Well, I was blessed on Tuesday night when I received word that one of my poems about breast cancer had been accepted by a literary journal, and then received a word seconds later from a west coast editor (thanks, Ken!) that his magazine would be publishing my short story, "Giraffe", in the next issue. I say I'm blessed because, although I wrote the poem only a month ago, the story is one that I've been trying to place for 18 months . . . and one of my finer literary endeavors, I believe: a short story about a divorced father who takes his autistic son to the zoo.
It doesn't sound very exciting, I know, but it's a story with some emotional pull to it, and I have to believe it's one of my best fiction efforts of the past two years. (Since most of my efforts are duds and end up on my closet shelves.) Anyway, again I'm grateful to be included and I hope "Giraffe" might make it into a story collection I'm trying to assemble.
I'm always amazed when people I have never met like my writing. I'm especially astounded when they accept my work for publication. And I am flabbergasted when an editor writes me a check. It never grows old. And I get just as excited over receiving a "yes" for a poem, an essay, a story, or even a book. It's just that some levels of excitement carry forward for a longer period of time.
I like "Giraffe". It's a story that challenged me. That's important. Every now and again it is vital for a writer to stretch his neck out.
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