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The stress of nothing...
I almost started crying today over nothing...before I realized how stupid that was. By nothing, I mean precisely that. I have a story out that I really would like to hear about, and have heard...nothing.
I worry that the spamfilter has eaten my rejection. I worry that if I contact an editor, I will be purged as one of those writers who just annoys them. I worry that I've missed some vital deadline. And this is just a short story. Hmmpf! ::imagining self dissolving into a puddle of bodily fluids over a novel::
Ah well, at least days like these only come around once a month. The dogs are getting on my nerves, and I want to scream at the icy rain outside. What's up with that? It's April, and I should be out planting, darn it!
I worry that the spamfilter has eaten my rejection. I worry that if I contact an editor, I will be purged as one of those writers who just annoys them. I worry that I've missed some vital deadline. And this is just a short story. Hmmpf! ::imagining self dissolving into a puddle of bodily fluids over a novel::
Ah well, at least days like these only come around once a month. The dogs are getting on my nerves, and I want to scream at the icy rain outside. What's up with that? It's April, and I should be out planting, darn it!
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Let's just say that they've had it more than 10 times as long as their average response time as listed in the Black Hole.
And they have already checked on it for me....twice. Both times they were extremely nice about it. I just hate to keep bugging people.
It's sort of an unusual circumstance. I've let myself get emotionally invested, which I should know not to do.
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