As I suspected, I didn't get into the Dumaguete Writers Workshop. Perhaps the fellows are not yet ready for microfiction. More likely, perhaps my work just stinks.
That leaves me with three weeks to do something else. Like earn serious money from teaching a class in Manila. And writing a technical book that will, I hope, earn me some serious money. And meet old friends and visit new places, all of which will take some serious money.
I only wish they'd been nice enough to let me know that I didn't get in, instead of making me wait in limbo.
Ah, well, ce'st la vie.