Hello, dreamers. A year has come and gone. One more trip around the sun. When I wrote my annual recap last year, I was feeling hopeful. Now I look to the year ahead with boundless optimism, because 2025 was special.

This was the year I emerged. The year people began to take notice. Since I first started writing, I’d always told people I was a writer, not an author, because authors get paid.

Well, this was the year I became an author. And believe it or not, it all started with a rejection.

Short Fiction

The year began much as the last one did: with short fiction. Shortly before New Years, I’d received a personal rejection, the first one I’d received in years. The editor-in-chief of Analog had rejected my story Prishelets, but complimented my writing, and suggested I direct future pieces his way. I did, but that’s a story for later.

Encouraged, I kept working on short fic, and had one of the best stretches of my fledgling writing career. Over the course of January and February I wrote four short fic pieces. I kept submitting, both to a contest (more on that shortly) and to various other markets. More rejections, unfortunately. I had another round of short fic in late spring after I’d finished work (again) on Seven Days on Samarkand. That time I rattled off six short stories. Even better, several were long-languished projects which I finally managed to complete.

October, as it turned out, was a big month for me. Not only did I write several more short fic pieces, but after years of toil I finally got an acceptance: Analog purchased one of my stories. Watch for “Casual Brutality” in Analog Science Fiction and Fact magazine sometime next year.

Writers of the Future

After receiving the personal rejection on Prishelets, I was eager to find someplace else to put it. My search led to a sci-fi short fiction contest, Writers of the Future. I’d submitted to them once before, years ago. But this time I felt confident. By the time I was looking for sub targets the window for their first quarter contest was nearly closed. I submitted Prishelets with less than six minutes to go.

For anyone who hasn’t submitted to Writers of the Future, I strongly recommend it. It’s a venerable institution that prides itself on discovering new genre fic writers, and writers who enter retain all rights to their work. Prizes are awarded each quarter to the first, second, and third place finishers.

So Prishelets received an honorable mention, for which I received a certificate. It felt like at least a modest validation; after years of hard work, I finally had something that recognized all I had done. But I wasn’t finished. Prior to submitting “Casual Brutality” to Analog, I entered it in Writers of the Future’s second quarter contest, and took silver honorable mention.

By that point I’d developed a system: I submitted each story, in the order I’d written them, to Writers of the Future before I began shopping them around. I truly believed “Casual Brutality” was my best work. The story I wrote immediately after is no longer something I can discuss (not until April). But I will say that story ruined a week of my life. It was nothing like anything I’d ever written before; dark, grim, and tortured. Over the week I spent writing it I grew irritable and withdrawn. I stopped talking to my friends, was snappish around the house. I started having nightmares, about something I was writing. When the time came to enter Q3 of Writers of the Future, initially I was hesitant to use that story. It felt too gritty and violent. But I stuck to my system.

By late September I’d already entered another story in the Q4 contest, when I received a phone call late on a Sunday from a Los Angeles number. It was Joni Labaqui, the director of Writers of the Future, informing me that I was a finalist for the third quarter.

The ensuing call was surreal. She began asking about my writing journey and my process. She compared me to Larry Niven, whom she knew personally. And she told me that while she hadn’t read my story, apparently it had been the talk of her office.

I spent the following longest week of my life telling myself that even eighth place out of thousands was a huge leap forward. That I’d already made it farther than ever before. I composed a “concession speech” for my Twitter followers. Then, late on a Friday night in early October, I got another call from Joni.

I’d won first place.

There are moments in a person’s life that are so pivotal they create a before and after. One of those moments came on a chilly October night. I cried. I called and messaged people. I thanked Joni from the bottom of my heart. She told me the final judging wasn’t even close; one of the judges had asked her to give him my contact info if I didn’t win, so he could publish the story in his magazine. I have wondered, since that night, who that editor might have been. If I’d submitted to him before. If he’d rejected my stories. If he actually would have wanted to publish this one. But, of course, now I’ll never know.

Since then, everything has changed. I’ve spent the past several months working with editors, fielding interviews. Watching my readership here on WordPress soar through the roof. Next April I will be in Los Angeles, to attend the contest’s annual award ceremony. Later next year, my story will appear in L. Ron Hubbard’s Writers of the Future, vol. 42.

As I told Joni on that October night, my only regret is knowing that, now that I’ve won first place, my time with Writers of the Future is over. The following day, I officially withdrew my entry for the fourth quarter. In case I haven’t done so enough, I’d like to again thank Joni Labaqui, Meliva Koch, Jody Lynn Nye, and all the other wonderful people involved with the contest and its publisher, Galaxy Press.

Thanks to them, I am an award-winning author.

Querying Seven Days on Samarkand

Believe it or not, I wasn’t done. This was also the year I finally began querying my beloved novel, Seven Days on Samarkand.

It began with a round of “test queries”. I submitted all of five queries during the primary query window. I got them out much later than I’d hoped, because my success in short fiction over the previous six months had left me feeling SDoS no longer measured up to my standards. So I went to work. I dug deep into my characters’ interiority, and was left with a much deeper work. Unfortunately I was also left with a much longer work. And even before I’d heard back from my test queries, I already had a new idea:

I was going to split the novel in two.

This decision was born from a piece of writing advice I’d seen: if your query letter is too long, it may be because your book is too complex. I began to feel I’d inadvertently written two books rather than one. So I embarked on what I called “Operation Castle Bravo”, because I was going to “blow up” Seven Days on Samarkand.

It took months. After simply chopping the book in half, I suddenly went from having something too long to having something that was, based on its genre and format, too short. So I pulled out my shovel and dug even deeper into my characters’ motivations. The result was a slower, more contemplative, more immersive piece. I was very happy with it.

Because I’d taken so long to complete my work, I wrapped things up in early summer: the start of what I call the “Querying Dead Zone”. Although I was eager to share my work with the world, I knew there was no point in firing off queries in the middle of summer. I’d essentially be shouting into the void. So I waited. I spent about a month writing query letter after query letter, before inspiration struck and I finally hammered out one that I was proud of.

Shortly before I learned I was going to be a published author, I fired off my first full round of ten queries. I received rejections across the board (from those agents who bothered to respond). But I did receive some feedback, and it was very encouraging. Most of the agents who provided personalized feedback told me they actually loved my story and my query letter; they just didn’t feel they could adequately represent it.

Armed with that knowledge, I’ve since refined my query strategy. I’m still toying around with major changes, including reuniting the two halves (yes, even after all that work to separate them). But I’m optimistic. My first true foray into the querying world left me with one key takeaway: yes, I can do this.

Aquarius 1

Even after all that, I wasn’t done. After all, I still had a novel to write.

For the third time, I began my work-in-progress anew. But this time felt different. The story finally flowed. My characters’ voices lept off the page. They became people, and though I ultimately put the novel aside to begin query prep earlier this month, I’m proud of what I’ve done so far, and eager to get back to it next year.

A Year of Triumph

So 2025 was incredible. It was a whirlwind of activity, of furious writing, sweat and tears. But at long last, it’s starting to pay off.

This coming year things will change once again. I’ll be published, and thus I’ll have some shiny new publishing credits to slip into short fic cover letters and queries to agents. And now, more than ever, I know I can do this. I can make it as an author. Because I’m already doing it.

Over the coming year, I hope to find an agent. I want to see if I can sell another short story or two. I’ve even considered dabbling in self-pub with the new Drum series of short pieces. I end the year tired but exhilarated. Brimming with confidence, overflowing with gratitude, and eager to see what lies ahead. To all my faithful readers, who’ve stuck with me through all of what the literary industry calls the invisible work, thank you. You’ve kept reading, you’ve kept the faith. And now, seeing my work in print next year will be the long-awaited reward for your devotion. Until next year, Happy New Year, and dare to dream. – MK