http://www.writersdigest.com/articles/rosenfeld_shades_of_gray.asp

I found out some surprising news.

1. Many editors and publishers will not accept pieces of writing if it has been previously published.

2. Some places even consider online posting, as in a blog or e-zine, as publication.

To be safe, after reading the above article from Writer's Digest, I've decided to not post any more of my writing on Manuscripts. I don't want to take the chance that one day, I will try to submit a story or poem for publication and get nailed for not telling the publisher it has been previously published. Many blog sites keep records of what you have posted online, even if you delete it. Which means what I post on here could potentially harm any future that little poem or short story has in seeing itself in print.

I do like the idea of continuing this blog though for writing purposes. It might just be a good way for me to keep a record of what I've submitted to and what the results were. Or to post the things that I learn when going from poor college student to famous writer. =) Let me know what you think. I honestly don't expect people to read this blog very much. My real blog is at www.reeshasblog.com.

But to change the subject, I just submitted four poems to Writer's Digest for their annual writer's competition. It cost me $25 for all of those. At first I was daunted by the submission cost until Nate told me "The only way to guarantee you won't win is by not submitting." We'll see how this one pans out. I wish I could guarantee myself that the experience will be worth the money even if I don't win anything, but this is all online; there's no experience.

My goal is that next year around this time I will have two short stories ready to submit. I love writing short stories more than poems, but poems are the easiest to finish.

I am excited. I don't think I've ever submitted any of my work to anything (besides American Girl, which didn't get published). I would appreciate your prayers that my poems will at least get within the top fifty. His will be done, but I'm going to have the audacity to ask Him for this as well.

Sorrow's Happiness Ch. 1

When I was younger my mom started a writing club for us kids with other homeschooled kids we knew. I remember it being lots of fun. Everyone would write something to share, anything, and then we would go around the circle sharing. If you didn't have something to share, that was ok because you would just gather inspiration from the others. Some of the stories that were written back then I snicker at now. A lot of them were last ditch efforts to produce something to contribute the morning of the club meeting. But mostly, I liked the fact that it forced me to write. We met once a month. And I got so much inspiration from that group.

I got tired of only having one story on here and trying to write an actually good story to post. So I decided I'm going to force myself to write something. I'm going to shoot for once every two weeks at least. Today I sat down and wrote this scene. I might develop it in a couple weeks, we'll see. Can anyone think of a title for it that would inspire me to write more or that would suggest more of the plot?

Untitled

Jason stared at the blaring alarm clock through smudged eyes. Of all days why did it have to be this one that he didn’t feel like getting up? He seriously thought about pressing the snooze alarm again but instead flung his feet off the side of the bed and slumped into his desk chair nearby. While waiting for his computer to start up, he scratched his beard and yawned. He had only gotten three hours of sleep. That wasn’t good. He would need more coffee. He left his computer to take its time waking up, since that was what he needed as well, and started the small coffee machine at the other side of the room.

            It wasn’t a very nice room. It had four walls, cream-colored pasty. It had a toilet and a sink, and some outlets. Other than that, Jason had only brought in his bed and his desk. And of course the computer. Still, he was thankful for what he had. Thankful for his own space and the ability to do things as he wanted to, on his own time. Some would call the artist’s loft petty, dirty, even unhealthy. Certainly no place to find inspiration. But he was inspired enough by his own freedom. Ownership was what mattered to him. And he would gradually build on his own steam a better life, a better home. But for now he had to buckle down.

            Sitting back at his computer with the steam rising from his mug, he let the hot liquid warm his hands before beginning his day’s work. He laughed to himself. It wasn’t work. It was enjoyable. He was living the life.

            He heard a tic at the window, as if some random piece of debris had been blown past it. That was all it probably was. But still, he had better check the street. He crouched beside the window, trying not to be seen from anyone on the sidewalk below. His eyes scanned the passersby. No one. It wasn’t them. He breathed a sigh of relief, but instead of going back to his computer, he continued watching.

            The only downside to the life he was living was the fact that he wasn’t completely free. Not yet, not now. He had to keep invisible for a little longer, just a few more weeks, and then he would be ok. If he could just hold out a little longer…

            Who was that at the entrance? He saw a large man in a tan trench coat enter through the main door below. He was probably just an innocent. It was probably nothing. All the same, Jason’s heart began to beat a little faster. He mentally calculated how much time he would have before the stranger reached his door. He double checked the lock just to make sure. He always kept it locked, but it didn’t hurt to be anal about it. He thought of any way of escape. No, not without leaving his room and he couldn’t leave unless he wanted the stranger to see him plainly. He then thought of his computer. The files, the codes, the secrets,…should he start blanking the thing now to protect his family and his clients? He had about three minutes. He began loading files onto a flash drive with the intent that if the stranger had been intent on busting in, he could always hide the flash drive. Or destroy it. Maybe he would resort to swallowing it.

            Three minutes passed. Four. He waited breathlessly, thumb drive in hand, computer empty of its records.

            Five minutes. He thought only briefly of what would happen to him if they found him with such information. What would happen if they didn’t find it and expected to. What would happen to those he knew.

            Six minutes. He began to ponder how they would have trailed him here. How they might have found him. Did he not cover well enough? The African artifacts he had brought back. Perhaps he didn’t disguise the fact that there were hidden microphones, and hidden pieces of information on them. In his line of work, one had to be very good at setting traps. He just didn’t like the experience of having to get out of one himself.

            It had been at least ten minutes since the stranger had ventured into the apartment complex. Jason relaxed his grip on the flash drive. See? he told himself, it was nothing. They couldn’t have found you. It’s ok. Just a few more weeks.