Seduced by acceptance

I said I was going to start collecting rejection letters, not acceptances. Apparently I have a bit of flash fiction appearing in an anthology coming out in January.

No, it’s not a paying market, but I wasn’t about to jump back into the deep end of the pool right away.  I also can’t let this go to my head; after all the first one is free, right? That’s how they hook you back in.

The email is sitting there smirking on my screen. “C’mon, see how easy it is? You just write something and send it and baby, you’re in. We want you back!”

I glare at the words. “Don’t give me that. I know the game. I’ve been ass-deep in an ezine slush pile before, buddy. At some point you start accepting anything without spelling errors just to make your deadline.”

“Oh, no darlin’.” The words do their best to look sincere. “This is for real. You and me are gonna go places.”

My finger hovers on the delete button. I stop. “Places? Like, around the block to the 7-11?”

It shrugs, “Sure if that’s where you want to go.”

“Wha’ddya mean by that?”

“Darlin’ I’m on your computer now. Think I haven’t seen that folder over there called ‘unfinished crap’? I’ve read it. Yeah, most of it is crap but there are a few good ideas in there that need some love.”  The email slinks across the screen and snuggles up to the folder. “Take me seriously, girl. Get in back in there.”

“How can I be sure you’re not blowing sunshine up my ass?” I narrow my eyes.

“Hey!”  It smiles a cheery smile that stretches all the way up to the limits of the preview window. “I’m just here to brighten your day, doll!  Whenever you’re feeling down, I’ll be right here to tell you that you did something right. When you get your contributors copy on your Kindle and fire it up, you can go ahead and delete me ’cause your name is going to be on the table of contents and you won’t need me around any more.”

I stare over the rim of my glasses. “Okay, okay. Tell you what, why don’t I print you out and magnet you to the fridge for a while? After that, I’ll tuck you into a nice comfy folder in the filing cabinet. If you’re right and I don’t suck, you’ll have company in there before too long.  Deal?”

The email grins again. “Deal.”

I click the print button.

About S. Kay Nash

S. Kay Nash is a writer, editor, and bibliophile. She lives in Texas with a mad scientist and a peaceful contingent of dogs and cats.
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