A smattering of stories and poems are sitting on editors' desks elsewhere, and while I wait to hear about those submissions, I toil away on my long overdue Postworld novel.
I say overdue because it's been in my head for years and years and I spend time on everything else, it seems. (Although I do have a finished manuscript -- it just needs a handful, maybe even a fistful, of daring edits.)
In this new post-truth age my correspondence with editors this year has been a pleasure, and I enjoy the cat and mouse process of small press and small journal publications communicating about their visions and their needs. We are a small industry of content creators and it is a refreshing bubble, even with its rejections, to escape into when the world struggles with terrible authority.