Now, gentle readers, starts my nervous hand-wringings and contemptable snappishness.... if that is a word. I have one short story that was mailed this morning, and another waiting breathlessly to be sent out, both harboring that inextinguishable desire of wanting to show a glow so formidable that when the readers at the respective lit mags lay their furtive glance upon its pages that they cannot help but run to the nearest blackboard and write, in large, swooping hand, "A+++++++++".
I think that they are good stories. Probably two of my favorites. For that reason, I am setting unrealistically high goals for them, namely, getting published. The chances are slim (I have sent them to highly selective publications) but my hopes for them are anything but. I should hear back from the one I sent out last month within a month... and the other one about the same time. Stay tuned for more fumings, rants, ravings, and maybe a particular shade of joy should the story get published. It will more than likely contain size 72 helvitica at some point during that blog post, should it weasel its way past the editors and into a magazine.
I imagine this post as the glass bottle of milk or champaigne being cracked against the hull of a ship that is departing the harbor for the first time. So come with me as I begin the slightly painful journey that is "doing this for a living." The water is treacherous and deep, and the bottom is lined with ships that didn't make it.