Complaining

Forgive me my trespasses

It’s bad enough to be rejected. My short story didn’t win the Toronto Star competition. I console myself with the belief it's more of a train-of-thought monologue, than a traditional story. Fair enough. But mishaps that remove you from the competition altogether are worse. In this case I had only myself to blame although I’ve spent the last two days identifying who and what else might shoulder that burden.

Friday sucked.

The comforts of complaining

My writing landscape looks different than it did a few weeks ago. I have less and more to complain about. I left for Cuba. The Huffington Post accepted a piece. The NYT Motherlode Blog exposed my nudity. Things went from there.

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