Maybe all those years of getting rejections still haven’t worn off, but there is no denying it still brings a thrill to have a publisher – even if it is an internet publisher – accept something I’ve written.
I still have the first acceptance letter I ever received, back when those sorts of things arrived from the postman on paper that came from actual trees – nothing digital, nothing recycled, nothing but the old typewriter.
Typewriter (tīp’rī’tər) n. A writing machine that produces characters similar to typeset print by means of a manually operated keyboard that actuates a set of raised types, which strike the paper through an inked ribbon.
That first letter was for a piece of short fiction I wrote – the magazine editor mentioned he thought it sounded a little Ray Bradbury-esque. That was high praise, for me. Included with the acceptance letter was a small check. I mean, small.
I ran across something that Yahoo! offers called Associated Content that supposedly pays for stories, and sent in an article. Today, I got a note – email – that it had been accepted. No check, as yet, but I learned years ago that you cannot set out to be a writer for money.
People write because they are driven to do it – more like a curse, really. It is something that usually has to be done alone, and little comes from most of it.
Except, occasionally, there is an acceptance letter.
It’s still fun to have a stranger publish your writing.
Makes for a happy day.
