I see a lot of blog content about writers block and writing prompts and writing exercises to get you going. I have the opposite issue, I have more ideas and story lines than I can handle. I have to make myself do just one.
Not a problem, I’ll get around to all or most of them sooner or later.
Anyone else have this?
I recently received not one, but two very rare editor feedback. Along with the rejection of course. In the many years I have been submitting short stories and the stage play, I have probably only received feedback a couple of other times. And those times were not all that specific like it was this time.
One editor stated that they were looking for more depth in the main character and perhaps I could flesh him out a bit.
The other editor suggested that there were too many adverbs in use. And advised I do a document search using ly as the search tool. I did, and yes there are a few too many most likely. He also said some other positives about the story.
So, it is most likely back to the rewrite for those pieces. Somehow, I don’t see it as too difficult. I know that these online magazine editors are swamped with submissions and I really appreciate a few lines from them.
Honest to whatever, I shouldn’t complain. After all it is a publication credit. But, for the love of …
I submitted this way back when, in 05/2013, right? It appears online 01/20/2014, right? Well, who knows. The story doesn’t appear as this weeks featured story, it now shows a publication date of 06/25/2013 and it is buried on page three of the story line up. However with the mobile app, it appears first page, but still not the featured, new story of the week. Meaning, it will not be read much. And believe me, I checked EVERY week and that story was not published until yesterday. The whole publishing game is such a … such a… game!
So now, why again are so many authors turning to self publishing?
Anyway, I really am happy about it.
He took a flight to Kansas City. He could have driven. No hurry; she would be there and this time she would not turn him away. No arguments. No accusations. No controversy. Yes, there would come a parting, but not like the other times.
What had started so well, so long ago had gone bad. Not all bad. When they were good it was more than hoped and the times they both lived for; but this was territory they had never explored; never considered.
The airport was busy; he was patient and waited his turn in the rental car line. It was not the car he had arranged but that mattered little as he drove the highways and the streets of the city. Leaves of brown, gold, and red scattered in front of the car as he made his way down Crescent Street; now her street. It was once their street, their place. Empty now, she would not be there. He slowed passing the house.
He drove on and it wasn’t far. The man at the office told him where to go, and said the gates would close within the hour. He found her, approaching slowly, for no reason other than it felt right to do, he stopped and sat at her feet.
Wilted flower arrangements were dumped on the newly mounded earth. It was quiet. The headstone would not be placed for some time, and he sat until the maintenance man in the truck drove by and gave him a wave; polite sign that it was time to go.
At the airport and caught the next flight home.