My little story “No More Tomorrows” continues to surprise me. First that it was accepted at all by Z Publishing House for their Florida’s Emerging Writers series. Then that it earned two positive reviews by writers I deeply admired: Carrie Rubin and Luanne Castle .
Now it’s slated for another publication, again by Z Publishing House. A few days ago I received this email:
Hello Marie,
It is our pleasure to invite you to join our upcoming nationwide edition of the Emerging Writers series. Out of the more than 2,000 writers who were accepted into our 2018 Emerging Writers series, yours is one of 136 writings we would like to publish in the nationwide edition, America’s Emerging Writers: An Anthology of Fiction.
I had to give permission for the reprint. Ha ha ha … you know I didn’t have to think about that for long. You can count in seconds the time it took me to respond.
So I’m feeling grateful, thankful. The past two weeks has been difficult with one tragedy after another, some very close, some very far but just as heartbreaking. Although my little short story doesn’t change anything–it won’t bring back lives or restore homes–it is, for me, one tiny bright spot. “No More Tomorrows” comes from a place deep within me, a place I feel I can still touch although it no longer exists in the real world. It’s a reminder that sometimes I should just write.
But first let me thank you, my dearest writing community, my blogging friends who have been traveling with me on this weird-ass journey of writing, sharing our fears and joys, giving each other advice and propping up. As I’ve said before and will say again and again, I couldn’t, wouldn’t be writing without your support. So now I’ll …
Florida’s Emerging Writers, published by Z Publishing House, is now printed and available for purchase. I have a story published in this anthology and, yeah, I’m pretty proud of it. That’s about as shameless as I can get.
You can imagine my delight and gratitude when I read Carrie’s review. You can also imagine how choked up I got when a friend told me over dinner one night that he had read my story three or four times and then proceeded to talk about its meaning, in particular the part where Melissa and her mother June drive over the “railroad tracks, a hump in the road that made Melissa feel that she was going up a roller coaster.” My friend riffed on the idea of trains, how they come and go, the sense of traveling through time, these two women trying to visit a past that had already left the station.
If either Carrie’s review or my friend’s comments peak your interest in this new anthology of Florida’s Emerging Writers, please click here. Any purchase you make using this link will net me a small commission. (And my continuing shameless self-promotion includes peppering my post with the link for purchase.)
Thank you all for your support.
Yes, there is a cat in my office window. Why are you surprised?
In case any new readers come across this post: It’s all good. I’ve received credit for any sales made through this link: http://www.zpublishinghouse.com/?rfsn=1648278.3e0285
Patience is not one of my virtues, but I’m working on it ;)
This post is not about hawking the anthology, however. A couple of wonderful supporters have already indicated that they purchased the anthology using the links I provided yesterday. Their generosity should result in a decent commission for me; yet, those sales have not shown up and I have to wonder if there is something wrong with the URL. (Although what it could it be, who knows? Both I and a friend used the link to purchase the anthology, and those sales have shown up.)
I have a small favor to ask.
If you did click on the link provided in my blog post and purchased the anthology Florida’s Emerging Writers (or any publication on Z Publishing’s website), please email your name and order number to me at marieannbailey[at]gmail[dot]com
With your name and order number, I can follow up with Z Publishing and (hopefully) resolve this issue. I hope this doesn’t seem petty, but if anyone is purchasing the anthology in order to support me, well, it’s only fair that I receive the support.
I always think of Friday the 13th as a lucky day for me, even if the luck only extends as far as nothing bad happening on that day. This Friday the 13th started off ominously though, putting me in a funk that lasted all the way to bedtime when my luck finally changed.
As I do every morning, I was sitting with a cup of coffee in my favorite corner of our couch, a heated wrap around my neck to ease my cervical arthritis. I had been fairly upbeat the day before, since Thursday is the day before Friday which is the day before the weekend. Those two days a week–Saturday and Sunday–I practically live for. But I digress.
So I’m nestled in the corner, sipping hot coffee, poking around on my iPad as the fog from my brain slowly clears when I sniff and my sinuses contract. I quickly shoo away the first thought that comes to mind. “No, no, no! I do not want to deal with this. Not this early in the morning!” I proceeded to ignore what my nasal passages were practically screaming at me, forcing me to breath deeper as the scent overwhelmed my senses, yet I recoiled at the thought of the obvious.
Finally I took my last sip of coffee, put the mug down, the iPad away and got down on my hands and knees. Granted, I did have to put my nose practically into the thick pile of our area rug, but there was no denying it, no way to ignore it.
Cat pee. Old cat pee. I looked up at Maxine, innocently curled up on the back of the couch.
What? Who, me?
Maxine is now 14 1/2 years old and lately we’ve been having some issues around her “inappropriate elimination.” Long story short: we resolved some of this peeing in all the wrong places by doubling her dosage of Cosequin. Cats, as many of you know, are stoic creatures. They keep their pain to themselves; if they choose to let you know, it’s often in oblique ways such as peeing in all the wrong places. Our theory is that Maxine, due to her age, probably has pain or at least discomfort in her hips and the trip from the back porch or from the living room to the nearest litter box is a road too far. When we doubled her Cosequin (that is, giving her a dose with her morning meal as well as her nighttime meal), she perked up, became more alert and interactive, and ceased to pee in the living room. (The back porch is still an issue, probably because she has to use steps and a cat door to get in and out.)
But apparently that didn’t mean that we had found and cleaned up all the places she had peed on in the past couple of months. So the morning of Friday the 13th, before I went to work, I pulled the area rug from the living room, wrestling it from underneath a rather large ottoman and rolling it up so I could drag it into the garage where it can stay forever as far I’m concerned. I’m a bit of a skeptic when it comes to getting rid of the smell of cat urine; fortunately, my husband has taken on the task of soaking the porch rug with Nature’s Miracle, sucking up the residue with a shampooer, and repeating … indefinitely.
That was the start of my Friday the 13th. The rest of the day was filled with angst. I could barely motivate myself to answer emails. I didn’t go for a walk during the workday because, as per summer in Florida, it was too effing hot and humid. A twenty-minute promenade around the complex leaves me with sweat stains in all the wrong places. I almost blew off going to the gym after work. I’m glad I did go since I needed to work off some negative energy, but the road trip from my workplace to the gym is like the highway from Hell.
Eventually I made it home, disgruntled and peevish (my husband’s word). He had spent the day cleaning the porch rug. We had dinner, drank wine and watched an episode of Star Trek: Enterprise. We got ready for bed. What happened next returned the luck to Friday the 13th.
I flipped open my iPad, something I don’t often do right before bedtime and I can’t say why I did it this night. But I did. On the screen, a series of email notifications bubbled up. One was from Z Publishing. The subject line was “Your Submission Decision.” The first sentence of the email read “We at Z Publishing House would like to congratulate you for having your writing accepted into our upcoming Florida’s Emerging Writers publication!”
It’s all a blur after that. I think I started shouting. My husband ran into my room. I read him the email. We’ve been celebrating every since.
Way back in April, I received an email from one of the staff at Z Publishing, inviting me to submit some of my writing for their upcoming series of America’s Emerging Writers. She had visited my blog and thought I might be interested. Well, that was an understatement. I did a quick search on Z Publishing, found a forum on Reddit that pretty much verified the entity as legit so I went to work. I managed to pull together five short short stories–the word count is 1250–and sent them in. I had only a couple of days to meet the early bird deadline, and my husband remembers very well how I closed myself up in my room tweaking those short stories to fit Z’s requirements … and still make sense.
Ever since I have been waiting. Now I know that three months is not a long time to wait to hear from a publisher, but I don’t do this very often. Well, actually, I don’t do this. I can count on one hand the number of submissions I’ve made in the last several years.
The publication date is September 6, with preorders available starting August 6. At that time, I’ll join their affiliates program and will be able to provide you all with a link to Z Publishing so you can purchase Florida’s Emerging Writers or any book that strikes your fancy. I will get a commission for any sales that come through that link. That’s icing.
The cake is the publication of one of my stories in a printed book.
The luck of Friday the 13th has been redeemed.
One last thing: I really owe it to ALL of you for being part of my life, for encouraging me, following my blog, reading and sharing my stories and WIPs. I know this is a very small success, and I won’t stop here.
Marie at 1 Write Way 