I got a letter today. This is what it said:
Dear Literate Kitten:
Here's what happened: Regular readers know I'm being pummeled at my full-time job. (This has been a bad week. One example: I showed up at a meeting yesterday and found out -- surprise! -- that I was expected to give a presentation in front of 70 people. No notes, no preparation, no nothing. So, I pulled that one out of my ass.)
So, I've been waiting for a little pick-me-up, a nice boost at least in my fiction career. Last year, I was a winner in a nationwide contest for a short story. Great, right? Well, here it is a year later, and the story is finally published. So, I sludge through the first rain of the year to the bookstore this afternoon to get a copy and there it is, on the shelves. And on the cover is my name. Misspelled! Misspelled on the cover, inside the issue. Everywhere you look. To add insult to injury, said magazine is now folding and this will be the last issue.
In the greater scheme of things, this is small potatoes, compared to Darfur or cancer. But they're my small potatoes and they're piled into this stinking mass that is positively suffocating me. I suppose since life handed me small potatoes, I need to mash them....with a lot of butter and salt and cream.