The loser speech I never had to make…

Something really fucking phenomenal happened to me last week: the Canadian editor of an insanely popular, internationally-read magazine gave me the opportunity to submit a sample piece for their website. Here’s an analogy for the layman: it was like being given the chance to audition for American Idol.

And then something even more fucking phenomenal happened to me last night: the website published my piece.

This all happened within the span of one week and my head is still spinning from it all.

Terrified by the potential rejection prior to the publication, I set up a faux-modest, loser speech to remind myself that I crossed a distance that I thought I would never cross.

And this is how the sappy, saccharine spiel went:

    “Really, I’m almost __ years old, I picked up my first ____ issue 6 years ago when they still had glossy pages and was void of Fido ads, and I thought it was the greatest piece of filth since 70’s pornography (both have full-frontal bush, right?). On and off and on and off throughout those 6 years, I’ve both quietly mouthed and said out loud that writing for ____ would be a fucking dream job of mine, but has only ever remained a dream. ‘Til now. The fact that a mere chance to say something in their name was given to me recently is so fucking surreal and fictitious that I woke up the next day believing that it had never happened.

    “Set aside the fraction of a possibility that I may make it on their site, even just to say that they took a chance on me, a chance on some unknown kid, to write for them, to write some hardly significant blurb for them means the fucking world to me because at the very least, I’m allowed to tell people that and I don’t know anyone else who can. It’s my fucking bragging right to the pissant authorities who had shat all over my writing before, and that feels like a satiating ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

    “The following people I want to thank, who I’m sure fought against their feelings of dread that I was going to get shut out and left out in the cold and would have had to pick up the pieces of my bullshit devastation, but nonetheless supported me and told me to try and sleep when I couldn’t due to anxiety-induced nightmares…

    Sis – *poot*

    D.E. – for editing my piece, for endless advice, for pushing me, for loving me, for helping me find my confidence again <3<3<3

    And everyone else: TL; RJ; TH; AJ; WB; JMB; HK; AH; KB, Tina Fey as my heroine, and Kevin Smith as my hero of almost 10 years. Um– if you think you were mentioned, then I probably meant you. If you find yourself in the list, but are only just learning about all this about me now, then it’s just coincidence that you were mentioned– you non-supportive asshole with generic initials.

    And sorry if I left you out.”

Your friendly neighbourhood,

special k.


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