Yipee...

I have received an acceptance email for the second story I mentioned I was working on.
They have asked me for an updated bio, and I feel a bit rubbish as there's not really much to add to the one I gave them a year ago. Oops.

Bookshop curses.

So a young (15 ish) guy all dressed in black with a smear of black eyeliner and a mop of hair shambled up to my till. He didn't make eye contact once, but held out a Vampire book. I bagged it, and took his money. He handed me a £10 note with the word DIE written on in black marker pen. I thought it best not to make any comment, so bunged it in the till. I passed it on to a sweet old man. Do hope there was no voodoo mojo going on.

story is pants, elation is gone.

I have just re read the story I was so chuffed at writing. It is shite. Really, I am not being modest at all, I can be quite arrogant about my writing, I know when I have done something good. This is utter drivel. I had been planning on submitting it but no fucking way. Don't know if I should have a major rewrite or just dump it. I'm working on a second that seems better, and I have a feeling that it's the third one that should be decent if I can pull it off. Ho hum.

Writers block, schmiter's block. Or something...

I have just finished my first complete story since I moved.
Whooo hoooo.
And, I am 3 quarters of the way through another.
Whoooo hoooo.
And I have the most fantastic idea for another.
This feels great.
I have submission deadlines and competition details blu tacked all over my tiny computer room. I have fresh stuff to send out for the first time in a year.
I am writing.