This week of "being a writer" feels like it has been taking a month to get through. All the good publication news is heartening, but I'm still not getting paid for any of it--which is disheartening. It can't be a career unless it provides income, right? Otherwise it's just a hobby.
Today, while unsuccessfully looking for a good new book to review next, I bought myself a beautiful book of shell plates from Taschen (B&N bargain books, FTW). It's a reward for my keeping at the submissions. The shell book and the nerd girl t-shirts that arrived by post yesterday. Today I wore one that is covered in mushroom etchings. Tomorrow, Sandhill cranes. I tried to write a bit on Night, but I am too fuzzy headed from exhaustion. I did read several more pieces in Rumpus Women and get an idea of the direction that my review will take.
That is all.