Bemusement
So, last night I posted that there was a poem that I found out was accepted for publication basically as it appeared online, published.
This morning, before getting the girl from the train station (she had been visiting Chicago relatives again) and taking her to a meeting off in the land of confusing road signs, it happened again!
My poem, The Chatter of a White Scaly-Gull is published in the premier issue of With Painted Words, at www.withpaintedwords.com
The premise of this publisher is that they request submissions each month of no more than 1000 words, to match a particular piece of artwork. The artwork is very nice, and I'm definitely jealous of the artist's phone, which was the media of creation!
This first time they ran it as a contest--of the stories and poems they published, the artist will pick his favorite, and that person will get a print of the art.
They have next month's piece of art up on their website, for those inclined to poetry and flash- or micro-fiction. (They define flash as 1000 or fewer words, micro as 500 or fewer.)
I took a notebook to the kid's meeting, intending to do some NaNo drafting, and instead found my brain providing me with the bones of a story whose deadline was today (well, here-time, now technically yesterday), and which I'd resigned myself to the conclusion that I just wouldn't have time for.
After dropping the kid off at her Dad's place (she now has a room at both places, giving her two homes in this city, in addition to a permanent welcome at three different homes in Chicago), I found one last late farmer's market that had cooking pumpkins, and bought some for My Angel, who has spent the last week complaining that Libby's bought all the cooking pumpkins that would normally go to the big grocery stores. I also bought some other veggies. And took a few pictures, though sadly I missed the moon while it was near enough to the horizon to have made a good picture. (The kid would have taken a picture for me while I drove, but the phone was in my pocket, and we lost the spectacular view by the time I got it into her hands.)
So, when I got home and had eaten dinner and tended pets, I wrote and rewrote the short story, proofread it, and sent it off.
So, now, here I sit, trying to convince my brain it's past time to be writing a novel, already!