Well, I actually mailed the aforementioned short story manuscript this
morning on my way to work. Suddenly, everything I hated about the ms.
is all I can think about, and I feel nauseous at the idea of a
respected editor gleaning her first impression of me from this pile
of trash. Worse, the mailbox I used is actually in our office, so I'm
having to resist the urge to crowbar the metal box open, dig out my
envelope and set my idiot aspirations ablaze in a highly cathartic
And by resisting, I mean I don't have easy access to a crowbar.
Ironically, the fact that this 'script is "in transit" makes we want to
write even more, if only to immediately produce a superior product and
use it to "cleanse the palate" of the editor in question. This
presupposes I'm capable of a superior product, which I guess means I've
backed into a little self-confidence, if only out of necessity.
Oh, yeah, the editor in question. Shelia Williams, the submissions editor as Asimov's. Hey, if you're going to fail, might as well fail big.
Yeah, definitely going to throw up now.