I woke up far earlier in the morning and blearily checked my email only to find a rejection from one of my favorite literary magazines. I promptly went back to sleep.

But I forced myself up again. I have the best of intentions to write—and write hard—today. So far so good. I try to trick myself on weekend mornings by going to write at the cafe first. Then, when I get winded, I leave and go to my weekend writing spot to start again. I need these fake-outs to keep myself moving. This morning I was going strong in the far back room of the cafe until a man started polishing his shoes at the table next to me. I didn’t realize shoe polish has such strong fumes.

So I’m here, past noon, hoping for that second wind. I will not let the early-morning rejection get to me. These things don’t matter so much anymore. Shoe polish is far more damaging.