I spent a lovely, frosty New Year’s Eve with friends of ours, and in the background, we watched the yahoos in Times Square losing their collective shit as a ball slid down a pole.  I was amused by the unbridled optimism that runs rampant by virtue of nothing more than replacing your calendar. Yet, I suppose it’s as good an excuse as any. Why shouldn’t we approach another year with anything less than the certainty of success? 2014 is going to be the year I finish my novel and land a story in Glimmer Train and put together a collection and get anthologized in BASS and O’Henry and win a Pushcart…

For me, that gooey, magical feeling lasted until approximately 9:39 AM CST when I got my first form rejection for a story I submitted back in August. I don’t usually take those too hard. I know how the game is played. But seriously, what respectable literary mag  makes their first action of a new year sending out form rejections? Happy New Year! Nurse your hangover with a rebuke of your art! That could’t wait until Jan. 2?

There are a few things to look forward to in 2014. My debut class at StoryStudio starts on Jan. 23 (a few slots remain — sign up now!). Three of my writer friends are reading for Fictlicious at the Hideout this Tuesday at 7. And I did manage to spend 5 hours today working on a brand new short story about an American playing baseball in Japan. Hope it turns out better than my last attempt at a short story in 2013 did. Maybe 2014 will be the best year ever. It could happen.

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