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All The Live Long Day

My first rejection came yesterday, or rather, didn't. In answer to a query on a trio of poems to a market I shall not name, I was told that the editor had rejected them by email sometime in the non-specific past by email. The rejection never darkened my inbox, unfortunately. Which is fine. It happens. Email ain't foolproof in this spamware world...

...except I'd just spent six months time on this same publisher, waiting to hear from two previous attempts at submitting these same two poems, submissions that had never arrived. My queries arrive after the fact, yes, but not the poems. Huh. Methinks someone's spam filters are on a bit too tight. Grumble.

Oh, and my iPod appears to have had a stroke. All attempts at resetting it manually have failed. I must now wait to until the battery runs out to see if that will take care of it. Grumble, grumble.

Glad it's a three-day weekend, as now I can sit about and mutter to myself. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Reading: Trampoline, edited by Kelly Link. It's good, all right, but: I'm starting to think, if this anthology is considered a baseline for plotless style monkey stories, then a requirement is "overall message of the story must bum out the reader." I'm only halfway through, of course. And it may just be my mood.

Update: The pod has righted itself. Thankfully.