Tiny Neat Things

So the writing life has been a bit of a rollercoaster lately. Last week, I got two rejections for my manuscript on Monday, but one partial and one full request on Thursday. The full request was swiftly followed up by another rejection on Tuesday, though, and for some reason that’s been upsetting me all week. Whenever I get a rejection, my Inner Asshole pipes up with Boy, they saw right through you, didn’t they?

(My Inner Asshole wears a backwards baseball cap and has terrible yellow hair and an awful orange spray tan and smells like cheap aftershave, and whenever I try calling him out on his shit he smirks and says What? I was just being real.)

And I hate this, because it’s like a slow-acting poison. It doesn’t matter that I hear plenty of nice feedback on my various stories; I’ll sit at the laptop and be unable to write a fucking thing, all because I’m convinced that someone’s seen the dreadful hack I really am. I know all writers—indeed, all artists—go through that. But it still sucks.

But then something else happens that has nothing to do with my actual writing prowess at all but is just kinda really neat anyhow:


I couldn’t figure out why my Twitter notifications were going crazy this afternoon. When I saw that, I understood.

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