Untitled #31

I don’t have writer’s block, just so you know.  I’ve been writing but not here, unfortunately.  Will that change?  Possibly.  There’s so many writing projects right now, I’m not entirely sure where to begin.

But first things first.  The last FET cycle did not take.  My little lone wolf did not make it. I’m still feeling the effects of the medication and granted I only stopped yesterday when I was told the news.  I’m mad and weary.  But that’s the road we took when we started. Telling my mother was harder though.  I’m not entirely sure if she is mourning for me or for herself.  To be honest, I was never sure if I was doing this for her or for me.  But that’s a topic between me and my therapist.  Luckily, I’m going to see her on Wednesday.

The minor dust-up with my article has settled.  I think.  An extra paragraph has been added and it has seemed to appease both sides.  It’s not worth me recounting.  It just leaves me with more thought if I were to attempt something like this in the future.

I have about three articles that I want to pitch to various publications.  But the rub here is that I’ve never pitched anything to anyone and I’m not sure where to start.  Two of them are local based and the third has to do with the imposter syndrome among writers.  I’m very intimate with all of them but probably the most of the third topic.

We did our taxes last Saturday.  And before you tell me that I can do it myself, I know that I can.  However, my husband’s second job makes things a little difficult.  I expect that next year things will only get worse once my W-2’s come in from my regular freelancing gig. So, anyway, our tax preparer tells me that his daughter has just started her own writing business and one of the things that she does is romance writing for Harlequin.

My interest was piqued.

Sure enough, they are always looking for new writers.  And lucky for me I wrote several bad romances when I was 17.  The one I’m currently rewriting is a spy love story set in the Caribbean.  Oh, yeah.  It’s cheesy.  I don’t care.  It’s writing.  I do wonder though if they write under their real names or have nom de plumes.

Anyway, I’m still writing, even if it’s not here.

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