I discovered the Best New American Voices series in the spring of 2004. I was browsing in an independent book store in Burbank, California when I came across the text, edited by John Casey, and was immediately intrigued. At that time, I'd just been accepted to UMass and was gobbling up anything I could find about writing and writing programs before I left for school in the fall. The cover of the book claimed that it contained "the best new fiction from America's top writing programs". Here's how it works:

Each year, the series editors of Best New American Voices ask the finest writing programs in the United States and Canada to nominate the best stories workshopped during that academic year. They, then, pare down the submissions from hundreds of nominations to a group of finalists; those are then given to the guest editor and s/he chooses roughly 15-18 stories to include in the anthology. It's a huge honor to be included in the publication. Previous authors have become familiar names and gone on to publish their own books.

Having just accomplished a long-held dream of getting into an MFA program, I was searching for a new goal for which to strive. Since I'd finally committed myself to being a professional writer, getting published in Best New American Voices seemed like the ideal first step. I flipped to the back of the book to see if my school was listed among the one hundred and fifteen programs participating in the project. It was. I'd found my new ambition. While waiting in line to purchase the book, I turned to my friend Jaime and declared, "My next goal is to get published in this book before I graduate from UMass."

The funny part about that statement is that I was confident enough, at that early stage, in my writing career to believe that this was actually possible. I knew I wasn't yet the best writer I could be; that's why I decided to go to school. To hone my craft. But I did have faith in my natural talent. I thought that, with a little instruction and effort, it would just be a matter of time before I was ready to be discovered. It's amazing what a difference three years makes.

Being in an MFA program is not usually the most ego-boosting situation in which to find oneself. That's because one's art is rarely met by colleagues with unmitigated praise. No. In fact, no matter how hard one works to craft it, when in workshop, one's work is never "finished", "accomplished", or even "good". I consider myself lucky if I'm met with "interesting" or "promising". There are always questions. There are always criticisms. There are always revisions to be made.

That's how it should be, I guess. After all, I didn't enroll in an MFA program to receive pats on my back. I want to learn how to be a better writer, and I suppose I can't do that until I've been a bad writer. You know how the saying goes: You must stumble before you walk or walk before you run. Or some such nonsense. So, I walk into class with my chin up, prepared for even the most stinging remarks. I take copious notes. Afterward, I take all the comments into serious consideration when revising my work. Yet, as mature and level-headed as I try to be about the whole writing/workshopping process, I can't help but long for a laudatory phrase or two. Every once in a while, I'd hear "powerful" or "compelling" in response to my effort. Once, I even received a "F**k, this is good!" Although such comments are few and far between, they're what keep me writing. Every writer, good or bad, needs a little encouragement from time to time.

So, although I'd become one of the most self-conscious writers alive, I decided to submit one of my stories to several contests. I'm in the third year of my program and I told myself that I should get in the habit of sending my work out if I'm ever going to be published. I had no hope of actually winning anything, but convinced myself that losing would be beneficial. I thought that I should get used to rejection, hoping that the sooner I got rejected, the sooner it would stop stinging. I submitted my story to every fiction contest my program sponsored this year, dropping them in the appropriate folders, one by one. And when I dropped my 11-page story into the Best New American Voices folder, I couldn't help but hold my breath for a moment; it was the only contest that truly mattered to me.

After submitting my stories, I put the contests out of my mind. Since I was busy with finals and the holidays, I didn't think about them again until a day or two before the nominations were to be announced. At that time, I began getting nervous. I wouldn't admit how much I wanted to be nominated for Best New American Voices. I kept telling myself that I couldn't hope to receive such an honor the very first time I submitted my work to a contest. I was worried about how I'd take the disappointment.

When I got to the ceremony, I immediately ran to the refreshment table for a glass of wine. I chatted with friends, complaining about the fact that our program refused to tell the winners in advance, making plans to go out that night after the event. I had a second glass of wine. None of this helped my nerves. Then Lisa, the associate program director, brought us to order and began calling out the winners. One by one, I heard the names and clapped politely. They didn't call my name, and I wasn't upset. I was genuinely excited and happy for my colleagues. Finally, they came to Best New American Voices. Lisa informed us that last year's nominee, Jed Berry, was ultimately chosen to be in the anthology. His short story will be in the 2008 edition of the book. Everyone turned to face him and, once again, clap politely.

The honorable mention was named next. That wasn't me, either. Lisa said "The nominees are..." and I was amazed at how calm I remained. I wasn't even holding my breath. Then, Lisa said, "Boomer Pinches" and I thought, 'Yes, that makes sense. He's very talented', and I started thinking about the story he brought to workshop about the Twin Towers and the man who couldn't grieve after they fell and I was so busy thinking about the ending of that story that I almost didn't hear Lisa when she said...my name.

She said "Eboni Rafus" and I thought, 'Wait. That's me.' But I wasn't sure. Everyone turned and looked at me, smiling...clapping. I knew it must be true. I turned to my friends sitting next to me and shrugged as if to say, "Seriously?" When Andre kissed me on the forehead and said, "Congratulations", I knew it was, indeed, serious. I've been nominated for Best New American Voices. Wow.

The next twenty minutes were a bit of a blur. After the awards were announced, a classmate read some of his poetry, but I don't remember a word of it. I do remember wanting to look around me to make sure it was all real, that this was really happening. I knew I was supposed to be paying attention to the reading, though, so I faced the front of the room. The wine started to affect me and felt myself relax. But even as my brain began to get fuzzy, one thing was finally, suddenly clear: I'm a pretty good writer.

I haven't really reached the goal I set for myself, three years ago. I've only been nominated for Best New American Voices and still must be weighed against another two hundred and thirty nominees in order to be chosen for the publication. However, making it this far is such a triumph, such an honor, it honestly feels as though I've won. After four semesters of workshopping, it feels so good to know that I wasn't completely wrong about my talent when I first applied to UMass. After all the comments and criticisms, I needed to feel confident in my work, again. And this nomination is just the bit of encouragement I was seeking.