An acceptance and a return to progress

On Friday, I signed the contract for a flash essay that will be published in a lit mag at the end of the year. 

I submitted this weird little piece back at the beginning of summer, when I was writing most days and doing my morning pages and (falteringly) documenting the part of my life dedicated to writing on TikTok. 

Then summer came. I turned 30. My grandmother entered hospice care and I spent several weeks traveling back and forth between Atanta and New York before she passed in late July. In August, vendor deadlines loomed and overwhelm set in for our October wedding. September brought a (half-business) trip to Paris with my partner and then a mad dash to finalize wedding details. October brought a truly amazing celebration and then, finally, space to breathe. Still. I’ve barely written since May. 

The acceptance for this piece popped into my inbox in early September. I’d completely forgotten about the submission. Plus, most of the emails I’ve received from Submittable over the years have been rejections, so it took me a minute to understand what was happening. I experienced the news as a jarring (and pleasant, somehow at the same time) reminder that my writing life still existed on the sidelines, waiting for me to return. It felt like the universe was letting me know that yes, publication (even if it’s a tiny, unpaid publication) is possible if I do the work. And then I thought about the summer months when I wasn’t doing the work…and the progress I was missing out on toward the next milestone. 

Yesterday was the first Saturday since the wedding. I woke up without an alarm to two cats cuddling me for warmth on one of the first truly chilly mornings this fall. I drank my coffee and journaled, then opened my laptop. I worked on an essay that I haven’t look at since June. I wrote until nearly 3pm. Progress.