I Submitted a Story to the New Yorker: The Most Terrifying Experience in My Career So Far

I’ve been taking creative writing classes at my university for a while now, most of them have been a breeze: just put in the work and you’ll get a good grade.

But this quarter I decided to challenge myself by taking a Professional Fiction workshop and it was ten weeks of ass-kicking. We had to research grad-schools, write essays and do presentations as well as submit a 20 page min story to workshop. But that’s not even the worst part. Our final was to submit our final revision of that story to The New Yorker.

If you haven’t heard of the New Yorker, please check them out, they publish great stories and give great content overall. They are the top of the top in writing. If you get published here, then you have made it. So of course I was terrified of sending my story to them.

There is safety in rejection. I know I won’t have to wait for three months, I’m certain they’ve said no. For one, I am an unpublished and unknown writer and I’m okay with that. I’m only 20 and still want more time to improve myself. But it was still pretty fucking scary pressing send. But I did it, and I also got an A in the class. (!)

Maybe one day I’ll legit send something to the New Yorker, and I hope that when I do, I’ll be confident in my writing, and sure of what message I want to give to readers. For now, I’ll keep working for that goal. If I keep at it, I know I will reach it.


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