East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai

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Facebook informed me today that one year ago, on the 26th of August, I sold a short story. It was (as I posted at the time) the 15th sale of the year, out of a total 55 submissions.
I was quite happy.

As luck would have it, today I submitted a story to a magazine. It’s the 33rd submission of this year.
Which gave me pause.
This year I have written/submitted roughly 40% stories less than last year.
That’s a lot of words, and a lot of missed opportunities.
The question is – why?

I blame my Client From Hell, that just today asked for a fourth rewrite of the book I am ghostwriting for him – and taking the opportunity to once again point out what a useless git I am.

Three rewrites of a 100.000-words novel (and the associated fatigue, stress and unhappiness) make for 22 stories not written and submitted.
This is the harsh mathematics of the thing.

But on the plus side, of the 33 submission of 2020, I sold 11 so far.
There is a small sign of improvement.