I have a short story I’ve been trying to get published for a couple of months, with nothing to show for it but a handful of rejections thus far. But one of the hoppers I lobbed it into was the annual contest of the Columbia Journal, the lit-mag of Columbia University.
Yesterday I learned that my story was selected as one of three finalists, out of hundreds of submissions!
... I didn’t win. Columbia is not publishing my story. But they will name it on their website, and “we are very impressed by your outstanding work.”
It’s the sweetest disappointment, or the most bittersweet thrill, that a growing writer can ask for. I’m still finding my legs in this grand fiction experiment, and let me tell you - this external validation that I might not be so bad at it came at a very good time.
Now back to trying to find a home for that story.
Yesterday I learned that my story was selected as one of three finalists, out of hundreds of submissions!
... I didn’t win. Columbia is not publishing my story. But they will name it on their website, and “we are very impressed by your outstanding work.”
It’s the sweetest disappointment, or the most bittersweet thrill, that a growing writer can ask for. I’m still finding my legs in this grand fiction experiment, and let me tell you - this external validation that I might not be so bad at it came at a very good time.
Now back to trying to find a home for that story.
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