Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Encountering a friend who just retired, he asked what the other was now doing with his time. “Well,” the new retiree replied, “I’m publishing my second collection of poetry.”
“Great, congratulations.”
“Thank you. I’ve worked on it for twenty plus years.”
“Who is the publisher?”
“I’m self-publishing. After being rejected one hundred twenty-seven times, I just want to get it out there.”
The writing day drains me again. I feel physically like I’ve run a half marathon — and I’ve done that and remember how I felt afterward. I also feel like I finished an important project at work, one that consumed my time and thinking. I feel, too, like I’ve been at a funeral, by a grave in the rain, and now I’m back home, changing clothes, reflecting on life and death, change and emotions, and I feel like I’ve been waiting for someone who never showed.
A good writing day, I judge it, even though so much remains to be written.
Michael Seidel, writer 