I am back from Los Angeles. In celebration of that fact, and in opposition to the snow that is lazily falling like ho-ho-nothing-to-see-here, I submitted something that I've been working on for a while to a website I love. I got a response a few hours later, a sweet note saying that they didn't accept fiction, nice nice nice, the end.

Which I KNEW. I read it in the submission guidelines. I read this site every time I am on the internet. I know that they don't publish fiction. And somehow, somehow I convinced myself that sending in my not-poetry, not-memoir, in-between piece of fiction was a good idea.

Sometimes I really wonder, you know?