This month's optional question is: How do you celebrate when you achieve a writing goal/finish a story?
I put the first draft of the cozy mystery I'd been working on aside to write a short story sequel to offer free in order to generate interest--before the novel comes out. It was complete at about 12K words when the Insecure Writer's Support Group short story anthology announced they were accepting submissions in the mystery genre!
Perfect! I really only write cozy mysteries. And the timing of the announcement was fortuitous because I'd just finished my short story. The only problem was the length: 6000 words too many. I wondered if I'd be able to cut that many words--it was half my story! But I did it and submitted my story. Goal accomplished!
I knew that making it into the anthology was a long shot. There are so many talented writers out there and I know I'm not the best. Plus, my stories are lighthearted and sweet in a world that thrives on adrenaline and angst.
No one was more blown away than me when I learned that my lighthearted paranormal cozy mystery won the feature spot!
Here's where my insecurity comes in. I've just completed reading all the stories in the anthology. And they are GOOD! Better than mine. I have to wonder if someone made a mistake.
HOWEVER, I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm thrilled, grateful and so honored! I'm celebrating by counting my blessings which I hope to never take for granted. My story touched a chord with enough of the judges to be selected. So maybe it's not always the best that wins, but the one that touches the strongest chord at the time.
How do you celebrate when
you achieve a writing goal?
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Even cozy characters have their problems. Here's a look into Indigo Eady's life:
EXCERPT from A Stitch in Crime:
“Bagels,
croissants, snickerdoodles, macaroons…” I looked up and met Badger’s eyes.
“Okay, spill the coffee beans. This is serious indeed.” I twisted the bag top
into a tight taper and pushed it away, then sat back and crossed my arms.
“You’re not here on a Friday night for my titillating company.”
“You wound
me.” He splayed his hand over his heart as if I’d punctured it with an arrow.
“Yeah,
yeah. Come on, you brought all my favorite junk foods, so out with it.”
He sighed.
“You’re right. This isn’t exactly a social call.”
He didn’t meet
my eyes or answer right away. Instead he crossed to the cupboard and pulled out
a plate, then made a big production of untwisting and smoothing out the mangled
bag. Pastries were arranged to their best advantage. “As it happens, I have a
friend in need.”
“Uh-huh.” I
snatched a macaroon and bit it in half. The sweet and chewy coconut seduced my
taste buds. I shoved the rest in my mouth and continued. “Let me guess. This
friend of yours has a mischievous ghost who’s creating havoc and making life
miserable.”
“In a word,
yes.”
I sighed.
“I’m not a ghostbuster. I need a real job.” I’d applied for numerous positions
with no response. I dreamed of eating real food instead of ramen noodles every
night.
“I know.”
He plucked a blueberry scone from the pile and broke it in half. “But it’s a
paying gig, and let’s face it: you need money.”
Someone had
a big mouth. Probably me. “How much?” I may not like dealing with spirits, but
I could be bought for the right price. Like a steak-and-potato dinner, perhaps
with a nice bottle of Cabernet thrown in.
“The going
rate,” Badger said. He shoved half the scone in his mouth and chewed while I
waited. “A thousand pounds.”
The
macaroon lodged in my throat, trapping coconut-coffee juice at the back of my
nasal passages. I managed to swallow the lump before anything shot from my
nose, but a coughing fit ensued. Once that subsided, I wiped my watery eyes on
the back on my hand. “When do I start?” I choked out.
“Don’t you
want to know what it is first?”
“I’d
exorcise the devil himself for a thousand pounds,” I said, then hesitated.
“It’s not the devil himself…is it?”
*****
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