Another rejection today. That makes six since late August and what's today? The fourth of September? Okay, not worried, not worried...keep writing.

The latest rejection made me laugh a little because you see, the story began as a kind of purge of some icky-ness that was my violent childhood. All but a sentence in the middle and the very last paragraph were true (the names had been changed to protect the guilty). It was a horror piece, sent to a horror market, and unlike reality, I added what I hoped would appear to be a twist at the end, an extra stab to the reader's heart.

My personalized rejection, which I love and am very thankful for receiving, said while my characters and dialog were strong, the story had no plot and the end was predictable.

Predictable. I had to laugh because if I had known that time in my life was predictable, I probably wouldn't have had to have all that therapy!

It's not been a terribly fun day on the heels of a not terribly fun evening but I'm not going to let it get me too down.

Last night, Fireside seemed to have shut off the A/C right after 5 p.m. and like I expected, the place started heating up in a hurry. BTW, the parking lot was 108 degrees at 5:30 according to the car's fancy thermometer; inside the car was 128. Oh yeah, that was fun.

The Husband's new medication thing last night did.not.go.well. More non-fun-ness.

I received a short story rejection, a semi-personalized one. My favorite. I'll admit that was a little fun.

Thunderclouds built up nice and thick all early afternoon only to flatten out and blow away by 4 p.m. Definitely not fun. I was really hoping for some interesting weather. I seem to write well during such.

On the other side, I sent out two submissions, one very shiny and new to a new paying market (well, new to me). Loads of fun here!

And for the very first time ever, I was able to run for four straight minutes on the treadmill. I am SO NOT a runner but strangely enough, I seem to be able to do it okay barefoot. Put shoes on me and I can barely run for a full minute. I wonder what that's all about? Don't say crappy tennis shoes. I can't afford official running shoes, nor would I want to.

Call me Speedy. Call me Informed. Call me a persistent, persevering, Go-Getter. Just don't call me late for dinner.

I believe strongly in a couple of my completed short stories. When one of them came back this afternoon, I squealed with glee at receiving the personal, upbeat 'rejection,' checked my weekly submission market homework, and sent the story right back out. I didn't even give this baby time to dump off a load of laundry or raid the 'fridge. Just a quick verification, a loving pat on the head, and out it went like a dutiful son, fresh college degree in hand and a head full of sense and direction.

Happy trails, young one. Make your mama proud.

Tuesday was a rough day, Wednesday was marginally better, today seemed so long but now, at 10:30 p.m. I'm wondering where the day went. Third day of steroid treatment for the husband at a local medical office. His slurred speech is slightly better, no improvement on walking yet but then again, that's always taken longer anyway. He's good about using his canes; one for upstairs, one for downstairs. Yes, he's got MS and lives in a two-story house. He had it built in 1999 and two months later, he was officially diagnosed with the disease. Someday we'll need to move to a single-level home, but not yet.

I received two rejections today, both nice ones, one better than the other. Both of them were for my least favorite short stories, one was for the story I read at last year's OryCon Open Read & Critique, a hard-sell writer bored with writing vampire story, and the other is the monster in the back yard tale. Naturally, I'll toy with retiring both of them, in reality, I won't. As soon as I can find a reasonably close market, these hard-working stories will go out into the world again.

For anyone keeping score, that makes four stories still out, two back home only long enough to do a load of laundry. A seventh story, formerly known here as YAWT, is gathering critique from my writing group, INK. So far, so good. I agree with most of what's been suggested, still not sure on that ending but something tells me when it comes to this story, I'm probably never going to be okay with it. Sometimes, it's best to just let it go. I've got a couple of places I'd really like to send this one when I'm done polishing it but one isn't accepting anything until later this year, another isn't accepting anything without a query first and the understanding that they won't be publishing anything until 2010 or later, and the third place, well, I'm not sure the story is right for that market but I so want to try. I'd just have to wait almost a year before I'd hear back from them. I know, I know, send it out and forget about it, Keep writing, keep creating inventory.

Working outside in the rain yesterday (it was a warm rain) I was able to finish a small cobblestone patio area I needed to have done in time for a storage shed that we're having delivered here tomorrow. I still need 35 more cobblestones to completely finish the project but that section can wait for now. Today even though my back was killing me and I was irrationally tired, I found spots in our tiny backyard for about three full wheelbarrow's worth of dirt from where the cobblestones were laid. I still have a dozen bags of bark mulch to spread and three roses to dig out and pot up before I can finally call it good but it's not like the back yard is a mess or anything. It's beautiful out there. A writer could be inspired to write their fingers to the bone back there. I ought to do just that, and I will...just as soon as I get it all finished.

I received another short story rejection the other day. In it, the fiction editor thanked me for allowing them to read my story.

Thanked me.

I think I took all those "Editors hate writers" articles too seriously and that in itself is another great lesson to learn.

The editor also went on to say they liked my story but it wasn't right for their magazine at this time. Nothing bad about the writing, or content; it just wasn't right. That's nearly as good as a acceptance! And so what did I do? Well, after I got my Internet connection back I submitted the story to another market like all good story writers should do.

Somedays, I still can't believe I'm actually doing this.

Finally sent short story to Cemetery Dance magazine. $1.36 in postage. I bought many more stamps to send similar material to other MS-only publications.

I got a rapid rejection from Clarkesworld last week. That rejection will go out to Apex come September 1st (or whenever they open for submissions again). Keep it moving. Someone's bound to like it.

I've officially begun the where to submit/don't submit publication list. I plan on getting help transferring the already-huge list to a spreadsheet. Gotta keep on top of these things!

Meanwhile back at the ranch, grandma is beating off the Indians. I, on the other hand, am struggling with a short story the contents of which I have no idea where to take, although I will admit to stripping out a few paragraphs that were simply muddling the direction - Ris would be proud of me as I'm not really a stripper ;). Made a few notes to myself within the story upon the sixth (or seventh -- at this stage, who's really counting?) reading out loud. Nothing after the first sentence of the story made sense and was disjointed from the first sentence statement.

I hate that when it happens. That's probably why I got a less-than-enthusiast grunt from the Steve when I read him what I had so far. (He's so smart, yet polite).

Jotted down notes for a possible November NaNoWriMo story. If I can flesh out an outline on it between now and September, I'll run with it.

Question: If someone asks you to write a story about their life, whether it's their real life or a fictional life, or to feature them promenently in a story or novel in any manner you'd like, would you? (Only stipulation is that they get to read it after the story or novel is completed. You will not be paid for it nor will they get a copy in any way, shape or form.)