First Short Story Accepted!

I think that all writers realize that they’ll get a lot of rejections, and I’ve followed that norm. I’ll admit that at times I despaired about every having a story accepted by a literary magazine, so I was surprised and thrilled to get an email last week from Short Fiction Break literary magazine accepting my first short story! It is set to come out on July 7th, and I am really looking forward to updating the fiction page here with a link to the story on their site. I have stories submitted at MANY other lit mags, and this has given me some renewed hope that some good news will come from those other stories as well!

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Literary Journal Reflections

I’ve only gotten my feet wet so far, so I’m by no means an expert, but I’ve been checking out literary journals lately and it’s been a steep learning curve. I started out focused on Glimmer Train, and I am really looking forward to getting a piece accepted there. From what I’ve seen so far, they write very nice rejection letters and the two that I’ve received so far have each been different. Two different form letters? Perhaps, but I like to think the sisters took a small amount of time. They have so many open submission periods, that there’s always something to look forward to. Many of the rest have somewhat ran together. I appreciate the ones who who Submittable, so that my subs are oraganized easily. I was excited by One Story’s special offer to submitters to get five issues for five dollars, as I would love to read all the journals, but the cost would add up. My best experience so far has been with Short Fiction Break. I submitted in the evening and the next day I had an email from the editor giving praise for my story, as well as detailed criticism, offering for me to resubmit the story within the next month. So much of the submission process has been like a vacuum, that getting detailed feedback was a welcome change.

//ClicheIt’sBeenaWhileSinceLastPostTitle//

Nearly a year has passed since I went to DFWCon2016, and it’s been a strange year in terms of self definition. After DFWCon last year, I was very energized about my writing, making very worthwhile revisions to my main manuscript and starting two other book length projects. I felt good about my pitch sessions, and I was excited to hear back from those agents. Then, I made the mistake of waiting and not working. The waiting lasted a long time and when I didn’t hear back, the waiting turned into apathy. The one good writerly thing that I did was turn to short stories, and they have got me excited about writing again. I’ve been exploring the world of literary journals, and while I’ve found that I’ve got a lot to learn, I’ve also enjoyed the challenge and some of my studying about book querying transfers. I haven’t given up on The Great Defiance either but I’m fine with it sitting on the back burner for a bit. Focusing on craft in short bursts will be my goal, and then I can apply that to longer works in the future.

The Lecture Hall

the sieve and the sand

Tans abound, bathed in
reflecting, radiating, vibrating
softly, glowing fluorescent light.

Worn carpet rests under;
never-in-style patterns surround
as ideas are tossed lazily about.

Some have merit,
some do not.
Some are young and vibrant,
most are not.

Reflected, radiated, vibrated
in lifeless fluorescent light,
surrounded by worn tans,
trying not to stand out.

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A Heart of Flesh

the sieve and the sand

A heart of flesh

is a dangerous thing

because it causes so much pain.

How much easier I always find it to be

to live with a heart of stone

inside of me.

Because a stone does not feel.

Because a stone has no need to heal.

Instead, it just chips away,

weathered and ripped apart

by the wind and the rain.

And flesh is just so weak,

able to be stabbedtornbroken

by the hands of man.

And it hurts so much to feel,

because every piece that breaks

causes so much ache.

So the temptation is so strong

to be a stone that rolls along

without feeling,

without touching,

without purpose.

But that life is not for me,

not since I looked at that tree.

And that life is not for me,

because even through the pain

a heart of flesh can find joy in the rain.

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