Oh, and another thing: conversations in Shoreditch last night have led me to believe I need to broaden my horizons. Keep doing the competitions, but start submitting to magazines and the like. This is a scary thought in itself. What if they reject me?!
It is here I try to remember the words of Stephen King in On Writing: he put every rejection letter on a nail by his writing desk, and celebrated it. This takes guts. That man has a lot of guts. If I can manage just a quarter of his guts, I might do ok at this writing malarky.