Getting Paid and Losing the Plot

'Ours is a small town, once bustling with laughter and connection, now dulled by the weight of solitude. The bakery on the corner was filled with the warm scent of fresh bread and the sounds of friendly chatter. Kids pinched corners off humid loaves, and pressed noses to glass where fresh pasties steamed. Now quiet, as faces remain glued to their devices, scrolls drowning out the sweet symphony of human existence.'
                                                                                                                   ~Our Town, extract

Ah, the grand pursuit of getting published—a noble endeavour indeed, much like turning a mass of weeds and knee-high grass into a cottage garden (yes, I am chasing this dream).

You etch your thoughts onto the page, crafting sentences as if they were chiselled from the sturdy timber of your mind. You send forth your creation into the world, the literary equivalent of launching a bottle into the vast sea, hoping it finds a warm shore. Perhaps you will receive a morsel of payment, a paltry sum that could buy you a fine cup of coffee. But herein lies the rub: once your work has been cast away, you find yourself destined to forget the very words you laboured over.

I did this…and worse.

In the throes of creation, I poured my essence into paragraphs. I wouldn’t say each one was a reflection of my soul, but it was a testament to my thoughts — at the time of writing. Yet, as the ink dried (figuratively speaking) my mind turned to the next grand idea, the next piece of fictional life begging to be shaped.

Forgetting what you once penned is both a blessing and a curse. It frees you to allow fresh inspiration to blossom, like wildflowers along the riverbank. Yet, it can also leave you in a state of bewildered nostalgia, wondering what on Earth you were thinking when you decided to wax poetic about the virtues of, say, bread.

I did this.

I recently received an email from Free Flash Fiction. I had submitted a short story to fit one of their themes. It had been shortlisted! Hurrah! Then it was published online along with five other winners, second place and short-listed stories. I was even paid. This is the dream for writers. Getting paid for something one made up is the goal, the aim, the ever-elusive sweet spot. It wasn’t a huge amount — there again, it wasn’t a huge story. Flash fiction is, by definition, short. 500 words to be precise. But paid I was.

I keep all my submissions noted on a kind of Edexcel sheet (it isn’t really Edexcel, it’s just a Google doc with a table drawn on it. The date of submission, the place, the title, and the final column is for the words ‘Accepted’ or ‘Rejected’. There’s a lot of ‘Rejected’s.

The thing is, not only had I forgotten the words after they were written and moved on, I had forgotten the story. The title did not remind me. And then, to my utter embarrassment, I discovered that the piece was nowhere to be found on my laptop, or in my Google Drive, which I use as backup. I emailed the editor back and told him what had happened and humbly asked for a copy of my own story. He very generously replied instantly with the submission and an understanding note.

If you’re interested, you can read the rest of the short (very short) story here:

https://freeflashfiction.com/fiction/competition-twenty-three-shortlisted-our-town/

Our Town. I kind of feel we all live in a place like this that’s described in the beginning of the tale. I only wish we could all be like its ending.

It’s not my first foray into publishing. I have had things in anthologies. I have just never lost track of a submission before. I’m not generally disorganised, I like to keep folders of everything by genre, then story. I keep all edits. I keep notes. I collect inspirational images and quotes. And yet, I lost one. These things happen. I bet even Stephen King has mislaid a scribble or two. What do we do? Move on. Begin anew. It’s not the end of the world (yet).