Sept. 25, 2001
My first published article finally came out in the September/October edition of Nervy Girl Magazine. I was so excited and proud that all I wanted to do was run out and buy fifty copies.
The only problem was, I couldn’t. I couldn’t find any local places that sold this magazine.
You see it’s a small magazine and it doesn’t sit on every shelf in every store. Up until a short while ago, I hadn’t even heard of it. I just happened one day to come across their open call for writers on a website somewhere and I offered them something I had written. It didn’t bother me that they were a small magazine because I believed that I had to start somewhere at sometime and that’s just what I did.
Shortly after I submitted my articles to them I received an email from them saying that they wanted to publish me. I was thrilled and slowly started to mention to people that I was going to be published. However, since it’s not a household name magazine people would always say to me, “Nervy What? Is that a real magazine?”
Because so many people hadn’t heard of it, most assumed that it was a trivial silly little magazine without any importance or basis of being real at all. Some people thought that being published in it didn’t mean anything. They thought anyone and their mother could have done it – what was so special about me? If I were, in fact, a writer I’d be telling them my article was published in The New Yorker and not Nervy Girl Magazine.
At one point I stopped telling people the name of the magazine because I had begun to feel as though I had aimed low or never really accomplished anything. I had forgotten that I was just starting out and I had so much to learn, that I should have been thankful that someone recognised some kind of talent and meaning I had and wanted to share it with others.
However I realised why some people felt that being published in a small magazine wasn’t enough. It was because they had equated living your dream with living large and being successful by way of fame and fortune. It’s hard for some people to comprehend that those aren’t the motivations for everyone, and not everyone’s dream is to have lights flashing above them saying “star.” Some people just want to do what they want to do, simply because that is their passion. Whether it be a painter, teacher, parent, golfer, actor, singer, or in my case, writer.
That realisation made me go back to what my motivations for writing were. They were not for fame, money, bragging rights or the adoration of fans but rather to empower others, give an insight or two or to just simply express my thoughts in the only real way I know how. Above all, my motivation was to be true to my heart and simply do what I needed to do – write.
Remembering my true motivations reminded me that I had done what I had set out to do and on top of it, I was published. That led me to feel very proud of what I had so far, in so little time. I had started somewhere, and even if it wasn’t the biggest place in the world, it was someplace.