I've just been notified that an excerpt of my short story, "Yellow Ribbons", will be published in the August Fiction issue of The Women's Times—a regional monthly publication for women, with two editions covering the Berkshire Region and the Pioneer Valley. Distribution of 32,000 covers eight counties and four states. The magazine has won several awards, including the ACS Sword of Hope Award in 2003 and 2007.

'Cool, huh? The coolest part is that I didn't have to do anything. I didn't send out my story to various publications. I didn't talk to any editors. Audrey Manring, of The Women's Times, came to me. A few weeks ago, Ms. Manring sent me an eMail introducing herself and explaining that she was seeking submissions for The Women's Times' annual fiction issue. Joan Barberich, an employee at a local collective, Food For Thought Books, suggested that Ms. Manring contact me and gave her my eMail address. Joan is very familiar with my work (since I'd participated in readings at the bookstore over the past three years), and she thought that it would be perfect for the publication.

So, I sent "Yellow Ribbons" without much thought. I happened to be editing it, at the time, for an upcoming reading. A few days later, I was asked to choose a 1200-word excerpt of the story to submit. I did. A few more days later, I was notified that my excerpt would be published in TWT's annual fiction issue. I was asked to send along a picture and a brief bio.

Sure, I was pleased. I've never been published in a print format, except for a small chap book that was put together for the fifth anniversary of the Writers of Color reading at UMass and, surely, that doesn't count. So, I eMailed back my thanks, and the next night, when I had coffee with a friend, I told her about it. Yet, honestly, I didn't think it was that big of a deal. Perhaps because The Women's Times is a magazine, and not a literary journal, I didn't feel I was being published in a real literary, writerly sense of the word. Perhaps because I didn't really have to work to achieve it, I failed to recognize what an accomplishment it was to be published.

Usually, whenever anything remotely noteworthy happens to me—a new job, an award, even just a nomination for an award—I call or eMail everyone and their mothers' uncles. I share my good news with strangers on the street. I'm bursting with excitement. This time, however, I slyly let the news slip from my lips one person at a time, as the situation called for it. I've told my sister but not my mother. I mentioned it in passing to a co-worker while waiting for a meeting to start. I told my hairdresser because there was a copy of The Women's Times on her couch. I didn't call my family. I didn't send one eMail to even one friend.

Then, last night, I was out celebrating a friend's birthday and it was suddenly pressing on my mind. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine; but, suddenly, I wanted to tell my fellow writers in the bar that I was going to be published. So, I did. I played it down of course, saying it wasn't a major development. But my friends, who are also in the MFA program, insisted it was; they gave me a toast and pat on the back. Finally, because of their validation, I felt I had the right to be excited. OK, I'll admit that The Women's Times isn't exactly Best New American Voices. The Women's Times' fiction issue won't get nearly as many readers as the fiction issue of The New York Times. Still...I'm getting published! That's great news! My words will be printed in thousands and thousands of copies that will be (hopefully) read by hundreds and hundreds of people. Isn't that what every writer wants?

I've heard writers say that they don't care about being published. They claim to write merely for personal or artistic expression. But let's face it. What's the point of expressing yourself if no one's listening? What's the point of writing a story if you have no one with which to share it? I write in order to enlighten and entertain. I can't do that if no one reads my work. Every fiction writer wants an audience. Otherwise, we'd only write journal entries.

Last night, when my friends celebrated my little excerpt being published in a little regional magazine, I wondered what it will feel like when I'm published in Agni or Ploughshares or Massachusetts Review. I had a quick flash of what it might feel like if/when my novel is published. I can hardly imagine what it would mean to me to see my words bound together and displayed on a bookstore shelf. The idea of someone actually paying money to read those words blows my mind.

I've always known that my goal was to be published. I won't deny that I long for at least a little commercial success. Yet, that seemed so far removed from what I was doing in my MFA program. Until last night, I was primarily concentrating on just finishing a story that I liked. I have a Writer's Market, but I've never felt ready to use it. I've never submitted my work to be reviewed. I've never even tried. Now, I realize how much time I've wasted while I doubted my talent, sat on my stories, and dreamed about being published instead of submitting my work. I want to kick myself when I think of all the time spent being afraid of rejection, or, more likely, being afraid of success.

It may be that this small taste of triumph has rid me of that fear. It may be that given my first publication happened with almost no effort on my part, I'm newly inclined to work harder. Whatever the reason, I find myself inspired to dust off that Writer's Market and send my stories to every publication that's accepting submissions. I'm eager to get my words out in the world. I'm ready to live my future rather than just dream about it. First, though, I'm going to call or eMail everyone I know and share the good news.