Adolescent me does a happy dance

So I don't normally post about when I make a submission to a journal or anthology -- there's all sorts of reasons why. Everything from the superstitious don't wanna jinx it to the vanity based don't wanna look stupid if I don't make it comes to mind. And I especially don't blog when a submission isn't picked up.  However, this post isn't about making a submission to a market or the market's reply, it's about how damn, amazingly geeked my thirteen-year-old self is right now.

When I was about thirteen, somewhere in that seventh to ninth grade range, I read a lot of Sword and Sorceress anthologies. They were all short fantasy stories focused on heroines -- right up my alley. I particularly remember the S&S anthology with the cover at left. I'm absolutely certain that was one I owned not I borrowed from the library or theLiz.

Back then, Marion Zimmer Bradley was still editing these anthologies. After she died, the series went on a little hiatus and I lost track of it.

A year or two ago, I found out that the yearly series had been revived by Norilana Books, with Elisabeth Waters as editor. And perhaps what was even better was that I found their submission guidelines. I made a promise to my thirteen-year-old self that I would submit a story to S&S.

The month-long submission period came. And went.

I changed my promise to I'll submit ... someday.


I'm here to report that someday is today. My thirteen-year-old self would be reporting to you, except she's too busy doing a happy dance.

Of course I would love to be published in this anthology, but for the moment, the act of sending in a story is far more important. Sending in the story means that I'm now engaging a world that brought me joy as a reader.

I think I lose track of that sometimes -- we all probably lose track of that sometimes. In the race to get published, then the race to get more -- more readers, more prestigious markets, more publication credits -- it's easy to submit to markets that we've never read. Some would even claim it's necessary. But there's undoubtedly something warm and fuzzy about submitting work to a market that has, at any point in your life, brought you joy.