These past few days, I've been feeling slightly depressed. It's a soft and lingering sadness, a shadow that hangs over my heart. I think it comes of overmining my ideas. I love to write, but sometimes when I write too much, I feel drained of emotions, a little empty. I think the worst part is putting your whole heart into something and wondering whether any of it will be read, appreciated, cherished. You hope for it, but realistically you know that most of what you write will languish in obscurity. You wonder what's the point.
I got another rejection this week. #20, I think. Maybe that's the cause of all this angst.
Anyway, this month, I began Camp NaNoWriMo and NaPoWriMo. In essence, I write 15,000 words a week and a poem a day. So far, that's been going fine, but so far I haven't had a lot of substituting jobs. Next week is vacation, so I should be okay. It's the last two weeks that trouble me.
I feel--as I always feel--that I should have gotten more accomplished this week. I've been disorganized lately, and I haven't kept track of my hours. Again.