It Could Always Be Worse...I Could Be in Arizona...

I am feeling sorry for myself and self-pity is soooo unattractive.

My latest book got a big, fat, thumbs down. In the non-writing world this is like somebody walking up to you in the mall and saying "You're fat and your Mama dresses you funny!" No- worse. It's like they said that about your kid. When you write a book, it's like one of your children. Having ten months worth of work rejected hurts.

So, I come home from a bad day in which my "stand-in" computer ate the six pages I wrote this morning, open my email and what happens? I get- rejected.

I immediately sought first aid for my bruised and bleeding ego- I ate the rest of Beloved's stale birthday cake.

Then I thought about how I'd never amount to anything-

Decided my life was almost over because now I'm old and a loser-

Served ground beef browned with onion, mixed with condensed chicken gumbo soup, ketchup, mustard and brown sugar on hamburger rolls and added highly-seasoned but still freezer-burned French fries to the plate and called the whole thing dinner.

Then I tore apart my home office and re-organized it, kind of, because I clean when I'm upset and re-organize when I figure I have nothing left to live for.

by the time I'd done that for 3 hours- I was over it.

Don't get me wrong- life still sucks, all is lost and I'm still a loser but-

Hey, come on-

Tomorrow's another day.

It could always be worse...I could be in Arizona...