Preparing for Publication...

...Or rejection.

That time has come. Over the next few weeks I will be preparing a portfolio of my writings to be sent off for review and - hopefully - publication. This is a big step, and I am a long way off from truly being published I am certain, but it is time to get that first rejection letter out of the way. I am working steadily on a new story, though time has not allowed me to make it as far as I would like. So while I peck away at the bark of this new adventure, I figure it's time to work on getting some of my adventures out there for the public.

The main story I am sending is entitled "Daisy Duke" a short story that my professor said was by far my best work. However, being my best work, it is also my roughest piece. So I am going to spend a fair amount of time reworking the piece to make it flow to it's fullest potential. Because I am planning on sending this piece off for publication I am regretful that I cannot share it with you all on this site, but I do want to share an excerpt to show you a little of what I have learned. Which I will present at the end of this post.

It is my intention to have at least four stories edited and sent off to a number of journals and magazines by the end of the month. With courses starting again one Wednesday however, I believe I should set my sights for mid February. With that said. Wish me luck! I hope to be able to come back and give you all good news about my endeavors.

On another note: I have made it my New Years Resolution to complete that One Full Draft I mentioned upon joining DW. Due to my classes and my own laziness, it does not look like I will meet my March deadline, but that will not stop me from pursuing an end of the year deadline!

Absently playing with one of my longer curls, I sat twirling my finger in the auburn lock as I watched the city street with vague interest.  People walked by, just as they always did, their eyes downcast, just as they always were, oblivious that anyone might be observing them.  From where I perched on my steeple I peered out at the city like a man who had long before lost interest in life.  Perhaps I had. My moth eaten coat and dirty pants, oil stained beanie, and splintered boots didn’t exactly exude livelihood.  My hair was nearly black with grime save the one curl I twirled in nervous habit. I don’t remember how long it had been since I’d last been intimate with a toothbrush, and I could feel the wax squirreling its way from my ears to mix with whatever was growing in my beard.

- Elizabeth C. Kelly  (ToryKasper)