Well, that’s just how I get through my day when I suffer a rejection.
Although as a proper grown-up I know my writing isn’t the world-changing, medium defining bombshell that I’d like it to be, the conceited teenager in me has no interest in listening to reason. So when the short stories I write for competitions and such are binned-off, I’m going to blame the judges.
Anyway. Here’s a tale about cormorant fishing which I wrote for Writers and Artists’ competition on the subject of aging . …And obviously I’m fully aware that the judge for this prize knows what she’s doing. Sigh. It’s not her fault I’m bitter. I guess. Guh.