Saturday, August 30, 2008

crossing the last t, dotting the final i

My adventures since I wrote last have not been very numerous; but such as they are, they are much at your service. —Jane Austen

I FOUND IT. Oh, I’m so happy.

Thanks to my mom’s prompting, I remembered a journal that we saw at the Festival of Faith and Writing—it feels like ages ago! But I pulled out the sample copy we picked up then, and read through it. I love the style of this journal, I love the stories, I love their philosophy. And it’s a Christian journal, which means I don’t have to feel sheepish about the surrounding stories, should I get published.

I checked with my story, and it gave me the thumbs up. So now we know where it will be going tomorrow—all that remains is packing its bags for the journey.

Now that I know where my story’s going, all my concerns about publishing have melted away. I like this journal a lot, and I would be so honored if they accepted the story. But if they don’t—that’s okay too.

I realized that it’s the fine lines and the little trickinesses of submission that give me fits—the proper cover letter, the formatting, sending the story during the correct reading period, researching so I’m certain the editor’s name is right, as well as (don’t get this wrong!) the gender. Those have been the real concerns that kept me from sending this story out again and again—maybe that’s funny, I don’t know.

But I’m always like this. In high school, I was far more anxious about filling out the forms and registration packet for the ACT test than I was about the test itself. Did I get all the little details right? Was everything signed properly? (Probably this is the same impulse that made me a decent but neurotic proofreader…) The test itself, the story itself, doesn’t really worry me. Either they have a place for it, or they don’t, no harm done.

After all, this story is just a little thing, based on something I saw in London, and then written at the Fish House my senior year, for my fiction class. I love it. But if it’s not a fit for them, my world will remain intact.

Lest you think me heartless, it will be very different when I send my novel out. (Should the day arrive when it’s done. Lately I’ve begun to wonder…) But I will literally have to hire someone to hold my hand ‘round the clock after sending the novel out. They’ll have to pass me a paper bag to breathe into from time to time… That’s going to feel like mailing out one of my arms, or perhaps just a sizable chunk of my brain.

Um, hope you like it okay… I’ll just go have a quiet fit until I hear from you, but no rush, really…

Ha. I’ve heard you have to start your next book right away, and I think I will—it will be the only thing standing between me and total panic…

For now, I’m practicing with small things. It’s not my whole arm, just a small finger, with a self-addressed, stamped envelope, winging away…—jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 08/30 at 04:44 PM
(0) Trackbacks • Permalink

<< Back to main