Awhile back I wrote a post about the emotional origins of one of my favorite short stories I’ve written, which the editors of Mirari Press had just accepted for inclusion in their The Seven Wonders anthology. I don’t have anything new to say about it, and certainly nothing as heartfelt as I did at the time (written in a burst of hypomanic energy powered by a rare acceptance letter), so I’ll just say this: you can now own it!
The editors at Mirari were loving custodians of my work, and I had a great experience working with them from both a business and creative side (the two so rarely go hand-in-hand). I’m genuinely proud of this story, which isn’t something I often feel, and I’ve reached a point (thanks to a good deal of cognitive behavioral therapy) where I’m able to genuinely enjoy my own accomplishments, no matter the scope, and no longer get that Groucho Marx “I refuse to join any club that would have me” imposter syndrome. Well, not much of it, anyway. To celebrate, here’s a picture of the vanity shelf on my desk:
A collection of my published works, artfully framed, blurrily photographed, festooned with indiscriminate sticky notes as befits the issue of a scattered mind.
Luke Wildman 