Last month I received the exciting/unexpected/wait-a-minute news that one of my short stories would be reprinted in Esquire Russia. “Upstairs,” my little story that could keeps on giving. Originally published in April of 2013 by Vol. 1 Brooklyn, it was chosen at the end of last year by The Atlantic Cities as a “2013 Best of City Reads.” The honor lit up an otherwise bleak winter for me.
Then one average Wednesday at work, I checked my personal email to find a message from the editor of Vol. 1 Brooklyn informing me that Esquire Russia had asked for permission to reprint my story. My story. In Esquire. In another language. Of course I said yes, and the next thing I knew, an editor from Esquire Russia contacted me asking for my bio and a picture. I waited patiently, saw the story initially appear online*, and then one regular weekday, received my copy in the mail. My emotions are expressed below:
That’s Clint Eastwood gracing the cover. Just Clint and me sharing some pages in a magazine. As a budding writer, this is easily one of those strange first time occurrences that encourage me to keep plowing through the rejection letters. At the very least, if I don’t make it the U.S., maybe I’ll make it across the ocean. I’ll be like those bands who tour Europe before they hit their big break back home. So international.
*You can read the story here, or if you’re like me and you can’t read the language, you can just look at it.