This leads to some strange bouts of self doubt. I am running a magazine and feeling like I'm not working on anything. Yesterday, though, I got a little TimeHop reminder that I published my first short story four years ago.
Four years! It was a much needed shot of perspective. I've actually accomplished a hell of a lot since I decided to start taking the writing thing seriously. I'm not going to get into listing all my publications and accomplishments (because when I see it all on paper it feels like very little again, and the drive to "do more" gets the better of me).
It wasn't a crime story, it was a love story, mostly. I worked on it for weeks, passing it back and forth with a good friend I've since mostly lost touch with. I found out it was going to be published while watching a Chinese Dragon show at the San Diego Zoo.
I got this tattoo the day it was published:
It's based on a line in the story, "A murder of crows was living inside me."
It was a big day, but it was only four years ago. Only. I gotta work on keeping that in mind.