Success, I think

After two months of fearing that the rejection email must have been sucked into the endless ether of the internet, I received a reply back about my flash fiction, Child Care.  As far as I can tell, it has been accepted for publication in AntiSF and that's rather cheering news, I must say.  There's no payment for said publication, but that's not the point.  I've finally made a start to my Year of Really Making an Effort to Get Published and it feels good.  I feel inspired to do some more writing and submit it to all the markets that Blindmouse was good enough to suggest to me.

The good news is that tomorrow sees a return to my most boring place of work and I'm hoping to institute a policy of Doing Some Writing Whenever It Gets Boring.  I anticipate that this should see my doing some writing for all of the seven or so hours that I spend there.  Why must work be so damn boring?

And second in a series of questions that are difficult to answer: why did I waste my entire holidays mucking about on the internet and procrastinating instead of getting some writing done?  That's a hard one to answer, because all the solutions to said quandary seem to suggest more than a little silliness on my part.  But I'm not so silly that I can't see that I have to do something about this.  As nice as it is to be surrounded by books, I don't want to spend the rest of my life working in a library.  My ideal workplace would be a lovely sunny study with a giant desk ( a little like this )

The study would also feature a window with a view just ripe for inspiration and a little bell, with which I could request cups of tea from my Timothy.

If only I could get it into my thick head that I'll never have any of this if I don't start writing seriously.  Of course, there's no guarantee I'll have it even if I do try, but it's better to try than to be stuck in a boring library for the rest of my life.  That's not to say I'm not incredibly grateful for my job.  I am.  It provides us with money for food, rent and other sundry necessitities.  But even though my brain appreciates these things, it finds itself starved of stimulation at work and constantly threatens to go on strike if I don't think of something interesting to do.

But on the up side - I've made a start on my Year of Doing Stuff and if I can't be inspired by that, then there's something wrong with me.