So … like … yeah.

You should know, precious few people have liked anything I wrote. I’m constantly being beaten about the head and face by rejections. Tonight’s rejection was the first rejection I ever received for a novel.

Count that as progress if you want.

Me?

I’m going through the process, being surprised that I’m feeling hurt at all at this point (closing in on a hundred rejections whilst reading stories about the successes of too many other people at far younger ages), and taking the two-and-one-star reviews on Amazon and Goodreads because of course.

I really wish I’d gotten into carpentry instead of writing. No one argues with an adequate birdhouse.