Went to my office today. Here’s my writing journal entry:
It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Well, I stopped here to get my CV; I’m in need of a summer job, but that was briefly. I had a routine (for them, not me) surgery, was ill, and now here I am. I’m behind in my writing.
Well, I wrote a sonnet at home. It needs some revising. I think that’s what I’ll work on today: revisions. I may work on Clara, I have some short story ideas, I don’t know. Not in much of a mood to write. I’ve been down these last few days. I feel like I’m not doing much with my life. Yeah, I know I’m in grad school and all, but I haven’t published yet. I think I’m just frustrated that I haven’t got a summer job lined up and that, in real life when grad school is over, that I won’t have a job because I haven’t published yet! Then what? Then I’d be poor and wanting. I want a kid now. I want a lot.
I gave myself a deadline to get something accepted. I think it was something like September or something. I can’t remember. It was a verbal contract with myself (I make good company!), something along the lines of “If I don’t publish by such and such date, I’m going to stop trying and get a real job.”
I think I’ll try to work out a schedule again. I’m sure I did it before, that’s why I say again. A deadline schedule. Send out a short story on X date. Send out a group of poems. I should start writing poems again. Seriously. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
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