I submitted a story a while back to the “Family Matters” contest for the the literary journal, Glimmer Train.
Most of the time, I submit to journals simply for the exercise of doing so: for the practice of writing a cover letter and the toughening up of my skin when the reply is “No thank you.” I’ve read the statistics for getting published, so I tend to expect a decline sooner than an acceptance.
But, last night I received an email saying my story had worked its way through the judging process up to the “top 5% of over a thousand entries.”
My story was awarded an Honorable Mention (!).
There’s even a formal Glimmer Train document listing my name as proof — my own proof, since I ogled over it, while pinching myself at the same time, to ensure myself this wasn’t some alternative reality.
The names are in alphabetical order, and – lucky for me – my last name begins with a “C.” I’m listed dangerously close to the top, so if you see me driving around town, waving my hand like I was just crowned homecoming queen, you’ll know it’s gone to my head.