Ken and I hosted a poker night last night. I lost most of my money in one hand--I had a K-6, the board had two sixes, I thought I was golden, but I ended up losing to a friend that had A-6, the bastard--and I was out within the first hour. I won the last time we played, so I suppose I was due.
Tomorrow I'm going to send off my story to the anthology editor. I have no idea what to expect. In one fantasy she showers me with compliments and tells me how much she loves it and she's not changing a word, and in the other she tells me that clearly her invitation was a terrible mistake and to go back to english class. The reality will probably be somewhere in the middle--"It's good, but let's change x, y, and z"--but that doesn't stop my insides from churning.