Many thoughts in my brain, some deep some shallow. Having the worst time getting any of it into coherant form.
Feeling very lonely today, even though I know my beloved will be here until Sunday.
A few small edits to make to my story. What do you *do* when a Hugo nominee says "this is damn good, go forth and get it published!"? Friend or not, he knows from writing, and his praise really made me re-evaluate my thought of myself as a cruddy writer.
I mean, I tossed that thing out in a few hours, it *can't* ge good, right? When did I get myself into this rut of thinking nothing I did was worthy of anything?
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