The internet is for repining, redux

Well, damn. I have been rejected. Twice.

It's nothing, of course. If you submit on spec, especially to markets that don't know you, of course you'll be rejected. Longevity bestows no immunity.

And yet, and yet. It feels ... symptomatic. I just passed the thirty-fifth anniversary of the day I sold my first story, and I really do feel like I'm starting from scratch with it all to do again. And not working, that too: the odd rejectable story, a few bare beginnings for longer works, nothing with any weight to it. And everything on spec, of course, as though my whole career had been left behind with everything else, alien and meaningless here.

I guess I'm just not in a good way today. This too should pass - but it needs to. And I used to say "shall".

EtA (and a foodie question!)

(There are those who might think it not-irrelevant to my mood that the first thing I did this morning, I paid my UK accountant. Which means that I have effectively closed down my business, after 35 years. Some people might consider this a significant moment, and not be surprised if it have an impact...)

In otherer newses, I saw a huge and lovely black-and-yellow butterfly [EtA for real: I think it was probably one of these] in the park this morning. And then a hummingbird. Kansas, what Kansas?

And tonight I fed my sweetie on chicken-in-couscous and green salad and green-beans-from-the-garden; and the couscous was topped with toasted pine nuts, and it struck me suddenly to wonder, what it make a detectable difference in taste if one made pesto with toasted pine nuts rather than fresh? Or would the basil and cheese overwhelm it, or would it spoil the texture, or what? Karen thinks we should make the experiment. How say you, though, you pesto-making people?