Submitting My First Story

My step-mom (my other mother) cut out an article from one of her magazines. The glossy page was flat and new, barely handled. The first thing I do was read it. It was for a short story contest. R and my dad were talking which I had been a part of the conversation but was distancing myself from it because of my deep focus on the article. (It was nice to have R home after seven months of basic training.) A smile spread across my face. I smiled because my step-mom took the time to think of me and my writing. Her thoughtfulness really made me happy. Sometimes I don’t think about it, but people do believe in me. I was determined to write something for the contest.

I folded the glossy paper in half and placed it in my purse, where I knew where to find it. Throughout the course of the week, I took it out of my purse, read it, folded it back up and put it back in my purse. I carried it around with me wherever I went. The more I handled it the glossiness wore off and the page wrinkled, like a well loved teddy.

I went onto my computer many times and dabbled with some ideas. None of them spoke to me. I was looking for that WOW factor. Without that WOW factor, the story wasn’t right. But I wrote. I didn’t stop. Then I got fed up. I took breaks. I deleted paragraphs, pages even. I walked away completely. But I came back.

Then life decided to test me and the rest of the family. We’re tested every day, but sometimes life wants to throw a wrench into a running engine just to see if we’re paying attention. R and I were ready to move to Florida. Boxes were packed and the movers were coming that Friday.

Midweek, R and I woke up to plans for our first date in seven months. Our plans were put on hold when I saw my mom (the mother who gave me life) curled up in pain on her bed. She told us later that our faces were twisted with worry. We rushed her to the ER and she was admitted, X-rayed, and told she had a broken arm. It would be a week before an orthopedic doctor would “have the time” to do surgery on her arm. R had to leave the Monday after the movers came in order to make to Florida to report to the base on time.

R left as scheduled and I stayed for another week to help my mom. The numbing separation returned, but it would be a short one this time. My goodbyes were stretched out to another week and it made it harder on everyone. I saw how much my mom, dad, and step-mom really meant to me.

I drove for four days, from California to Florida, and at a stop I rummaged through my purse. I pulled out the folded piece of paper I’d reread so many times. It was more crumbled from the last time I saw it because it had been living at the bottom of my purse waiting to get some air. I unfolded it and smoothed out the creases. I traveled the rest of the way with ideas for a story.

When I arrived in Florida I spent the first week putting together the apartment, waiting for the movers, waiting for the cable guy, waiting… You know, this whole year had been a bunch of moments of waiting. I was used to waiting. I didn’t mind waiting some more.

R and I finally got settled. We finally went on our date, and plenty more. And finally I was able to sit down at my computer and write. The ideas I developed on my cross country trip were put into words. I spent several days just writing. I didn’t bother to edit at first. The words were raw and there were a plethora of errors. It took a few more weeks to edit. I got fed up. I took breaks. I walked away completely. I ignored it for a day or two. Yesterday, I came back to it. With a fresh mind, I worked on it, determined to turn it into a WOW factor.

By nighttime, I had finished. In addition to my editing, I sent my resume to at least six job postings. Then from the other room, R calls to me, “Log onto MSN.” I did. Then he sent me link after link of possible job offers. I was so happy that he scanned the ads with crisp eyes and found job offers that I had glazed over during my search that day. He believed in me.

R’s faith gave me the confidence I needed to submit my short story. I looked over the 3,484 words I had written, attached it to the e-mail and clicked SEND.

The story is out there ready to be looked over by a panel of judges, one of whom is a favorite author of mine. There is more waiting ahead. Patience, be my friend?

Even through all the wrinkles in life, good things can come out of them.