One of my dreams for the past three years is to be published by The Sun Magazine. Like many publications, there is no style manual. One has to just figure out from observation and practice what the editor wants. I think I may have reached that apex, but that still doesn't mean how many hundreds of people are in the queue before me.
But they pay well. Extremely well, especially for fiction. When you don't need writing workshop anymore to motivate you, then you're halfway there.
The big project I mentioned a few days is speaking to an Anonymous member. As expected, he's been pretty cagey, unsure of our motives, slow to trust. I tracked him down this far and wish I could tell you more than that. It's a fascinating story. Now I just have to get him to tell him his. It's possible that he wants to be left alone, and not have this writer and local lawyer hot on his trails.
It's been a relatively mild summer, and this Alabama native is happy for the break. DC in August is notoriously dead, dating from an era before air conditioning where it was simply too hot to hang around and most people took vacations. The tourist season is largely over too, though I've learned how to avoid the big crowds. What mostly bother me are the perpetually high strung residents harboring notions of worst-case scenario.
I'm not the Type A sort. I have my times of fear and anxiety, but I try not to take myself too seriously. But everyone who lives here is competitive to the bone, especially the ones who deny it.