The Jealous Forge

You know what I'm talking about. That feeling, when you read something that just doesn't do it for you; that just doesn't seem up to par. And it's published. You think: "What's the deal? How come this...this yahoo can get work printed and I'm still sitting here being jealous?" So, what happens? Do I get depressed?

Nope.

I write. I finish stories I haven't looked at in months. I become a propellor of progress, churning out words like a Salad Shooter shoots out...salad? I look at old things I didn't like at the time, I re-evaluate and am usually surprised at their potential. So this is what I'm deciding to do.

I'm going to have a line-up. Five or so short stories, from a thousand to five thousand words in length, that I'm going to start sending everywhere. I have a drive to be published, and I'm letting you know first. All you yahoos out there? This time it's personal.

For those of you I haven't told, I got my first rejection letter the other day. A short piece of fiction I sent into a magazine, not expecting it to be published (not really wanting it to be published) and so it wasn't. And you know? It didn't bother me. I'm going to be rejected; I've accepted that. I don't have to be afraid to peddle what I've created. This is going to be my life; and I might as well start now.