I had high hopes today. Instead, I outlined two episodes for my upcoming serial project, this summer. I realized that writing a serial, which used to be fun and breezy work, is now Lots Of Hard Work. Part of it is getting older, part of it is my writerly brain works a lot different now than it used to. It's slipping me up.
I sent out a query to an agent. It's been, like, two hours and she hasn't written me back. She must personally hate personally me. That's the only logical conclusion.
Also, I realized via James Ritchie that I really need to write a short story and sell it to someone, because it's been too long since I've done that. So I'm writing a short story happily in my spare moments, tonight.