Saturday, March 23, 2013


Reddit helps a lot, it seems. In /r/writing someone was kind enough to make a chart of magazines that actually pay for fiction/poetry (I died a little bit here) and I'm sitting here like, "50$ per page!? 700$ FOR A STORY?!"

But then I go to the website, and I start clicking around, trying to see what type of magazine it is, what they publish, who it's for, and the closer I get to "SEND THE STORY, SEND IT SEND IT SEND ITTTT" I start hesitating. I don't even get it, what is it that I'm so terrified about? It's not like they'll know how old I am yes they will I write and sound like a teenager and it's not like it'll change anything if I'm not published yes it will it would mean FAILURE. I just rationalized my way out of submitting Daylight Runaway because it's technically a Christmas story (as in, Christmas day is briefly mentioned) and we're in March. And then I rationalized my way out of sending The Magic Trick because my professor had a bit of a problem with the climax and it' might be boring.

JUST DO IT says about 68% of my brain. It's the majority and yet I'm doing a great job at ignoring it. The other problem being that apparently no one likes to receive stuff mid March? I don't...I don't even know.



A small fight broke out in the comments of that post, by the way. It seems a lot of people are offended that some writers are so concerned with the money aspect. While I would technically agree that going into writing for the sole purpose of making money is ridiculous, I don't understand why some people want to vilify those who wish to get paid for their fiction.

I always feel a little naive and ridiculous when speaking with older, wiser authors/writers about my plans for the future. I feel like saying my dream is to be a published novelist will lead some to take it as a personal insult. Like I'm going against the whole nature of art and its beauty by trying to get some cash out of it.

I already picked a career that barely qualifies as a career and might make me homeless if I don't have some other job backing me up--I think one can rest assure I'm not in this for the money. I could always pick a more secure way to gain income, like armed robbery.

But I'm picking writing, and it'd be more than heaven if I could live off of it, so I will pursue that.

(That sounded defensive... it was)

P.S: This post isn't anything special.'s a flash fiction I wrote on the bus based off one of an early scene from Enkindled With Chains.

I may or may not submit it to Teen Ink since I doubt it'll be published there >_> Problematic in so many ways..

(Edited and Professionally Feels Tested by Giselle: The Batman) The Road to Awe
She knew that was the day she’d die.
When Esther woke up that morning, she untangled the garbage from her hair and hummed a little lullaby. She washed her face in the black water from the canal and tried to straighten her clothes. It was perfectly silly, but for the first time in her life, she wished she had more shoes than just one old, black boot, and prettier dresses than the faded blue one she’d been wearing for months now. In the end, she supposed, it probably didn’t matter. She took off to the streets with a hazy look in her eyes and a faint smile upon her lips.
A subway station.
That’s where she needed to go.
Underground transportation reminded the thirteen year old of the only time she’d ever had enough coins in her pocket to trade for a little bit of freedom. As Esther gingerly stepped over the concrete’s cracks and puddles of spilled coffee, she allowed her mind to drift to the past. Her memories were a steam of vibrant colors, flashing behind her eyelids whenever she blinked. The monochromatic station threatened to fade away at first, but the chattering of the crowd, the hissing of train doors, and the screeching of wheels against the tracks kept it alive.
She stepped up close to a train as people flowed out of it, drifting into other compartments, down hallways, up stairs and into the surface. The train began to move again and the lights in the tunnel flickered over her face as the compartments whizzed by. Esther took in a deep breath as the noises filled her mind; footsteps, conversations, trains darting into the darkness, laughter in the distance. It was uncontrolled and loud, and it made her wonder about the next world. How would it sound like?
She hooked her blonde hair behind her ears and then held her fingertips there. Esther would miss this noise. The buzzing and humming that made the grey station pulse with life. When she cupped her ears with her hands, it wasn’t because she was trying to shield away from the static of this world. She was trying to hold it there. She didn’t want to lose it.
Another train was approaching. There was no need to turn around to know—Esther could see faint light crawling through the length of the passage. She could hear the coming shuttle and the footsteps of people as they backed away. She could hear everything.
            “Excuse me.”
            Someone was trying to reach her.
            “L-little girl? Please, step back.”
 Whoever was calling to her was hurrying their step, but the light in the passage grew. The noise of wheels rattling over tracks elevated, drowning out distant sounds.
            “Excuse me!
The train was closer, so much closer, five seconds away. Esther couldn’t tell if she felt fear or excitement—all she could do was grin from ear to ear. She couldn’t wait for what came next.
            “GET BACK!”
            She leaped onto the tracks.


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. Anonymous9:21 PM

    It's really stupid of them reddit peeps to jump down the throat of people who want to be published. Who doesn't want to get paid for doing something they love? They're just being uppity.


"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.