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Squirrels

 I’ve been doing some thinking.  I have dozens of stories written.  Most of them aren’t very good, but several of them are.  I’ve been trying to get them submitted.


Part of the problem with being a graphomaniac is that you have so much material that you begin to forget it.  I’ve read some of my own stories that I have no recollection of writing.  One that I recently finished was “Squirrel Play.”


Recently finished stories I remember.  I wanted this one to get read, so I decided to aim high.  The Horror Zine is a phenomenon that took off.  I’ve tried to publish there before, without success.  I decided to try again.


Much to my surprise, it was accepted.  I’m thrilled beyond words!


As a struggling writer I wrestle with self-doubt constantly.  I wasn’t given much encouragement as a writer, except by two English teachers in my high school.  Although that was nearly forty years ago, I only got the courage to submit my first fiction eleven years ago.


My first submission, to Danse Macabre, was accepted and if it hadn’t been I might not’ve tried again.  Did I mention that I’m a struggling writer?  My first contest entry, also to Danse Macabre, won.  If it hadn’t, I probably would’ve given up.


That’s the exact opposite of the message I want to send.  Don’t give up.  Don’t give in to the self-doubt.  “Squirrel Play” is the twenty-ninth story I’ve had accepted for publication.  Now I want thirty.





I finally submitted my short story collection to a contest.  Will it win?  I have no idea.  But even if it doesn’t, I hope that I might learn my own lesson.  You can’t get published if you don’t submit anything.


My number of rejections is over three times higher than my acceptance rate.  Over 80 agents refused to consider my novel.  Perhaps the reason I write horror is that you have to be willing to have some of your blood shed in order to succeed.

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