In June 2011, I got my first ever published story.
It was with an online magazine called firstwriter.com. Yes, the title could not be more apt.
When I read my story had been accepted, I had to put down my computer and take a walk. I’m a published writer. I’m a published writer. I could not get it out of my head. It was hard to believe after 10 years of scribbling I had actually found somewhere to have my story read.
I knew it was not the best story in the world. I knew, it was at best, a little bit clever and it had a great last line. That is probably enough, anyway. Stories, like people, cannot be all things to all readers, and I think as long as you satisfy two or three criteria then you have done well.
It was the first story I had written for a competition, the writer’s and artist’s yearbook one. I did not place. Nor did I place the next year, nor the next. And then, realizing that maybe short stories were not for me, or simply giving up, I stopped entering and stopped short story writing.
The last short story I wrote was last Summer for another comp. Again, it went unloved. After 9 years of short story writing, I still had not got the hang of it, or of writing the right story for the right editor.
At least I can publish the stories here. Some people might read them. Like them. Dislike them even. Anything but indifference is all I would ask for.
You can read the story on the right. And there is a link down below.