SRF Heavy Industries

I’m thirty-nine-and-a-half today.

In front of me I have a signed cover-letter for a short story I’m itching to submit to a literary magazine of which I’m certain the non-Philistines among you have heard. It’s quite possible I can even afford envelopes and sufficient postage for putting it (and the story, of course) in the mail and getting an eventual response returned.

I have a short list of places to which I intend to send the submission if it gets rejected, sorted (in descending order) by cojones required for pestering them.

This isn’t the first time I’ve done this sort of thing. This is, however, the first time I’ve done this sort of thing with any measurable hope of success.

Provided you’d like me to be wealthy and/or famous enough to be in a good position to repay any favors or generosity you’ve sent in my direction in the past, please keep your gonads crossed on my behalf and make any appropriate sacrifices to the gods, muses, and other associated entities that you feel you can afford.

And someday soon I may have the free time to write more fiction.

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