The First Story That Ever Got Accepted

Originally published by Medusa's Laugh Press in their third microtext complilation titled "μtxt 3"on January 16, 2018, this story holds the honor of being the first acceptance I ever received.  It ended up being my second publication because of timing, but this one started it all.

And since there are a great number of people who haven't read it, I now offer it up here.  Enjoy!


~~~~~~~~~

Three Twenty


“So are you going to go?” asked Shonna.  She stirred her coffee, forgetting that she hadn’t added anything to it.
“I don’t know.  It seems so random and weird.  Who the hell tells someone to meet them for a date at 6:17?  Why such a specific time?” Delia poured an unending stream of sugar in her own drink.
“Maybe there’s a show that starts then.  Or maybe that’s when his bus drops him off?  Who knows? But what I do know is if you don’t go…” Shonna said.  She took the sugar from her friend.
“I just don’t know. You know?”
From the next table came an audible “Ha!” They looked over to see an old woman dunking a cookie into her tea and staring at the two of them.
The two younger women watched as the old woman returned their gaze.  Eventually, the stand-off ended when she froze the cookie midway to her mouth to say, matter-of-factly, "320."  
Shonna looked at Delia and snickered.  Delia continued to study the woman.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“I was young once,” said the woman through a mouthful of cookie.  “You bet I was. Young and pretty like you two.”
Shonna rolled her eyes.
“Oh, you look at me now and wonder how it could have been, but back in my day they were three deep at the door, my girls, and I had my pick.  Imagine that. Dozens of men all begging me to step out with them. A world of possibilities.” The woman stared past them, looking into her own past, and smiled.
“That’s a good story, Miss.  Thank you for sharing,” said Shonna.  She turned to talk to Delia but her friend continued to look at the old woman.
“What does that have to do with ‘320’?” Delia asked.
“There was one of them, a boy named Victor, tall as the day is long and handsome to boot.  He could smile and melt you in your seat. He had it bad for me. Told me so every day. But I wasn’t interested in making a choice.  I was enjoying the game.”
Shonna started looking at her phone, but Delia was nodding.
“Then one day Victor comes to me and gives me the ultimatum.  He says he’s leaving and wants me to go with him. Tells me he’ll be on the 320 bus that afternoon, heading out of town, and if I join him then he’s mine and I’m his. If I don’t, he’s out of my life forever.”
“How romantic,” said Delia softly.
Shonna snorted.
The old lady didn’t acknowledge either reaction.  “So I thought it over, and looked at what my other options were, and by gum, I decided to grab life by the tail feathers and go for it.  I got on that 320 bus and Victor and I rode out of town.”
Delia stood quickly and grabbed her purse.  “I’ll see you later, Shonna. I have something I have to do,” she said.
Shonna looked at her watch. “5:59. If she’s quick she should be able to get there in time.”
“Idiot,” muttered the old woman.
Shonna stared at her with surprise.  “You just encouraged her to go after him. Why is she an idiot?”
The woman chuckled.  “You kids, always in a hurry, never waiting for the story to finish.  Victor was a drunken ass. We made it to the next town over, where he got plastered and tried it too hard with me.  I kicked him in his nethers and walked back home. Married Tom, in the end. Brilliant man. Kind. Very nice teeth.”


Shonna looked out the window at the retreating form of her friend and stirred a tiny spoonful of sugar into her mug.
~~~~~~~~~

The Mismatched Submission, or "Watch what you're doing there, bub!"

So you know how it goes.  You've written a little story and you want to show the world.  The only way to go about this that you've found is to submit it to publications in the hopes that they will think it's as brilliant as you do and beg you for the opportunity to use your words, preferably while dumping buckets of cash over your head in some sort of scenario that most definitely has rap music playing in the background.

But really you'll settle for the praise of friends and family and your name appearing on screen or print.  It would even be okay if Enya was playing in the background, so long as they said yes.

You have two options as I see it.
  1. Carefully choose each publication, fully researching their past publications to assure yourself that your story belongs there.  Thoroughly read all of their guidelines, tweak your cover letter to match their tone and feel, all that good stuff.
  2. Shotgun submit that bad boy to as many publications as possible.  Something's bound to stick!
I usually land somewhere between the two (I know, I said two options...sue me, it's a free blog).  Especially when the story may be...questionable in nature.

The issue with one particular story of mine was language and mild blasphemy, not anything overly sexual or grotesque.  The story in question, a lovely little tale of an angel and devil on opposing shoulders having a frank discussion about their jobs and deciding to try a swap (and called Cross Training, because I love double meanings), has a good big of language on the part of the devil.  Nothing excessive if you ask me, but enough that several members of my family likely won't talk to me for a while after they read it in hopes that their shunning of me will make me a better person.

I just realized this was an awful lot of set up for the point I'm trying to reach.

So I'm doing one of these shotgun submission volleys (paying attention to the guidelines, because nothing gets you overlooked immediately more than using the wrong font) and I send Cross Training out to I think twenty different publishers.  Sometimes when you're submitting you have the option to receive the publication's newsletter.  Oftentimes I choose that so I can get to know them better, especially if they mostly publish in print so you can't really see samples.

After this volley I got one of the newsletters.  It didn't take much of a perusal to realize that this particular publication, which we will call YogaPants to protect the innocent (and because I really do like them and want to be in them one day - the publication, not the yoga pants), was not really the sort of mag that would react kindly to a story to a story with such brilliant dialogue lines as "Because it's fun, you dumb fuck," and "I'll have him distracted with booze and blow before you can get him into a church.  Hell, I might even look for a hooker to get him with!"

My fear at this point was that the fine people at YogaPants would think I'm a jerk and sent them this story to mock them.  It certainly never would have graced the pages of their magazine, and the whole scenario would have ended up with me likely being blacklisted by them, and like I said, I like the publication.

Through Submittable you can withdraw submissions you make and give a reason or not give one at all.  Unless you're pulling the story because someone else picked it up (which is always a fun note to write) it looks bad on you, so I was reluctant to go that route.  I knew I had another story that would be more suitable, but I couldn't send it to them on top of Cross Training.

So I consulted with anyone who would listen, including some new friends of mine who do the editing gig and receive submissions all the time.  It was an almost unanimous "Withdraw it!" with the exception of one who said, "Leave it and see if they have a sense of humor."

In the end I wrote them an email and explained my mistake.  Luckily they were kind people (I mean, they run a magazine called "YogaPants" for crying out loud, how could they not be?) and they opened my submission up for editing.

This was a first for me.  I went in, quickly pulled Cross Training out of the queue and inserted the new story in its place.  Then I clicked the button to finish and sat back happy with myself.  Until I realized I forgot to change the name of the submission to the new story.

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!  Nonononononononono!!!  <sigh>

There was nothing to be done.  I wasn't about to write them back and say, "I messed up again, can you open it back up?  I swear I'll get it right this time!"

So I left it.

And now they've just rejected the story after a month's wait.  I'm not certain whether they're rejecting the first story, the replacement story, or me as the idiot who can't follow simple instructions.  Only time will tell the next time they put the feelers out for submissions.

One day my name may grace the pages of YogaPants.  One day.  But not today.

Writing Challenges

In the hunt through Submittable for suitable publications I keep coming across sites that are looking for specific things on a regular basis.  To keep track, I've decided to document them here as I find them.
  1. The Coil - DaguerreoTyped Monthly Photo Prompt Challenge
  2. Press 53 Prime Number Magazine - 53-Word Story Contest
  3. Dime Show Review - Ten Word Stories
  4. 101 Fiction - 100 Word Story, One Word Title
  5. Scottish Book Trust - 50-Word Fiction Contest
More as I find them.

Who Am I? or Identification Through Lists

I keep seeing these things pop up on Facebook that say something along the lines of "list your ten favorite Whatsits, one per day, and each day challenge someone new to do the same."

The obsession with forcing things to be "viral" is tedious at best.

But it occurred to me that I could answer those questions here, where no one looks, and have the same satisfaction of self-identification without harassing my friends to do the same.

So...

Ten Books That Most Influenced My Life
  1. The Man Who Was Thursday, by G.K. Chesterton
  2. The Wisdom of the Desert, by Thomas Merton
  3. The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien
  4. Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
  5. A Study in Scarlet, by Arthur Conan Doyle
  6. American Gods, by Neil Gaiman
  7. Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut
  8. Mr. Midshipman Hornblower, by C.S. Forester
  9. The Last of the Wine, by Mary Renault
  10. The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells
Ten All-Time Favorite Albums (subject to frequent change)
  1. U2 - The Joshua Tree
  2. Mary's Danish - There Goes the Wondertruck
  3. Pink Floyd - The Wall
  4. Tom Waits - Small Change
  5. INXS - Kick
  6. Sting - Dream of the Blue Turtles
  7. Chumbawamba - Uneasy Listening
  8. Counting Crows - August and Everything After
  9. Crash Test Dummies - God Shuffled His Feet
  10. Regina Spektor - Far
I'm sure more will come out, so I'll update here when they do, or when I change my mind about anything I've listed here.

The Nocturnal Visitation, or The Crazy Woman at the Door

Here's the scene:

My daughter was getting over the flu, and was asleep in her bedroom upstairs.  My wife, having caught the flu from our daughter (we did teach her to share, after all), was asleep in our bedroom upstairs.  I, in an effort to keep from catching the flu from either one of them, was asleep on the couch downstairs, on the main floor of the house.

It was 1:30 in the morning.  I was just winding down, having set up the best version of a bed I could construct on the couch, and was at that very point where you begin to realize you may have shifted over to thinking about things to actually dreaming about them.

That's when the incessant pounding began.  My first thought was that the dog had once again gone full force in trying to deal with an elusive itch, and in his zeal was pounding his scratching leg against the wall of his crate.  There is precedent for his.  Many times he has scared the crap out of us with this noise.

So I ignored it and tried to head back to Morpheus' house.

But it continued.  Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang!

My next thought was that he would soon reach that point in his efforts where he hurt himself, either by scratching too hard or by getting his foot caught up in his collar.  (Again, there is precedent).  I reluctantly slid off the couch and went to the back room to help him.  It's at the point when I walked in the room that I realized someone was pounding on the back door.

My internal dialogue went something like this:

"Someone is at the back door.  Who could that be.  Shit, it's 1:30 in the morning.  No one I know would be knocking at my door at 1:30 in the morning.  Who is it then?  What do they want?  Why are you asking me, ask them?  Fine.  I will.  No need to be a jerk about it."

Now I've seen enough horror movies to know that there was no way in hell I was opening that door.  My imagination was running wild with what could be out there, and I have a pretty good imagination and let me tell you, none of my ideas were pleasant.

So I decided to converse with the person.

Me:  Who's there?  (Good opening.  Very direct and pretty much industry standard)
Her:  It's Jessica.  (I know several Jessicas.  None of them live in this state or know me well enough for this to be happening.)
Me:  And who is Jessica?  (Side note:  I'm really exhausted, so proper phrasing is lost on me.)
Her:  I'm your neighbor, sort of.  Can you let me in?  (Seriously?!?!?!?)
Me:  No, I can't do that.  What do you want?  (No blood sucking demon is getting in that easily!  No way in Hell!!!)
Her:  I need help with my car.  Can you just let me in?
Me:  Yeah, that's not going to happen, lady.

Now, I should state at this moment that I am not, inherently, an asshole.  If a person needs help, I will give it if I am able.  But not at one-fricking-thirty in the morning.  I did have pangs of guilt at being so resistant to her request, but then I imagined her accomplices hiding in the bushes with weapons at the ready waiting on my idiot head to pop out, and the pangs went away.  Back to it:

Her:  Please!  I need help!
Me:  Okay, I'll call the police for you (Genius!  That'll run her and her crazy goon friends off!)
Her:  Can you just let me in?

Right, no matter what the situation, her constant insistence that I let her in was pissing me off.  I called 911 on my phone and talked to the operator, explaining that a strange woman was banging on my door demanding I let her in, and she said she'd send a police car.  I didn't know if this was a proper emergency or not, but I was nervous as hell so I didn't care.

My storm door banged closed and I heard her walk away.  My satisfied conclusion was that she heard me calling her bluff and realized the cops were on the way and she decided to book it.  No matter what the actual situation, the authorities would be here soon and they would deal with it.

A few minutes later, to my surprise, a knock came at the door.  This time it was less insistent, more casual.  I knew if it was the police they wouldn't be so nonchalant about knocking.

Me:  Who is it?
Her:  It's Jessica.  Can you let me in?  (My house is nice, but for crying out loud, it's not that nice, lady.  Why do you want to come in so badly?)
Me:  I told you that's not going to happen.  The police are on the way.
Her:  Can you get me help?  (Um, I just said that thing about the police, didn't I?)
Me:  What kind of help do you need?
Her:  Can you just let me in?
Me:  The police will be here in just a moment.  They can help you.
Her:  Where are they coming to?
Me:  They are coming to right where you are standing.
Her:  Okay.

The storm door closes again and she walks off.  I steal a glance out the window, but I don't see her.  That freaks me out more than anything, but at that moment I see flashing lights.  Ha!  They've got you, you crazy late night knocker lady!

Throughout this I was texting with my wife, who was no longer asleep and wanting to know what was going on.  She reiterated the fact that I shouldn't open the door, and instead of arguing that I had that idea first I just reassured her that I was keeping us safe.  I knew she was as freaked out as I was, and sick.  Not a good combination.

I thought the police might come and talk to me, but they just talked to Crazy Knocking Lady out back for about ten minutes and then everyone was gone.  No more knocks, no more disturbances.  I reassured my wife that all was safe and secure and then went back to the couch.

Where sleep stubbornly eluded me for some time yet.

I still haven't found out anything about who she was or what happened, and I doubt that I will.  I did a Holmesian sweep of the yard and the back alley looking for any sign of someone being there but found nothing.

The way I see it, one of two situations existed:

1.  She was up to no good, and the cops dealt with her.
2.  She was genuinely in trouble, and the cops helped her.

All I know is that anyone who repeatedly insists on being let inside my house in the wee hours of the morning is out of their mind, no matter who they are or what their situation.

Timeline of Events Relevant to Getting My Stories Published


I set a goal to get 100 rejections from publishers in a year in order to force myself to get my stories out there.

Here's how it has played out so far:

  • 06Apr2017 - First Submission:  Submitted "Should Old Acquaintances" to Smokelong Quarterly, kicking off the process.  
  • 17Apr2017 - First Rejection:  "Should Old Acquaintances" rejected.  While disappointed, I was happy in a sense because I didn't like the title being plural.  Renamed the story "Should Old Acquaintance" and moved on.
  • 18Apr2017 - 30Sep2017 - Decided the whole one-at-a-time thing was foolish and began the flood.  Thus began five months of accumulating 41 rejections.
  • 02Aug2017 - Hit the 25% mark on the 100 Rejections Goal.
  • 01Oct2017 - Submitted "Three Twenty" to Medusa's Laugh Press.  It had been rejected once already by a different publication.
  • 02Oct2017 - First Acceptance:  "Three Twenty" accepted by Medusa's Laugh Press.  Story to be published in print form as part of an anthology of microfiction.  Withdrew the story from consideration from six other publishers.
  • 15Oct2017 - Submitted "What Red Did" to Dime Show Review.  This version of the story was a rewrite of one that had been rejected in its original form.  
  • 16Oct2017 - Second Acceptance:  "What Red Did" accepted by Dime Show Review.  Story to be published online with potential for print publication.  Withdrew the story from consideration from one other publisher.
  • 17Oct2017 - Submitted "Lost and Found" to Dragon Poet Review.
  • 18Oct2017 - With a three-hit from a publisher who pulled the plug on their publication, I hit the 50% mark on the 100 Rejections Goal.
  • 22Oct2017 - First Online Publication:  "What Red Did" renamed to "Red Did It" and published online on Dime Show Review's site.
  • 13/Nov2017 - Submitted "Bocce and Apple Crates" to Digging Through the Fat.
  • 14Dec2017 - Hit the 75% mark on the 100 Rejections Goal.
  • 17Dec2017 - First Print Publication:  "Red Did It" published in Dime Show Review, Volume 2, Issue 3, in the section called "Risable."
  • 16Jan2018 - Second Print Publication:  "Three Twenty" published by Medusa's Laugh Press in their hand-made book "Microtext 3."
  • 30Jan2018 - Third Acceptance:  "Lost and Found" accepted by Dragon Poet Review.  Story to be published online mid-February.  Withdrew the story from consideration from seven other publishers.
  • 05Feb2018 - Hit the 100% mark on the 100 Rejections Goal!!!
  • 12Feb2018 - Fourth Acceptance:  "Bocce and Apple Crates" accepted by Digging Through the Fat.  Story to be published May 2.  Withdrew the story from consideration from two other publishers.
  • 14Feb2018 - Second Online Publication:  "Lost and Found" published in Dragon Poet Review, Winter/Spring 2018 edition.
  • 07Mar2018 - Submitted "Funnel Cake" to Flash Fiction Magazine.
  • 23Mar2018 - Submitted "Hard to Move" to Firewords.
  • 06Apr2018 - One Year Anniversary of the start of the project.  Thus far 116 Rejections have been received.
  • 22Apr2018 - Fifth Acceptance:  "Hard to Move" accepted by Firewords.  Story to be published June 25.  Withdrew the story from consideration from twelve publishers.
  • 02May2018 - Third Online Publication:  "Bocce and Apple Crates" published in Digging Through the Fat, Stories No. 69.
  • 10May2018 - Sixth Acceptance:  "Funnel Cake" accepted by Flash Fiction Magazine.  Publication date to be determined.  Withdrew the story from consideration from four other publishers.
  • 23May2018 - Fourth Online Publication:  "Funnel Cake" published in Flash Fiction Magazine
  • 24Jun2018 - Hit the 25% mark on the Second 100 Rejections Goal.
  • 07Jul2018 - 200 Submissions mark reached.
  • 16Jul2018 - Submitted "Odobenine" to 101Fiction.
  • 29Jul2018 - Third Print Publication:  "Hard to Move" published in Firewords 10.
  • 12Aug2018 - Hit the 50% mark on the Second 100 Rejections Goal.
  • 25Aug2018 - Submitted "Needs Must" to Dime Show Review.
  • 27Aug2018 - Seventh Acceptance:  "Odobenine" accepted by 101Fiction.  Story to be published September 2.
  • 02Sep2018 - Fifth Online Publication:  "Odobenine" published on 101Fiction.
  • 04Sep2018 - Submitted "Winter" to Literally Stories.
  • 13Sep2018 - Eighth Acceptance:  "Winter" accepted by Literally Stories.  Story to be published October 3.  Withdrew the story from consideration from two other publishers.
  • 24Sep2018 - Hit the 75% mark on the Second 100 Rejections Goal.  250 Submissions mark reached.
  • 03Oct2018 - Sixth Online Publication:  "Winter" published on Literally Stories.
  • 27Oct2018 - Hit the 100% mark on the Second 100 Rejections Goal!!!
  • 03Dec2018 - Chosen to be featured as a Community author by Digging Through the Fat.
  • 03Dec2018 - Hit the 25% mark on the Third 100 Rejections Goal.
  • 15Dec2018 - Asked by Firewords to be a reader!
  • 19Dec2018 - Began reading for Firewords.
  • 16Jan2019 - Ninth Acceptance:  "Needs Must" (ten word story) accepted by Dime Show Review.  Story to be published online with potential for print publication.
  • 27Jan2019 - Finished reading for Firewords.
  • 30Jan2019 - Seventh Online Publication:  "Needs Must" published on Dime Show Review.
  • 11Feb2019 - Hit the 50% mark on the Third 100 Rejections Goal.
  • 29Jun2019 - Tenth Acceptance:  "The Negative Ramifications of Heartbreak" accepted by 42 Stories Anthology.  Story to be published in December.
  • 21Jul2019 - Hit the 75% mark on the Third 100 Rejections Goal.
I will update this timeline as things evolve.

Bizarre vacation dream

I'm in a hurry to get to the theater, which is reminding me in the dream of a story I wrote, although in this case everything is normal. I make it in just as they are closing the door, and manage to get through the descending door by sliding through on my knees, which would be impressive if anyone was watching.

The seats are filled except for several on the back row on the left hand side, so I take one of the middle ones.  I feel vulnerable behind everyone with empty rows behind me.  I start to think I should leave.

The back doors open, and people carrying various firearms come in, screaming and waving them around.  A man, who is clearly in charge, addresses the crowd but I'm not paying attention because I'm trying to figure out how to get out of there quickly.  He has a woman standing next to him and she points at me with a smile.

The man yells something to the crowd then pulls out a pistol and shoots me in the stomach.

I don't feel the bullet enter.  I wonder if I'm supposed to.  I've never been shot before, so I don't know what it's supposed to feel like.  There is no pain, and when I reach down I can't find where it went in, and I don't see blood.

He shoots me again, and I realize I'm meant to be the example.  I'm the one he kills at the outset to show everyone he means business.

He shoots me a third time and the woman next to him claps.  I think to myself what a weird thing it would be if this was a date for the two of them.

The shoots me a fourth time and I realize that my legs won't let me run like I want to.  There's still no blood, and no pain, but my body feels weak like I've been shot four times.

With the fifth shot he puts his gun away and smiles at the woman, then walks off.  I can't help but think he missed an opportunity to put one in my head and have it be more impressive.  Still, I'm glad he didn't.

The woman sits down next to me and things bet even weirder as she begins to interview me as if she's a reporter following up on a story.  She asks my name and where I'm from.  She wants to know what my favorite foods are, if I have any nicknames, and where I like to drink.  The whole time she's questioning me I'm feeling weaker and weaker and she's patting my hand like and old friend.

She asks me if it hurts, and I say no.  I can see now that her whole act, everything she has been doing and saying since she sat down, is just her getting the most out of watching me die.  She wants to know who they killed.  She loves that part.

I reach down to where the bullets entered me and I still can't find any blood, and I tell her this.  She looks irritated and calls to the man.

I realize that there is still one bullet left in the gun, and this time he will shoot me in the head.  I frantically look around for some form of escape, and I see nothing.  There are people with guns everywhere, and cowering patrons begging for freedom.

She smiles at me and pats my hand.  "It will be over soon."

In a panic, I realize I'm dreaming, and I take the one escape that's available to me.

Good morning.