This weekend I submitted four stories to over twenty different journals. The stories were ready to go out. They had either been rejected and needed to be resubmitted or had been finished recently and had to be sent out. I watched my Submittable list accumulate. I entered my submissions on Duotrope. And for a minute I felt proud. For a minute I felt like I used to feel when I would go back-to-school shopping and would line all of my items up on my bed when I got home: shorts, t-shirts, folders, and crayons.
It felt like possibility. It felt like hope.
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