It’s now officially been a week since I saw the other editors’ faces – their real faces, with squishy facemeat and everything – for the first time, and I’m already having serious withdrawals. How do you explain what it is to know people so thoroughly, and yet never have so much as heard their voices (Arden’s is deeper than you’re picturing it)? For 231 weeks, yeah write has been A Thing, and I’m just flabbergasted every week that it’s a thing I get to be part of. Getting together in person was a dream come true, and when you add on top of that all the new faces we got to meet in Long Beach? I’m still a little dizzy and hungover with joy. Stay tuned for a longer post with all the LBCC microstories in it, our contest winners, and a complete recap.
Guys. GUYS. Guess where I’m sitting right now, writing this?
I know. I’m freaking out too. It’s always weird meeting people you already know for the first time. It’s a little like meeting a writer whose work you enjoy, right? You know all these little things about them, but you’re not sure you know them.
It’s finally getting cold and dark where I live, and I couldn’t be happier. While I know it’ll be plenty warm in Long Beach
next week, for now I’m enjoying the crispness of the air. I even had a spiced pumpkin latte yesterday when I got together with a friend who’s moving out of town for grad school.
See what I did there, though? Spiced pumpkin. Not pumpkin spice.
It’s been a long, amazing, distracting week. One of my best friends has been in town, after a surprise move from Chicago (where I’d been planning to visit her this fall) to the East Coast. She’s one of those people who sneaks into your life, who you meet at a party trying to make small talk, and who you ultimately realize you can’t let go. The best kind of friend: the kind who doesn’t really care if you cleaned the house, or that there’s dog hair everywhere and your elderly cat likes to crawl up on her chest and drool on her neck in the middle of the night. The kind who will let you have the polka-dot skirt at the thrift store that fits you both (guys we just spent $300 at a thrift store, don’t judge). By the time you read this, I’ll be dropping her off at the airport and while it’s good to have my space and routine back, I’ll miss her like hell.
It’s always a little weird to sit down and write the winners’ post on a week when I’ve had a bunch of rejections. You know the ones: you submit a story or poem, wait for just
long enough to think “well, if they were going to reject the damn thing they could have done that by now, so mayyyybe?
” and then there it is, in your email, first thing in the morning so that you wonder what hours other editors are working. The rejection.