I missed my sister’s birthday.
I taught a class on Wednesday, and I had that old moment where all the faces in the room were turned to me. What are they looking at? Me. Holy shit, they’re looking at me. I’m in charge. For three whole hours.
One rejection down; 149 to go. (My wise writerly friends tell me I have to submit 150 times before I give up and become a goat herder.)
I didn’t know it was fall until the google doodle told me. What is that rustling noise? Falling leaves? Nope. It’s my father (the astronomer) turning in his grave.
I’ve been shirking all editorial duties, paid and unpaid.
I want to write, but I have no idea where to start.
I went to the library and checked out two of the schlockiest books I could find, although I am still obsessed by the arctic.
Although I’m still obsessed by the arctic, I did not finish Gretel Ehrlich’s “This Cold Heaven.”
I remember my parents giving that book to my sister. However I can’t remember if it was on her birthday.
Confess. What are you obsessed by? What are you shirking? What have you survived?