Honorable mention

As a writer trying to expose my work to the public eye, I receive my share of rejection letters. A couple weeks ago, I got this 8 x 11 sized envelope in the mail from the Writer's Digest. Last spring, I had submitted two short stories and three poems to their 78th Annual Writing Contest. I hadn't thought about it much lately, until I saw the envelope. I didn't expect to be one of the winners. They must get thousands upon thousands of applicants per each category of their contest. In fact, I had received two notifications of rejection within the month from other publications, so I assumed another rejection was what was inside this envelope. I opened it anyhow. I read the first couple sentences. Funny, I thought... I've never read a rejection notice that started it's first few sentences with "One of the most enjoyable tasks as editor of Writer's Digest is passing along good news to writers. This is one of those fun occasions."

About the time I finished reading these sentences, my mind broke into two. Part 1 of my mind couldn't quite process the data it was just given, and was stuck on the theory "rejection notice." However, the new data created a glitch in the system, and Mind Part 1 tried to reason how a rejection notice could begin with the prophecy of good news.

Luckily Part 2 of my Mind was able to process the information and was excited to continue reading the letter. However, it was in such a hurry to read further that my eyes almost couldn't keep up. They tripped over words, scraping their knees, but Mind Part 2 grabbed their hands and dragged them across the next sentence. "It is my pleasure to tell you that your manuscript, Indulgence, has been awarded Honorable Mention in the Mainstream/Literary Short Story category of the 78th Annual Writer's Digest Writing Competition."

So as a part of my blog entry this week, I am including an excerpt from my short story Indulgence, which was Honorable Mentioned in the 78th Writer's Digest Writing Competition:



Indulgence

Blaze added another coat of cover up to the wrinkles around her eyes, touched up her mascara, and repainted her lips a crimson red. She examined herself naked in front of the dressing room mirror; average height and weight, long, dark hair, and large, full lips. She saw the sagging of her breasts, the wrinkles around her eyes, the flabbiness of her stomach, and how her pale thighs jiggled when she moved. She was accustomed to hiding her flaws through make up and costume.

Blaze took out a black nightie that covered her belly. She always wore lingerie that covered her stomach since it was no longer tight and slim as the stomach of the young girl who stood next to her, applying pink lip gloss. The young girl couldn’t have been more than twenty-one years old. She was pixie like, with slightly pointed ears that poked through her blond hair.