No places will be named, but here's some responses (these are five distinct stories, BTW):
- "We really loved much about this piece, but we're having to be incredibly selective right now ... I'd love to see more of your work if you have anything available."
- "I really like your prose and very much appreciate the completeness of your story arc here"
- "We like it a lot! This is not an acceptance or a rejection, just a notice that it is under strong consideration. We haven't made the decision yet, but we just wanted to let you know that we have received and heartily enjoyed your submission."
- "The editors have reviewed it and decided to hold it for voting."
- "Just informing you that your submission has passed the second round of readings ... so your submission is now on our shortlist, while we see if we can find a place for it."
Hopefully I haven't jinxed anything by mentioning these, but responses like this certainly help a newbie like me feel good all over.
In other news: "Apologies All Around" is hanging on to second place in the Drabblecast People's Choice Voting, with one day left to go. Reed, Rusch, Simner, Pierce, and me. Who let that robot dude in here?
But, as ckastens and I were talking about in LJ comments, while sales and nice responses and nominations are awesome, in the end it all come back to the work. That's all you control, is the work. You Have To Do The Work.
So tonight I'll be trying to finish up last week's Thing, the redraft of "Straw That Shines Like The Sun" because it's got a submission (first, Fantasy Magazine) in its future.
After that, I want to tackle the rework on "Faraway, In Her Eyes" because Shimmerzine is open for submissions again (yay!) and I rather like Shimmerzine and totally consider "Faraway" a Shimmerzine story.
After that, "The Fishing Trip". It's time for that one. It picks at my brain all the time, saying "hello, mcfly, mcfly? Not done here!" like in the following (mental) WIP.
When they arrived at the place where the two rivers meet, Uncle Jack immediately took off all his clothes.
Darin started undressing, the scratchy wool shirt catching on his fine pelt of boy-hair. The cool river would feel good after the long, hot, dry carriage ride.
But before he could get his shirt over his head, Uncle Jack stopped him, one of Uncle Jack's massive, fleshy, webbed hands easily holding down both Darin's arms.
"No, boy. Leave your clothes on. The water is only for men today."