I self-published a story I wrote.
Since I was SIX I've dreamed of walking into a bookstore and seeing my book with my name on it.
I still have this dream.
STILL. Twenty-four (and counting) years later.
About a month ago I entered a writing contest. The call for submissions indicated there would be multiple winners. I typed up a story -one I'm really in love with and proud of.
I showed it to a few select people. They all agreed it was great. Words like "love it" were even tossed around. I thought it had a good chance at winning. I really did.
It didn't win. They only chose one winner, not multiple as indicated. On top of that, they picked a story written by someone they've already published. Twice.
I was so disheartened. I had this darling little holiday romance and nothing to do with it. As my day of disappointment wore on I realized the only way I could make myself feel better would be to publish it myself.
So I did.