Her First Submission

They were short little tales of approximately 700 words, each having a twist ending similar to the old black and white Twilight Zone series. She remembered watching the marathon every New Year’s Day saying “Just one more” as each episode came to an end and the next about to start. She hoped her stories would have that same effect. “Just one more,” she imagined her readers saying as they flipped to the next story in her collection. 

That is, if she ever completed her short story collection. She thought of the five colorful folders hidden away in her writing desk, the disappointment trying its best to taunt her, but she wasn’t going to let it. Not this time. After all, it was New Year’s Day, and she had a new mindset to go along with her list of resolutions.

Reluctantly deciding against another episode in the sci-fi marathon, she went into her office and opened her laptop. Playing with some ideas for her next story she was undecided which one to bring to life. Again, she wondered if she would take her writing to the next stage. Her word documents saved and titled “About the Author”, “Dedication Page”, and “Blurb for Back Cover” all remained blank. Maybe it was time to throw caution to the wind and put together the final product.

Were her stories any good? Would she complete the collection and put it out there into the sea of stories? She pictured checking her stats, no sales coming in, no reviews being written, no volume two. Maybe the dream was better than the reality.

She opened her desk drawer and looked at those five colorful folders. Thinking back to Fourth of July she remembered handing them out to friends and family like goody bags at the end of a child’s birthday party. But they weren’t lollipops and plastic rings, they were her stories, pieces of herself that she had created and nurtured until ready for their first audience.

The agonizing over which stories to include and which to hold back for volume two had pained her as if splitting up a family. She spread index cards across the dining room table, sliding them around like a giant jigsaw puzzle to create the full picture. As those cards became a blur of confusion she was tempted to throw them up in the air and let them land where they may. Presto, done.

Finally pleased with the selection and arrangement, she had tentatively mentioned this first draft to her friends and family. Careful to appear nonchalant, although her heart was racing with nerves, she picked out the five people who had shown the most enthusiasm and presented them each with a colorful folder.

***

Glancing at the clock she realized an hour went by while sitting at her writing desk. Had she been lost in thought that long? It was a new year, a blank slate, time to get busy. She went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee and smear some cream cheese on a bagel. 

***

Not wanting to look at those blank word documents or five colorful folders she clicked onto her newest obsession. She had stumbled onto the forum a while back when googling ‘short story submissions’ and was hooked ever since. Spending all her free time devouring the stories and feedback it was as though she discovered a fountain of water after crossing the Sahara desert. She simply couldn’t get enough, her thirst that great.

Surprised by the banner that greeted her, she sat back in her chair considering the temptation. A New Year’s Day writing contest with a two hour submission window starting … now.

She desperately wanted to submit a story and had, in fact, been obsessed with the idea for a while. The more she read and reread her choices, the more frozen with indecision she became. How she longed to share her tales and to receive feedback. Even negative feedback would be welcome, perhaps helping her fine-tune her craft or deciding to keep it as a hobby for her eyes only. Anything would be better than the deafening silence from her folders.

Looking at the list of New Year’s resolutions she had taped to the bulletin board she focused on the number one item on the list. “Try Something Completely New.” Being a creature of habit, this was extremely challenging, but she was desperate to put a big check mark next to it and advance to the second item on her list. 

Putting that image ahead of her own insecurity she opened a new blank word document and started typing, getting lost in the tale. 

***

Sitting at the table for the New Year’s Day dinner with her family was a refreshing break she needed after writing uninterrupted all afternoon. She smiled listening to the banter, the jokes, the lighthearted conversation. She saw the smiling faces, the children with their spouses as the family grew larger. She also saw the series of emails, first the warm welcome and then the confirmation of her submission. Finally, after hesitation and self-doubt she tackled the first task on her list; she actually tried something completely new. Should she share her excitement? 

Deciding to test the waters she announced, “I’ve been doing more writing lately. I think my stories have improved with practice.”

Her daughter answered, “Oooohhhh, that’s great.”  The words suggested enthusiasm, but the high pitch betrayed her, revealing her true feelings. She was just being polite. Based on the lack of any other responses at the table, she realized there was no interest there at all. 

She had promised herself not to do this again, it was beating a dead horse. She remembered the first few weeks after handing out those folders she had waited for a text, a call, a conversation about her work. She had been filled with anticipation and excitement at sharing a window into her world. Reading those stories five more times, once from each person’s perspective, she imagined their reaction. Then, as time went by, the excitement faded, and the nervous energy was slowly replaced by regret. She equated their silence to disliking her work and not wanting to hurt her feelings. She wished she could go back in time and keep her stories to herself. 

As summer transitioned into fall she continued to write but with less passion. Like the air in an old balloon her enthusiasm had been let out slowly, leaving her deflated. Once she stopped speaking of her stories they became null and void. She decided to take her folders back.

Upon visiting the five selected recipients during the holidays she had looked around for the folder. Each had received a color she thought they would like, trying to make the experience a personal one.  Thinking back to where she had handed them over she was surprised, but not surprised, to find them all unmoved from that original spot. Putting each one carefully into her tote bag she brought them home to hide in her desk drawer. When she had gathered all five she opened them one by one and found the pages crisp and clean in neat stacks. Not the coffee stained wrinkled stories with notes scribbled in the margins she had hoped for. Not even close.

***

After the last of the guests said their goodbyes and the leftovers were packed away she returned to her office. Clicking onto the forum she gasped when seeing her submission. Reading her story online was more intoxicating than the glasses of wine she had enjoyed during their New Year’s toast. Her work, her creation, was there for the whole world to see. Feeling panicked at the last minute, she had used a pen name, but she knew the story was hers. She eagerly read the stream of comments, some praising her work, some providing constructive criticism, all equally thrilling.

After reading submissions by the other authors, she sat back formulating her thoughts, then shared them. Enjoying the in-depth analysis of characters and plot points, the conversations flowed deep into the night. 

Although her first contest was still pending, she felt more like a winner than she had in quite a long time.