Guys. I should be asleep. I should be resting peacefully in the arms of slumber, dreaming what terrible blows I will deal my characters next and how they will oh-so-cleverly extract themselves from it (or will they?).
But alas, this is not to be for I am absolutely giddy. And terrified. For if I succumb and close my eyes in repose than I will undoubtedly think on the either wonderful or incredibly stupid thing I have just done.
I have submitted three stories and two poems to two respective literary magazines.
What will they think? Will they like them? Will they accept them? Will they reject them (probably). But what if they don’t? What if my name actually appears in print? What if this pulls through? What if I can actually say I’m starting to build my ever-elusive “platform?”
But what if I’m rejected? What if not one of my pieces makes an editor think? What if not one of my pieces stirs his or her creative genius? What if my work can’t arouse any emotion and then the notification of such an event spawns such heavy emotional displays on my end? What if they crush me??!!!?!?!?
Well, don’t worry, they won’t, I’m just being dramatic. It’s because I’m overtired, you see.