Not much time between this entry and the last, is there? But, hell, I got more promising news. Another submission has found success. Poetry again, a set of 3 poems accepted by Sequestrum, more poems published this year than stories. Yet, I'm still anticipating submissions to Fiddlehead and Prairie Schooner, each of which invited me to send another tale. Writer's block still troubles me. I started a fresh story a few days back, but it died a quick death. Perhaps the check for $20 from Sequestrum for the poems will dynamite the blockage (that's right, a check).
Why, I wonder, does such a successful year as this come by as the news about my prostate cancer grows darker? We're into a new drug now, and if it doesn't work, then, I worry, my hoped for 4 to 5 more years of living won't happen. I'm trying to keep my thoughts in each day rather than in a future day. I'm surprised I worry so little. Still, I have days that are inexplicably darker, and I think it's a sign that my synaptic self is more aware of what I face than it allows my consciousness to consider.
By the way, fellow writers, I'm submitting more work, more often than at any time in my recorded history.
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