During our latest visit from the Polar Vertex, all I could think about was planning our summer vacation. When it gets this cold and gray, it's difficult to remember what summer even feels like. It's just a lovely, half-imagined daydream, or a really good story someone once told.
Although we have our own place to stay, every time we visit P-town and drive past all these little dollhouse cottages on the beach in North Truro I want to rent one. Or buy one. Or hug one.
I had a free morning, so I took inventory of my saved documents and realized I now have approximately twelve works-in-progress at about 70 to 100K words each. So what did I do? I started another story, of course.
They always say you should write for yourself, just because you love it, and I’ve pretty much lived by that motto for the last ten to fifteen years. But this year will be a little different, as something I wrote was actually accepted for publication. I’ve posted stories before, and received all kinds of lovely feedback and valuable critique … but this is a whole new ballgame.
So, we’ll see how it goes. Perhaps I’ll *still* be the only one reading my stories. And that will be okay. The idea that I could actually reach a wider audience, however, is very exciting to me. Terrifying, but exciting.