These days are hard of late. I’m three chapters shy of finishing my novel. Shy is no place for a book… it’s a social media. It needs to be out, meeting people, entertaining those it comes across like its the life of the party. I’ll turn it from shy to confident, fully formed and whole… but I’m stuck.
It’s not writer’s block. I got sent into the field. There’s no Post Exchange here. Breakfast is two chicken patties, one biscuit. There is no lunch service. Dinner was one scoop of meat pasta, one scoop of vegetables. We eat in a tent, where the cold Afghan winters cool the food in minutes. We eat fast. Mice party at night in the tent I sleep in. Hot water is a myth.
Good news came in, which I have to be brief about because of the 30 minute limits on the Internet. The Colored Lens accepted my short story, The Homeless Man of Greater Zimbabwe. I’ll post more when it’s available to read.
I’ve been waiting forever for an update to my latest story. I feel I’m one acceptance letter away from my second pro credit. They’ve sent me notice of it being sent to the head editor for final review… but still, they’ve held it so long that Duotrope would consider me an outlier.
Waiting for news when you have nothing to do but wait is… excruciating.
I’m off. Time limit you know.