7 am: woke up, got dressed. Blogged.
8 am: Got Q up, dressed, fed. Took Q to day care
9 am: Ate breakfast. Stared at what I wrote yesterday. Deleted lots of it.
10 am: received proofs for new short story. Began perusing, but was distracted by siren call of internet. Read a few articles, received two interview requests and did them, because, hey, this scene is hard.
11 am: received two rejections. (Yes, published authors get them too.) Exchanged emails with editor, agent, and critique partner about what it all MEANS. (yes, published authors do this too.) Reread what I wrote, and deleted more of it, based on new, rejection-inspired worries. (yes, published authors are also neurotic. Possibly more neurotic.)
12 pm: received new cover for abovementioned short story. Received critique back for entirely different short story. Am re-energized to work on proofs.
1 pm: Finished proofs. Really love that story. Now think rejection was full of crap. Back to work. Write new scene. Think I might even keep it.
2 pm: lunch. laundry.
3 pm: get dinner started. While chopping vegetables, I put on “Blink” (Dr. Who). This is a mistake, I will have nightmares.
4 pm: Am in long email exchange with agent. Involves learning new trick in photoshop. Results quite pretty.
5 pm: Pick Q up from daycare. Hang out with her while she chases Rio around the house, giggling like a madwoman. Rio clearly likes this game, as she can run about twenty times faster than Q, but keeps getting caught anyway.
6 pm: Dinner. We have spaghetti, which is pretty much everyone in my house’s favorite meal.
7 pm: Q takes a bath, then it’s books and bed. Q is really, REALLY into books. Chip off the old block, that one. I chat with my parents, fold more laundry, answer a few emails.
8 pm: Relax with a mug of cider. Read a longform article about child-rearing in The Atlantic. Sort of wish it were a long form article about “childrearing in the Atlantic.” Now there’s a story idea!
9 pm: I start in on a critique I’ve been meaning to get to.
10 pm: send off the crit. Watch more Dr. Who (not as scary, this time). Check on Q in bed, as I hear strange noises upstairs. All I can think about is stone angels right now. For serious. Stupid Dr. Who.
11 pm: read over what I wrote today. Is marvelously little, for having been sitting at this damn machine all day. Promise to do better tomorrow, and consider that maybe I should blog about all of this, you know, to keep me honest. So I do.