Service Dogs and Weak Chins
I went out for Sunday breakfast intending to work on Undertow. Instead, while waiting for a table, I found myself contemplating two completely unrelated observations about humanity: fake fucking service animals and weak chins. So much for the best-laid plans.
It's Time to Move On
Another rejection landed in my inbox this week. That's okay. The stories still matter. At some point, continuing to chase acceptance starts feeling less like persistence and more like procrastination. The collection is coming, whether the gatekeepers approve or not.