Last night I checked my emails and one was from India. I had been waiting for it and yet dreading it. It's a feeling experienced by many, not just us writers.
I had made by first ever submission of flash fiction to a magazine. Was it good news or bad? Jump up for joy or jump down off the nearest (fictional) bridge? It was the former.
My short story had been accepted and gone live. See ISF. Fantastic news. Time to throw arms up in the air and run around hooting wildly through the house, into the garden and back again. A few weeks ago I would have said naked, but the weather has turned now. It felt as euphoric as, 1) when I was commissioned to write a play for children, 2) when a SF short story was published in a magazine, 3) my play on witches was performed in the local town centre.
The writing related successes seem have been few and far between, and the slog continuous, but they will never be forgotten.
Typical writer here, currently going through a fitful sleep phase, carrying on regardless. Signing off.
