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What’s the Worst That Can Happen?

Posted by Dirck on 4 June, 2015

Day What How Much Duration Pen Ink
  • 1 June
  • 2 June
  • 3 June
  • First draft of Choose Your Own…
  • The same
  • A critique to pay for critiques I get
  • 4 manuscript pages.
  • 5 pages.
  • About 750 words and THINKING!
  • 35 min.
  • 40 min.
  • 55 min.


I’m taking today off from production because I’m spending all my energy on sweating and trembling.  I’ve just sent “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” off to an actual serious pays-for-stories publisher of science fiction.  It’s a sensation not unlike that of having shoved my tender little son onto the school-bus the first day of Kindergarten, if school involved savage judgement of my own worth.  I cringe and revel simultaneously, with all the pulled muscles that suggests.

The title of today’s entry is a phrase that flashed through my imagination as pointer hovered nervously over the SEND button.  Despite knowing that in any work of entertainment that very phrase leads to ninjas, devouring, or sudden penetration of the thoracic cavity by a Buick, I pressed the button.  Because really, the worst that can happen is a few weeks will pass before I get an email which says something along the lines of “it’s not quite what we’re looking for.  Better luck next time.”  Not even “never contact us again” or “the FBI has been given your contact information”.

The worst is, of course, also the most likely.  However, there is that small potential of good outcome opened up by taking the plunge.  Something like, “Congratulations.  Here’s some money and a quantity of recognition for your art.”  This would be a vindication, a triumph, and would throw open absolutely no doors for me.  Actually, that’s not quite right.  It would make it possible for me to join some professional writing associations, providing I was also willing to pay them for the privilege.  Which I would be.

Reckless dreaming offers “Say, that’s just what we need for an upcoming anthology; here’s (relative) gobs of extra money and even more recognition.”

The mad amorphous thing at the centre of my personal universe whispers the nigh-impossible, which I hardly dare put down in words that others may read: “Send more of your work.”

Today’s pen: Wing Sung 233 (not a penance or offering of sacrifice; I’ve just been indulging in some hoity-toity pens lately and I thought it was time to come back to earth)
Today’s ink: Herbin Lie de Thé (which might be construed as a hoity-toity indulgence.  I’ll wear it)

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