I did not scream like a preteen at a One Direction concert
And I most certainly didn't swoon like those girls at JFK airport on February 7, 1964. What I may (or may not) have done was bounce around my living room like a jackrabbit on meth. But since there is no video evidence of this, I will plead the fifth if you ever accuse me of it. I am, after all, the very essence of decorum, and would never exhibit that sort of wildly exuberant behavior.
HOLYCRAP!!
<Inhale. Exhale.>
What did you say? Oh, no, you must have misheard me. I didn't say that. What I actually said was:
OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!!!
Excuse me. I need a moment.
<Inhale. Exhale.>
Okay. I think I’m better now.
<Breathe, Laura. Just Breathe.>
You see, I've just had some rather…pleasant…news and I may have become…a little excited. I received an official email from A Literation magazine today. This email was an acceptance letter regarding not one, not two, but three (THREE!!) of the pieces I sent them.
THEYAREGOINGTOPUBLISHMYWORK!
<Trails off into unintelligible gibberish for several minutes.>
My apologies. I’ll try to keep it together.
In the past six months, I have submitted my work to five literary journals. (Well, actually, there has been a sixth, but I won’t hear from them for a while, so they don’t count at present.) Four out of those five times have been rejection letters in which I was told that my work was outlandishly pathetic and I should never attempt to string more than three words together at a time again. (No, actually, they were very polite, but even a respectful and well-mannered rejection is still a rejection and all four of them made me feel like dog poo had been smeared all over my favorite white shirt.)
But. BUT!
The wonderful editors at A Literation have now validated that I can, in fact, form reasonably coherent sentences that other people might want to read.
I think I’m freaking out just a bit.
