Last night I sent a piece of flash fiction off to an online magazine. This morning at 7am, a rejection was already lying on my electronic doormat. No doubts there, eh?
At 8am, just before I took Nola to school the builders in the house opposite fired up the pneumatic drill. Now it's 8.45am, and they're still at it. Not like I can really ask the local council to compensate for my lost earnings because this has been going on for weeks. I'm not earning anything...
