This weekend, my horror piece "Poison It, Burn It, Cut It Out" was released in Waxen's fourth issue. You can purchase it here; I'm led to believe it will also be made available to read on archive.org at some point in the near future.
The cover of Issue IV of Waxen
Earlier this year, this story hit a bucket list item of mine: have a short story submission be accepted for publication in under 24 hours. Waxen got back to me in 14, offering me a slot in their summer zine.
I'd been close to giving up—at the time, this story was my most rejected piece. I'd sent it to as many horror magazines as I could find, and all of them said no; one enthusiastically told me they loved the piece, but it was a little too literary for them. I was reticent to try literary markets with it, though, as I don't agree with how many of them behave at the submission stage towards authors, or that they frequently do not pay (I deserve to be paid for my work!).
(The next paragraph, and the story linked above, have a content warning for cancer and chemotherapy.)
I wanted to get this story published very badly. I wrote it initially for a Chicago-themed horror call and, as a Chicago resident, I was optimistic I'd be able to write something for this city that has been my home for the past decade. I came up with a story idea that involved a city poisoning itself, the impacts of racism and wealth inequality on the character of a city, and cancer. I reached out to my friend who had recently undergone very intense cancer treatments and spoke to her at length not just about the physical experience of chemotherapy, but also the psychological damage that someone undergoes when they have had cancer, when cancer might still be lying in wait for them. So frequently are stories about cancer about the fight, about the overcoming, about the coming out stronger; some people need this. My friend firmly told me that she felt that cancer had made her a worse person, and it is something that sticks with me still, even as the story is now available in print.
If you like horror, definitely check out Waxen. Their physical zines are incredibly beautiful, and I'm so grateful that my story found such a lovely and supportive home.
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I've had a lot of time to think about rejections this year. This because not only have I gotten a whopping 91 already for a variety of short stories, but because this story and Project_Golem (coming out later this August!) were both my most-rejected stories by a mile and a half when they found homes this year.
I was talking with a different friend recently about the experience of rejection as she plans to dive back into querying her novel this fall. (For those less aware of the inner guts of the publishing industry, querying is the term one uses when trying to find an agent to represent your writing. It is one of the more psychologically harrowing things I have ever done and, accordingly, my joke is I only wish it upon enemies.) In attempting to buck her up for what would mean inevitable and plausibly soul-crushing rejections, I realized that something important has happened to me in the past few years. I have come to view rejection as a gift. I wrote about it a little bit here in a rare blog post because I hadn't realized how important this reframe was until it hit me.
Thank you for being along with me on this ride of acceptances; it's been one hell of a year and there remain a good few months left. I know you support me through my rejections, even if I hope you forgive that I don't share as much about those.
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My author copies of Of Swords and Roses arrived last week, right after the art I asked my friend Sarah if she'd make for the cover returned from the framer. Did I ask her to hand paint it and then embroider flowers and vines? No, I expected something quick and digital. But I have very generous friends, and the art is now hanging in my office.
If you're interested in the beautiful Anthology which will be released later this month, it (and a few others I'm in!) are below:
