It turns out we had to put Snowy to sleep yesterday; she had had a stroke as suspected. It's always a little hard to witness, the anesthesia and then the needle to the heart.
I'm a bit subdued today -- a little tired, a little down. It's about Snowy and it's about a lot of rejections lately, with no glimmers of hope on the publishing front. I don't despair as much as I used to with rejections; I've become inured to them. I am wondering once more if my writing is unmarketable, and if so, why.
Looking for the good in today -- my classes are going well and I'm getting enough sleep. I've been productive both in writing and in submitting (short stories and the like). I stirred myself up enough to write this.
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