Last night was terrible. I had various anxiety dreams that were too realistic for comfort, and all involved the three short stories I had recently sent out to various publications. I am awaiting the dreaded reply. I am keeping my hopes at bay, unsuccessfully, and trying my best to let time carry on normally with minimal worry on my end. But it is hard not to let the anticipation consume you.
The anxiety dream is the worst sort of dream. You can’t escape the worry, even in your sleep. Your brain works against you, and you lose sleep perpetually dreaming, and waking, and dreaming, and waking… your mind in a state of confusion as you try to sort reality from your subconscious meanderings. Will my work be accepted? Will I have to consult back-up plan B,C, D and E? Will the weeks of work be for naught?
No. As long as you are proud of what you have created. I am proud. The stories I have completed and submitted are my best work so far. But I know that the next tale will be even better. We learn as we write. Each sentence better than the next, one day we will achieve every goal as long as we work hard.
Today was a good day, a productive day. I have added to my page count. 9 pages complete, 71 pages to go.