I feel like today’s been very productive, even exemplary. To wit, I

• updated my curriculum vita with a link to my latest fiction publication;
• applied for a part-time teaching position at a local college;
• applied for a book reviewer position;
• fetched my mail;
• received and approved the final proof for my novel;
• had a good romp with Bishop;
• ate an unusually large and healthy meal (thanks to my new favorite Italian delivery place);
• took out the trash;
• finished two short stories;
• submitted them both, along with a third, to the editors who like my work;
• and am about to research markets for two rejected pieces (neither of which, unfortunately, is up the alley of the abovementioned editors, so I need to find other places) and submit those.

Okay, now that I’ve written it down it doesn’t look like much, but I still feel a sense of accomplishment. I wrestled two stories into submission, two stories that I wasn’t sure would work. And I’m sending my babies out into the world, where hopefully some of them will find a home. And my book should be available on Amazon within the next two weeks.

So I feel like a real, genuine writer.

But. Not a thing I did today generated any income, at least thus far, and nothing is guaranteed to. That’s the fly in the ointment, and it keeps buzzing persistently. But it’s still been a good day, a far better day than many of the ones through which I suffered in order to generate income. And, while being happy (yes, me, happy–I said it!) at the end of the day doesn’t pay the rent, it’s still pretty awesome.