I’m trying to find a balance here between honesty and modesty. Here’s the thing: I mostly write short detective fiction. I write with the intent of selling my stories to one or two magazines–Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine or Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine.

Why those two? Because when I wrote my first short detective story, I checked to see who published the most prestigious mystery magazines, and the answer was AHMM and EQMM. I figure if you’re going to get rejected, you may as well get rejected by the best.

This is where the honesty and modesty business comes in. I’m a good writer. Not a prolific writer, but a careful, deliberate writer. I’ve sold every story I’ve submitted to those magazines, with one exception (which, of course, I think was an error on their part). When you consider the acceptance rate for those magazines is about 3-4%, that’s a pretty good record. I’ve had stories included in Best Of anthologies, I have a story in Alfred Hitchcock’s 50th Anniversary anthology, I’ve won an Edgar for Best Short Story.

So yeah, I think I’m a good writer, but I don’t have much attachment to the finished product. I’ve written about this before.

Once I finish writing a piece of fiction, I seem to lose all emotional attachment to it. I’ve done what I wanted to do with it, I’ve written the story, and now it’s done. I submit the story to a magazine; they either accept it (and send me a check) or reject it (and send me a rejection letter), but that’s their job. My job is over. Time to do something else. The finished story is old news; it just doesn’t seem very important anymore.

So it’s been a weird experience for me to get frustrated over a story that’s actually been accepted. Here’s what happened. I wrote a story, submitted it, didn’t think about it for a few months. I finished writing another story and was getting ready to submit it, which reminded me I hadn’t heard back about the other story (I submitted that story to the other magazine). This was last October. I wrote the editor, asking for an update.

The update? “We like your story and want to buy it.” BUT there was some corporate issues which prevented them from issuing contracts; I was asked if I could be patient for a few weeks while they got the issue settled? I said yes, of course. In mid-December I got an email saying I should get a contract “in the next 2-3 weeks.” I was fine with that. Then on 1/2/25, I was told “your story is at the top of the list for when we can request contracts again.” On 1/24/25, I got an email saying, “you can expect a contract in mid February.”

Mid-February came; no contract. It was annoying, not just because the contract was taking so long, but because for the first time, I felt emotionally involved in the product. It pissed me off that I cared about the story as a product. I told myself, “It’s just a story. It’s just words in a row. It’s just something I made up. I should be happy that somebody somewhere wants to give me actual money for sitting in a room and making shit up.”

A couple of weeks ago, I learned that the company that publishes those two magazines (and also publishes two of the best known science fiction magazines) had been purchased by another company. That explained the long delay in the contract. But I was still frustrated and annoyed.

So this morning, five fucking months after I was told the magazine wanted to buy my story, I wrote a polite email to the editor saying how much I’ve appreciated working with the staff of the magazine, but that this long delay was a shabby way to treat writers. I said I wanted to withdraw the submission.

I didn’t send the email. Why? Because, as I said earlier, I’m a careful, deliberate writer; I wanted to re-read it and make sure it was correct before I sent it. And I went to the gym.

While I was at the gym, I got an email with the contract.

That should settle the issue, right? But I’m sitting here, still annoyed as fuck. Partly because the email came from a different editor (what happened to the woman I’m used to dealing with?), partly because of the long delay, partly because this contract pays half on acceptance and half on publication (all the previous contracts paid on acceptance), and partly because goddamnit goddamnit goddamnit, I don’t know I’m just pissed.

The rational part of me says, “Just sign the damned thing and take the coin.” It says, “Don’t fuck up a relationship with a magazine that’s been good to me.” It says, “Give the new people a chance to get their shit together.” The irrational part of me wants to reject the contract because goddamnit goddamnit goddamnit, I don’t know I’m just pissed.

I’m also aware that a LOT of my anger is displaced fury at what’s going on in the US right now. I’m not used to being angry. I hate it. But here we are.

And the thing is, I KNOW what I’m going to do. I’m not in this for the money (nobody who writes short fiction is in it for the money, but being offered an extra US$700+ for sitting in a room and making shit up…well, that’s nice and it’ll buy a few eggs.

But goddamnit anyway.