Well, I’ve gone and done it.
A moment ago, I clicked “submit” for a short story I’d been ruminating about for some time. I bit the bullet, finished it, and said, “What the hey.” I even have a confirmation number now, so it is officially in the hands of a fiction magazine.
Do not, I warn you, hold your breath; decision notifications for January submissions does not happen until April, so I would suspect you would be in need of this girl’s skills if you ignore my warning and hold your breath anyway.
I am giddy. I am nervous.
Many centuries ago I signed up for the Long Ridge Writer’s Group. My money got funny so I never completed the work. I didn’t like the deadlines, I was too young and without calluses to appreciate all the constructive feedback. So here I am, with a pile of LRWG materials in a lateral file; I plan to one day go back and look at the story prompts I developed back then to see if anything is worth expanding.
I thought I’d not write fiction again. But here I am.
And for your enjoyment, here is a taste of the story I submitted.
If When accepted, I’ll post or link the whole thing. Scouts’ honor. Cross my something and hope to whatever. Hold me to it, yeah?
As I closed the flap on my sack, I sensed someone at my back. I spun, only to find myself facing a most fearsome sight: a man of metal, seated on a giant metal horse. Both looked down on me with fiery eyes but I was not afraid. I reached out to touch the horse’s nose to find the heat from his nostrils to be undulating and warm, like the vapors from our dinner fire. The man of metal reached out a large hand to me, beckoning me to come up onto the horse with him. I put my hand in his, expecting it to be cold, like the expression on his expressionless face; it was warm, almost like skin. Before I could pull away in surprise, he had pulled me up and cradled me between himself and the horse’s metal mane. I could feel the horse moving beneath me, muscles rippling; he glided across the surface of the sea, leaving no wake. We moved away from the shore, away from my past. The man said nothing and the horse made no sound; we traveled like the wind and soon the shore was out of sight. I gasped as I realized we were not moving through the water, but over it, out toward the west, away from the fishing grounds.
I felt a rumbling behind me; the man of metal spoke. “Emma.”