i’ve begun the process of self-publishing my stories.
it started as a present for Hope- which i truly hope she enjoys, as she’s sort of my prototype tester for all things creatively linked to my brain- until i realized that i can do it. a lot. if i can do a single story, i can self-publish anything i fucking want.
and so i am. i’m in the process of doing the next piece, which is the longest piece i’ve ever written- not necessarily the best, but unquestionably the longest- and which i’m still awaiting to hear back from playboy, as it was submitted to their fiction contest. not so much to see if it won, which is irrational and illogical, it most certainly didn’t, but because i signed something saying i wouldn’t publish the story anywhere else until i got word that they did or did not use it- in this case, the latter.
anyway. i’m really stoked on that. it’s incredible, seeing my name on the binding of a story. not that it means anything, as i’m obviously the one who put it there. but the image is one i’ve yearned toward for so very long, all but given up on. it’s nice to see.
i am jack’s excitement for the future.