Woke early, ignored the little voice in my head that said go back to sleep, go back to sleep, and hit the gym. Had a good workout. Came home to a fresh pot of coffee and some time at the keyboard. Nice mix of office work and manuscript editing.
Came across a flash piece I’d been dabbling with—a thousand word short called “The Bitter Angels of Our Nature”—and discovered it was in better shape than I’d last imagined. Polished it a little, then went back to work revising a longer piece, “The Least of Our Brothers.”
Spent the afternoon at the office. Finished a radio spot, then prepped a couple of manuscripts for the mail. Only managed to get two pieces to the P.O. (ran out of manila envelopes), but picked up a new batch of supplies on the way home so I’m good for the next time.
Been a slow year for acceptances. Slow in terms of production, too. Not sure what the reason is, but been at this long enough to know there’s no point over thinking it. Been trying to push deeper into my narratives, but wonder if maybe I’m just complicating them. I see more words. Are they adding anything?
Raining tonight. Need to heat the oven soon and get dinner cooking. Pork tenderloin baked in a mustard-sage sauce, asparagus on the side. Think maybe I’ll settle in for a read later. Relax and let tomorrow come in its own sweet time.