Sometimes I despair of ever getting another story published. It's so cyclical. Last year I hit two periods where I seemed to get acceptances nearly weekly. Now the stretches between seem longer. Nonetheless, it's the composing of a piece that I really enjoy most. The anticipation of seeing my byline in print is secondary.
Today I wrote about why, unlike my father and my first husband, I don't hate preparing my tax returns. It's a yearly ritual that I embrace, as bizarre as that might seem.
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