovelling the driveway (long), the back deck and the path in the back.
Then I drove to work. I was driving slowly (about 30 MPH tops on backroads, 35-40 on Route 95, the brief distance I’m on it). I spun out (3/4 way around) three times — or maybe four — anyway it was a pretty scary ride.
I’m ready to give winter back to the Weather Gods. Bring on spring!
What is your attitude towards rejection? Do you take it personally? Part of a writer’s life is rejection letters — almost certainly lots of them.
Many years ago now I worked for a small firm in Manhattan in the west forties. We had just interviewed someone I thought well qualified. One of the others nixed the hire. And why, you might ask? Because the interviewee was too fashionably dressed. My co-worker felt this person wouldn’t fit in.
Maybe not, but it sure sounded arbitrary to me. Having seen this from the other side helps me when I get rejection letters.
I also think about Mary Ann (Grandma) Moses, who didn’t start painting until she was 66.
If you’re not doing something because you think you’re too old, think again. Give it a shot. Next year you’ll be older anyway.
As I was driving to work this morning I was thinking about the pattern the sunlight and shadow made on the road. This brought to mind Roger Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber books and how much I enjoyed them at the time I read them. Maybe it’s time to hit the library again.
It’s close to supper time and I’m thinking about stuffed cabbage. I have my mother’s recipe, one with tomato sauce, but the one I really want is the one with the sauerkraut. I’ve had this, though not recently, in various Hungarian restaurants when I was living in New York City.
Please, if you have the recipe let me know.
Also there are, as far as I know, no good Hungarian restaurants in the Boston area. Boo, hiss!
Inspired by my interview with Kathryn Porter on getting organized as a writer, I brought down one of my spare file boxes from the attic and started putting in printed — yes, actual printed — copies of my stories and poems. I also made copies of all the submission letters I sent out this weekend, even the ones I sent by email, so I could have copies. I even put the date on the letters! Hot diggety!
There’s still lots to do — I have many poems without printed copies, plus I have a couple of file boxes of writing *stuff* that I need to go through.
Still, it’s a start.
