Leveling Up: Writer +1

It happened. Someone bought a short story. One that I wrote.

You may have heard me proclaim that I don’t understand how short stories work. I still don’t. I find them strange, elusive beasts. I’ve always written long fiction, so everything I know, everything that’s intuitive to me about world-building and character-building and pacing, don’t apply.

That said, I decided last year to make an effort to better understand short fiction. All the conventional wisdom says that it’s a great way to hone the craft and bulk up the resume. So at the end of last December, while everyone was enjoying their holidays, I was busy writing a weird little story about a dead girl whose body gets turned into a violin*. On January 1st, 2018, I made my first submission of my first complete short story for a themed issue of a magazine. It was a perfect fit. I got held for further consideration. And then rejected.

Surprisingly, I was less disappointed about the rejection than I thought I’d be. Hell, I got past the slush pile. I probably don’t suck. Cool. So I sent it off again. That rejection came much quicker. But third time’s the charm, apparently (as long as we’re in the land of cliches, I’m claiming beginner’s luck as well). 137 days from submission to acceptance. This little guy is going to be appearing in the January issue of Apex Magazine, exactly one year after sending it out the door for the first time.

The first thing I did when I got the email? Break down crying, of course, because I’m a walking puddle of human emotions.

I want to tell my mom about this so badly. She always teased me for calling myself a writer and never letting anyone read my work. I had sent her a couple of things in the past few years, but not nearly enough. There’s this huge part of my identity that she’s never going to know.

On my birthday, I went with a friend to see Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal in concert (this is relevant, I swear). Anthony Rapp lost his mother while he was in Rent. He talked about how he struggled with choosing what show to do next, because he knew it would be the first thing he did that she wasn’t a part of. It’s nice, at least, to hear someone else eloquently express the thing you’re feeling.

I’m so thrilled that this is happening. I’m thrilled that it’s Apex, which is one of the first short-story publications I found that I consistently enjoyed reading. I’m thrilled that I’m getting paid for this little thing I did. I’m feeling confident that yes, maybe I can do this. All of that is joyful, and it’s also complicated and hard. And that’s just the way of things.

So come the new year, I’ll be celebrating in my own way, and in my own time.