The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

Distance is a dangerous thing to make the heart wait and worry and want. There are days when all I want is for this week to be over, and there are other days when I worry about when it is. And in the end, all I can do is wait.

I'm putting together a submission for the upcoming Vancouver International Writers Festival. I will be entering one short story and two poems at a meagre cost of ten dollars apiece. (First place is $350 and second place is $250.) I wrote the story over a year ago and have been doing extensive editing on it recently. It's changed substantially during its literary growth, and I feel like it's much more mature now. Winners won't be announced until January, but I'll be sure to mention something when the gavel falls and the judges announce me.

And I think that when things settle down here in my new city I'll look into some writing classes. As wonderful a writer as I portray myself, there are many things that I do not know, and learning them on my own could take forever. And then again, maybe I could just keep faking it?