Oct. 06, 2001
It came today.
After months of waiting, my first published article in a magazine arrived at my doorstop in a big manila envelope.
I had butterflies in my stomach and my toes were twitching. All I wanted to do was open it and look and it and feel proud but I was too scared, so I just held the package for a few moments first.
While I held it I started to criticise it. “What if it’s stupid?” “What if they picked an ugly picture of me?” “What if it’s changed completely?” “What if the magazine is lame?” “What if what if what if?” The more negative feelings I started to have, the more afraid I became of opening it.
Then I realised I didn’t write it to become afraid of it, so I tore that envelope open.
I turned to the first page and under “Columns” was me. Under “Writers” was me. And on the second page, the first column, was me. There was me on one whole page.
And underneath my (nice) picture, it said, “Writer Alex” It didn’t say, “wanna be writer.” It didn’t say, “part time writer.” It didn’t say “not very good writer,” but it said, “Writer.” Plain and simple.
Looking at my words and my picture in this magazine was one of the strangest, yet most exciting experiences I’ve ever had. The words that I had thought of and the message that I was trying to say, got out there. Not only that, it had really affected people as well.
Long before I got the magazine, other subscribers had. And they wrote me to tell me how much they appreciated what I said. My words meant something to them. My words got a few people off their arse. My words did more than just sit on the page – they came alive.
This experience, the first publishing experience, has been so completely amazing.
It didn’t make me rich, it didn’t give me the Nobel Prize, and it didn’t make me famous. All it did was make me feel proud. And you know, that’s really all that matters.
Elsewhere