Odd days

For a while there it almost looked like I was posting these things regularly…

Normality, or what passes for it in these parts, is now resumed – infrequent ramblings, even more infrequent fictional output. Today I’ve made my first submission in four weeks, so while this year’s submission total is definitely going to be the best yet, at this rate most of them will have been in January. I keep thinking that if only I submitted more, even if my success rate stayed the same, in absolute numbers I’d get more acceptances which is presumably the point. Rational arguments with myself rarely work though, and I let my good intentions drift and fall away, until I get some jolt that makes me focus on achievements. Like seeing my grey hairs in the mirror.

I had high hopes for creativity this weekend: no pubs, clubs or supermarkets to sap my will; no pressing need to do anything in particular. Of course OneMonkey and I decided to go walking in the Peak District, and relying on public transport as we do, it really had to be Saturday. Which was very windy. And we’re both out of condition, having last been walking before Christmas. I was asleep by 9.30 with the cat curled on my feet, and all I’d managed to do since arriving home was strip my muddy walking gear off and drink some tea. This is the kind of thing I have to overcome to get writing, which probably explains a lot.


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