I once had an obsession with REDBOOK. I was a subscriber for years and kept every issue. When we moved we paid to have the mover move a box of Redbooks five ft tall.I was sure that if I kept reading the wonderful Redbook stories I'd learn to write one. In a Humanities class I was taking at the time our final assignment was to either paint a picture, compose a piece of music - hello - I didn't know one note from another - or aha! write a short story. Well I could do that and here was my chance to write my Redbook story. I labored over the story honing and honing to make it a short short. It was brilliant. I got an A. So I hurled it off to Redbook AND OMG they didn't recognize that it was written for them and they sent it back the very next day with nary a sign it had been opened. No handwritten note - no editorial coffee stain. I shrunk up to the size of a walnut - not really but I like that vision of myself - and put it away in my stuffed-with-stories desk drawer. Next day ...
"All the characters who have housed my stories now have permanent apartments in my head - I still have tea with them." bw