I received my first rejection of the year. Not a form I believe. I think that story was just not the one for that mag but, I was told to try again which I probably will in a couple of months.
As RG put it:
Well, fuck. You want stroking? Get someone to give you a hand job.
Writing takes years.
You see why I love her so much aside from the fact that she is a damn fine author?
There was a period of maybe two years when I was 18 or so where I thought becoming a writer would just you know happen. I thought I’d wake up one day and crank out a fantastic first draft of the Great American Novel.
That is bullshit.
Writing is fucking hard.
I work very very hard at this. I bleed I weep it is really fucking difficult and I honestly can be put into a flaming rage when people flippantly talk about writing. I take that shit personally.
This is one of those issues I am incapable of discussing with people who have tender feelings. I can’t be reasonable or logical. I just get angry because it hurts me when people assume that it’s easy.
That’s all for right now. I have a short weird love story to finish. A tidbit under the more cut.
I didn’t want to love Emily. When I saw her looking at me I tried to run away and get lost in the party. Girls that look like Emily often say things to me like,
“do you get tan lines?”