I’m going to be swinging from a looong vine tomorrow that’ll land me in arctic Chicago. My visits home are always filled with monkey business, but I’m hoping to still curl up at my parents’ labor-of-love dial-up internet connection and play with some writing prompts like I’ve wanted to for a while—very excited to generate new material of any sort after the long process of revising the same work.
No updates on that project in the meantime. I’ve submitted to two independent publishers so far, one in the US and one in the UK, so that I can go into the next two weeks of festivities with some semblance of peace of mind that’ll enable me to just play for while. On my return, I’ve got two US literary agents on my list to query as soon as their holiday hiatuses lift. And then, *gulp*, I’m going to attempt the challenge that brave Mister Milo has set out for aspiring writers: Write 1 Sub 1, for which we write one story and submit one story every week of the year! (I believe he and his partners-in-crime are offering a monthly variation, however, of which I think I’m going to take advantage). Microfiction counts, so I’m excited to monkey around with that again.
All this said, I’m pooped…and I haven’t even flung any yet today. Time to climb my tree and rest up for the big swing tomorrow morning—I love this time of year when I get to live in a Christmas tree, though I always get in trouble for eating and/or throwing the ornaments.
Happy Holidays, my lovelies!