What a Feeling!

No, I’m not having a Flash Dance moment, but I am a resident of that euphoric cloud nine right now.

Last month I entered a writing contest on a prestigious writing blog site; I sent in two submissions in fact. I didn’t think I would win, though I had hope. I mean who enters a contest hoping to lose? I saw some fantastically wonderful and some not so wonderful stories. Still I had hope. It just wasn’t in the cards for me to win.

While waiting for the contest results I received an email from a writing association I belong to reminding its members of the next month’s newsletter deadline for article submissions; Feb 29th. So I pulled out a piece I thought might be of interest to send in, dusted it off, gave it a spit polish and sent it in.

Oh no, it couldn’t be that simple!

I received the email on the 15th and had my piece ready for submission by the 19th then proceeded to email it to the newsletter’s editor. Or so I thought.

I used my iPad to send the email, my piece was written and stored on there so why not. No big technological stretch of mental prowess there. Or so I thought. On I go with my merry life, thinking I had successfully submitted my piece for review.

No, I didn’t bother to check my sent box! I hit the send button, so it sent, I was convinced.

During the evening wind down on February 29th I heard my phone alert me to new received email. It was on the charger across the room. I was comfortable on the couch. So, I opened up my email program on my iPad.

That submission email was still on my iPad! I panicked! Had it not sent? Why not? The email notification I received two weeks ago specifically requested that we not wait until the last minute, and here my submission sat in cyberspace limbo!

I jumped up and dashed to my phone to check the sent box of my email account. It was sent. Ok, deep breath. I looked again. Wait. It was sent, but where is the attachment? How could it have sent without the attachment? My face paled as I realized the levity of the situation at this seemingly eleventh hour. What a complete nimrod I must now seem to this editor!

I looked at my husband calmly thumbing through his own email on his phone. I was having a crisis and he was calm? How fair was that? Deep breath, swallow your pride, ask. “Dear,” I said, “I think I’m having a problem.”

My husband is the foremost computer expert, in my book at least; my go to guy when I hit a road block on a computer problem, which is often. I showed him the problem and explained my panicked state at nine o’clock in the evening; a time in which I should be winding down, not winding up as I was now doing.

It took about half an hour, my expert and I sitting side by side, trying to get the email sent to the right place with the correct attachment. My submission was finally sent successfully and I could start my wind down once again.

All of that eleventh hour strife was not in vain. I was published! It’s just a newsletter, still! Someone read my words and liked them enough to put them into a publication that would be read by countless others.

The newsletter is for members of the Southeastern Writers Association. They can be found at this link: Official SWA website

Here is a link to my article that was published: my published article


6 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. TheOthers1
    Mar 03, 2012 @ 17:53:46

    Woot! Way to go. ๐Ÿ™‚


  2. Naomi Baltuck
    Mar 03, 2012 @ 19:12:22

    Congratulations! So happy for you.


    • makergoddess
      Mar 03, 2012 @ 22:37:11

      Thanks Naomi! It’s just an article in a newsletter today, but it will be a best selling novel tomorrow! Well, I can dream anyway, right? ๐Ÿ˜‰


      • Naomi Baltuck
        Mar 03, 2012 @ 22:41:35

        Every journey begins with one step. You’re on your way.

      • makergoddess
        Mar 03, 2012 @ 22:47:44

        That’s basically what my husband keeps saying. I keep giggling with excitement then for some reason feel the need to bring myself back down to earth by saying, “I know, it was just a newsletter.” and he keeps saying, “But it’s a start.” ๐Ÿ™‚

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