Stop with that thought, pervert.
Alright, so yesterday I stayed home while our landlord came over for an inspection. See, our roof leaked, then the water heater leaked, then the garage door broke. So we called for repairs. Our landlord harassed us, and I gave it back, so she wanted to do an inspection. Be nice to get out of this place, and into one where I can spend my money fixing something that belongs to me.
After all that, Issue 3 of Sand came in the mail, causing me to flurry to hide it. My wife likes reading my work after publishing, whereas I shove it away never to see daylight. I hate reading my own work, it makes me nervous. I start thinking "God, that was horrible" and seeing any potential writing career go up in flames. Plus, the subject matter of "Crib Death" is based, somewhat, off of my wife's post-partum depression, so I really don't feel like catching hell. But if you did read it, give me your honest opinion. Honestly, it isn't like I know where any of you live...except the ones who send holiday cards.
Working on a story later tonight, but I want to address Superior Scribbler. I was going to do one of those after I read my "award", but decided against it. I know too many great writers, and choosing five was a little too taxing on my tiny, overworked mind. So, here's to all of you great literary folk. I consider every one of you the best.
It IS nice to have Graveside Tales back, considering it was down for a while. The first mail I got when it came back online was a hold notice for "Ain't Gonna Dig No More", a nice little piece I enjoyed writing and am confident will someday see print, even if it doesn't this time.
A few submissions need to go out tonight, but other than that there's nothing really to talk about. How are you guys doing?