I've written four short stories in the last ten months; that means in 2012 400% increase in short story composition over the entire period between 2005 and 2011.
One of these stories ("How You Sleep at Night") will be appearing in The Puritan, a Toronto-based literary magazine. Check them out -- their stuff is pretty visceral.
PUBLICATION. The hallowed legitimizer of the terminal scrawler. In the last year or two I've gotten so many rejection slips from so many journals, literary agents, and small presses I'm not even certain how to feel about an acceptance letter. Actually, for a good two or three hours I was positively megalomaniacal. But after that -- well, there's this Calvin and Hobbes strip I'm reminded of:
One usually need not worry much about sitting on his laurels. The world usually doesn't give one much of a chance, and neither does oneself.
Speaking of which -- revising this manuscript has been more more of a process that I thought it would be (though I've been doing this long enough now that I probably should have anticipated as much). Progress is about 60%. I am losing sleep over it, yes.
(Have I already parroted that one George Orwell line? Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness.)
Back to work I go.