Sing has been short-listed at a semi-pro sci-fi magazine. We will now commence holding our breath. Or atleast I will. You can do whatever you want.
I had a story sent back recently with a very nice rejection note (terrific story . . . shouldn't have any trouble placing it. . . just not quite right for us . . . ). The problem is--this short story has gotten lots of very nice rejection notes of a similar vein. I have concluded that it isn't literary enough for the literary market, but isn't sci-fi enough for the sci-fi market. It's a personal favorite, probably because it was the first time I finally hit my stride as a short-story writer. It was published for money once two years ago--at an unlikely ezine by an editor who publishes humor and off-beat stuff. I sent it to him by accident (long story). He surprised me by liking it enough to publish it. As I'd hoped for a higher profile publishing for this story, I recently decided to try again. However it may be time to retire it and accept that though the writing is strong enough for the serious markets--the story isn't. Sing is made of different stuff, so I am more optimistic about it.
I wrote a thousand good words this morning. That was pretty much the highlight of my day.
In brief: I want to quit work more than usual.