This afternoon I pressed send on an email, dispatching a story down the Intertubes to a magazine editor. There is nothing unusual about this - I do it all the time. However, it’s taken me several days to summon the courage to send this one.

Let us pretend that the magazine is called Great Stories, and that the editor is called Charlie. I’m a huge fan of Great Stories, and always look forward eagerly to their new editions. They’ve published some of my favourite stories in recent years, and have a reputation for championing both new and minority authors.

Earlier this year, Great Stories had a themed call and I thought: oooh. This story that is lurking around in a half-finished state might suit that. Well, if you looked at it kind of sideways and thought about the theme imaginatively, it might. And they did say they were open to all creative interpretations of the theme. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh? I dug the story out, polished it up and pruned it down, and sent it off to seek its fortune.

Spoilers: it wasn’t accepted. However, the rejection came with a personal response from Charlie, who explained that they’d thought hard about whether or not to take it, but that they felt it wasn’t quite as good as it could be. They provided multiple pages of feedback and ideas, and suggested that - if I felt like making changes - I could re-submit a revised version.

Now, I’m aware that some people hate unsolicited feedback. I don’t. I love it, especially when it is constructive and interesting. I also assume that Charlie, who has been editing a well-respected magazine for years, knows what they’re talking about. If they say this would make for a better story, then I feel that is at least worth investigating.

I investigated. I scribbled. I wrote vaguely incomprehensible notes on the odd-shaped bits of paper you end up with after buying and cutting out print-at-home postage in the UK (my house is full of said odd-shaped bits of paper). And I inched towards a new draft. Towards a thing that might be a finished version 2.

Now, Charlie having said they're willing to read a revised version is absolutely no guarantee of anything. In all likelihood, the story will come back with a “nah, still not right for Great Stories”. But it feels like a chance. A single, mess-it-up-and-you've-missed-it chance.

And thereby hangs the terror. Have I made the story as good as it can be? Should I have done more? Followed Charlie's feedback more literally? Sending it too soon could mean blowing that chance

I “finished” my rewrite earlier this week, started drafting an email, then wussed out. Did I feel like the story was now perfect?

Nope.

Today, I read it through again. Tinkered with a few words. Decided that the word “distinctive” would look better with a c in it. Agonised a bit more about everything.

And hit send.