The other day I was whining about not having enough stories; but today, I was rooting two-fisted through my folders, and I realized that I have seventeen stories I haven't done anything with.
Alright, there's good reason. Some of 'em are crap. Probably awful; probably smell like babies. Pig-babies. But so are some of the stories that I'm already in the process of submitting.
So why aren't these things out there? I think I have some kind of fear that my older stuff just isn't up to snuff. But I'm reminded again of the fact that it's basically impossible to judge one's own work.
And, besides: even if this whole wad of words is crud, said wad nearly doubles my catalogue. That's twice as much chance to get paid!
And me likes a paycheque.
...and I also don't mind rejection letters that much, given the high likelihood of the antithesis of a paycheque.
But... let's be honest. I won't have time to do this for a little while. I've made an agreement with myself to finish what I start; the reason those seventeen stories are lying fallow in the first place is that I used not to abide by the rule of Finish-That-Which-Thou-Begin. Which means I have to finish Panopticron's first draft before I can do anything with all them shorts.
*Bellow of primordial rage!*