Being the editor of your own journal.

In 2007, I published a short story in The Green Silk Journal. When I checked in 2009, the journal was gone. Then I received a newsletter and checked, and now The Green Silk Journal is back, and my story is still there (good news!). Green Silk has operated for about five years now, which is remarkable. I have always wanted to start my own literary journal and read submissions day in and out, but I have no clue how to advertise or monetize, or how to run a site, or do all the things that come with being the editor of a literary journal. I guess I will start doing some research. Maybe even join a new reading staff.

Writing addiction. This is bad, guys.

Today I should have finished reading half of the two-foot-tall stack of manuscripts by my work desk. Instead, what was I doing? Working on my own novel. I am almost positive I won't start querying for it until I'm fifty, which, give or take, is twenty-five years from now. I have been hopelessly engrossed with writing. I have no audience, except for my boyfriend, and he's not even around because he is reasonably busy preparing for his graduation, last exam, and last big report.

I haven't been this engrossed in writing for a couple of years, and this is probably the worst I've seen myself. I ate at 8:00am. I sat down to type. I took a break and looked at my computer clock. It was 12:30am. The sun was gone. I missed lunch and dinner. Someone who could eat five times a day and still be hungry missed lunch AND dinner, folks! This has to be some form of emotional infidelity. I spend all my waking hours with this novel when I could be, er, poring over the fourth revision of a heart-felt e-mail to my boyfriend.