Friendses

[mrissa]

A couple of my friendslist people have deleted their livejournals in the last few weeks. Some have since undeleted, and I was glad to see them back. Others have not. So here's the thing: I will miss you if you go disappearing on me. I will not beg you to start your journal again, because keeping a regular journal is work as well as fun, and it's work you don't owe me. I don't like behaving as though I'm entitled to make decisions about your life and time, unless we have some agreement about me sharing a chunk of your time. So if you don't hear me hollering, "Come baaaaack!" after you, it's respect for your choices, not relief that you're gone. Okay? Okay.

I made the mistake of looking at my submissions log this morning. Meep. There are a few markets I think I should just officially give up on. I hate doing that. A few more I should query. I hate writing queries. I especially hate writing queries on stories that have theoretically sold or had revision requests on them. It makes me feel like I'm four years old and tugging on a grown-up's sleeve. "How 'bout now? How 'bout now?" But things happen; stories and books fall between the cracks, and I keep thinking of what my mom always said about my schools: "It's the teacher's job to look after twenty students. It's my job to look after one." And really, two years after a short story has theoretically sold? Not too importunate to ask after its status, I shouldn't think. I hope not, anyway.

Sighsquirm.

Also my mom smelled me correctly yesterday: I have a cold. Just a small one, but I didn't need any size of one, and I will be Vitamin C'ing myself into oblivion today so that the rest of the week can proceed as (minimally) planned.