I finished my story "Tarantula!" and sent that in yesterday so now I wait to see how it does. Writing is an exercise in patience. The ideas have to come to you and they build and develop on their own, they're hard to rush. And then you have to wait to hear whether or not your work gets accepted. I have one story that has a four month waiting period. Four months of self-doubt and worry. Four months of getting your hopes up but telling yourself that you shouldn't--just in case.
This post has been a difficult one to write. Like so many others, the pandemic has really thrown me into a loop and brought many unexpected and unwanted changes. I left my job of over 19 years in October. The stress, frustration, and unhappiness was too much and the negativity was seeping into my off-time and basically killed any motivation I had to write or make anything. Around that same time, my sister's breast cancer returned with a vengeance and destroyed the funny, loving, energetic woman I had always known and loved. She became a fragile shell and then she was gone. My heart was still raw when my mother, the rock of our family, died unexpectely on Friday. I'm stunned. Shocked. It makes no sense. She's gone. I'm not sure what the future holds for me. I've been working in the healthcare field and I'm happy with the job but life keeps telling me how short it is and I think I need to really listen this time.
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