I thought for a second I should bail. It’s not like I have any control. It was just a story, no big deal. I know thousands of other people who write so much better than I do. It was a surprise, I was fazed by even the idea of being published! And that literary journal with the long name you have to pronounce in phases? No way, I thought! My writing is probably fourth grade writing at best. I love kids, sometimes act like a kid, enjoy talking and listening to kids, I guess you could say I’m a kid at heart.
The story in question was just a little tale about children playing on a huge stack of hay bales on their ranch. They had horses and miniature donkeys to feed. The bales had not yet been covered with a tarp, so the “mountain” climbing began. Not so much a dangerous activity as it is foolhardy. The bales are stacked, but not yet secured, so they’re an accident waiting to happen. The story involved novice archers, a misplaced target, and a bloody but not fatal wound.
Nothing spectacular, nothing new in the annals of history about ranches and kids, hay bales and imaginations at their peak in childhood.