In many ways, my life right now mirrors my submishmash status. Not only have I been waiting to hear from journals + indie presses, some of them forever, but I'm also waiting to hear from like a
gazillion creative writing fellowships + teaching positions in the North Shore + Hyde Park, Chicago + Madison, Wisconsin + Hamilton, New York to Norwich, England. And honestly, I have no idea what's gonna happen, whether I'm gonna be unemployed or teaching next year, whether I'll have agent or whether I'll still be stumbling through the forest of unpublished novelists. I have no fucking idea at all. None. And so like I've done so many times, I'm gonna wait + hope for good news. The only thing I have control over right now are the revisions I'm making on
The Ninjas of My Greater Self, which an agent requested after reading the first draft. So there's that, but that's the only kinetic snack food left in the vending machine, man. And I'm fucking STARVED!
