Years ago I wrote a post titled “P-Day” celebrating the face that I had been published for the first time (The P stands for published. Clever, right?). A short story of mine had been published in an Australian science-fiction and fantasy magazine, and I was pretty ecstatic about it. Someone had given me money just for writing some words down. And I like writing words down, it’s something I do even when I’m not getting paid for it.
At the time, the story was literally the first one I had ever submitted to a magazine. I had typed away during my off hours working as a nurse in my graduate year, and once it was done, I decided to try to get it published. First story sent off, and three months later they got back to me saying that they wanted to publish it. I thought this was pretty fantastic, that getting published wasn’t all that hard, and so after writing my cleverly titled post, I already anticipated the joy of writing the next post sharing with the world that another piece of writing had been published.
That day is today.
My first story was published four years ago.
In the intervening years I have submitted a plethora of stories to a plethora of magazines, and now have a plethora of rejection letters (I read through them when I’m in need of a good cry). It turns out that first one had been a fluke, and my presumption that published stories would come thick and fast was entirely incorrect.
Recently, I wrote a piece about the protection needed to work in the medical field, the process I had undergone in order to still function in an environment where you deal with sickness, disappointment, depression, and death. I thought it might be relevant enough to other nurses, and to really anyone who deals with stress in their job, and so submitted it to the American Journal of Nursing.
Four months ago they told me they wanted to publish it. A week ago they did just that.
If you’re interesting in reading it, you can find a link to the website here.
As the writer, I received a physical copy for free (swish), and am luxuriating in the first printed version of something I wrote (the first publication was an e-magazine, and so I never had the tactile pleasure of holding it in my hands. Or holding it tightly to my chest while I sleep. Leave me alone, I’m excited).
It took four years, and a lot of rejection, and even more persistence, but I am glad to finally share this post with you.
Thanks for sticking with me.