What a weird month. Here's what I can account for having accomplished:
- Received 18 short fiction rejections
- Sent out 19 short fiction submissions
- Sold four short stories and a novelette, to Clarkesworld, Lone Star Stories, Mammoth Book of Monsters, New Ceres and Weird Tales
- Sold "The Big Ice" (with specficrider) to the Dozois YBSF, plus a reprint to The New Weird, ed. Ann and Jeff VanderMeer
- Wrote four new short stories and and a novelette, totalling 26,000 words in first draft
- Banged out next month's IROSF article with specficrider
- Revised Stemwinder
- Signed the Czech rights contract for Trial of Flowers [ Clarkesworld | Amazon ]
- Did a bunch of market planning
Not to mention the day job, the_child
, an extended trip to Omaha, and my efforts to have a better social life.
So why do I feel like I didn't get enough done?
I blame my developing novelist brain. There's a part of my writer's consciousness which knows that I can crank out 2,500 words a day, so it wants to know where the 75,000 words for January are. Couple that with my extremely deep-seated sense that I'm never doing enough anyway -- a big motivator for me, frankly -- and you have the above output/action items in the hands of a slightly puzzled me.
I'd say I need to have my head examined, except I'd be afraid I might break something important in the process. So I muddy onward, confident in my ability to only make major mistakes once, twice at the most.