You know what? I am the worst person in the world to tell a secret to. Upon hearing the words, "Don't tell anyone!" I immediately go into spastic mode. Running around, lips moving. Telling my imaginary friend. Bursting to call someone, you know, in the real world. Babbling to my dogs.
So I am quite proud of myself for keeping this secret for a whole, oh, less than 48 hours:
"Letters" is a Pushcart Prize-nominated work.
You can see who from SFaD and Deadly Chaps was nominated here.
And here is a link to the Pushcart organization itself:
The Pushcart Prize - Best of the Small Presses series, published every year since 1976, is the most honored literary project in America. Hundreds of presses and thousands of writers of short stories, poetry and essays have been represented in the pages of our annual collections.
Writers who were first noticed here include:
Raymond Carver, Tim O’Brien, Jayne Anne Phillips, Charles Baxter, Andre Dubus, Susan Minot, Mona Simpson, John Irving, Rick Moody, and many more. Each year most of the writers and many of the presses are new to the series.
Holy shit, right? Look, I know I haven't got a snowball's chance in hell, but this is seriously one time when saying, "It's an honor to be nominated" is true, true, true.
Recently overheard in our house: "Pushcart nominees don't have to pick up the dog poop!" "Hey! You don't use that tone of voice with a Pushcart nominee, mister!" "The Pushcart nominee would like another can of Coke, please." Poor B. In short: he lives with a writer. We all know what that means. Just his luck he got one of the crazier ones.
We also know this, don't we, fellow writers: After the inital excitement, it's back to "I am terrible! I should never write again!"
Regarding other, less-braggy blog posts and pics from my trip: I hurt my neck on a roller coaster this past Friday, and I've been having nearly constant bouts of vertigo, which makes me nauseous, and yesterday was about 24 hours of the worst headache I've ever had. I've never had a migraine in my life before, but I'm sure that's what it was. It was horrific. Feeling better today, but I haven't been reading anything at all for days, much less writing, and I'll get to sorting through pics soon. Here is one:
I am pretending to be frightened of the giant grasshopper. Or whatever it is. Seriously, though. Giant bugs. WHY. What is their purpose? Also, I need to lose a few pounds. Le sigh. I like to eat. Had nachos four times in Disney, and a hot fudge sundae in a waffle bowl four times. Three frozen chocolate-covered bananas. And a huge-ass cucumber margarita. Taste buds -- the most important buds of all.
La la la! See you soon! After I recuperate a bit and take more Advil! Send lattes!