The Blog Post In Which I Almost Don't Talk About Trannies

Woke up in the kind of mood where I fantasize about quitting writing. Then I found an acceptance letter in my inbox. It was from a small lit mag that probably five whole people read, but it was still a nice surprise. The story I'd submitted was from more than a year ago and though I'd already determined it had no legs, I'd sent it out a few months ago as a kind of punishment. Too often, I let my weeks roll forward only in their most practical terms--I play lawyer, friend, sister, daughter, even housecleaner, but what I don't play is writer--and so I sought to propel my writing self forward by sheer force of embarrassment. In other words, I made myself submit a couple of old stories because it was the only way to make myself take another pass at revising them.

After finding the acceptance letter, I reread the story again this morning. It's not great, but it's not particularly embarrassing either, and for that I am extraordinarily, infinitely grateful. It's even a story I could show to my mother or grandmother or 6th grade English teacher, i.e. no trannies in this one!