Anyway, I yesterday sold my short story, "Y'All Are Gonna," to Ann VanderMeer at Weird Tales. I nearly didn't go to work, that's how excited I was. I was almost sick. Ill from excitment. Yeah. It was awesome.
Weird Tales was the first magazine I ever submitted a story to, back in May of 2009. At that point in time, I was certain I was the next, y'know, Kafka or something, and the rejection was a bit of a disappointment. But, here we are, a year and a half later, and I'll be appearing in those slick and shiny pages. The satisfaction of appearing in the same magazine as so many great pulp authors past is almost too much to bear.
Oh, just a moment; my eyeballs have fallen on the floor.
|hey bud let's go get a drink|
oh wait you are dead
But the ink is now dry on the contact (or, at least, my ink is), and I am slightly less terrified than I was earlier. Besides, if Ann VanderMeer really did turn into some kind of monster and rend me limb from limb, I'd be alright with that. It would be a good way to go out.
And you'd all know the truth: that I am the reincarnaton of H. P. Lovecraft.
Minus, you know, all that racist stuff.