Proof!

After shuffling through the closet of my old room at my parent's house yesterday, I discovered my collection of rejection letters from various publishers across the globe (although 99% of them are from New York {Note: it's not pronounced Jew York} so it can't really be called "the globe," just five miles of it. Amidst these was a single acceptance letter from The Claremont Review. Yes, I put in a hyperlink for you, because no one can be expected to know what The Claremont Review is. It's an anthology for young writers with works submitted by high school kids, so it's kind of like getting a story published in a school newspaper, and then having that newspaper section expanded a hundred pages or so, but honestly: some of this stuff isn't that bad. If you've ever been in an English Class and has to read or be read another student's story and thought to yourself, "That's not that bad," that's the kind of stuff you'll find in here.
Guess who's in Volume #14, though? Me, baby, me! "Heads," by Philip Allen was submitted as part of my Grade 12 Writing class. My fellow student Graeme Abernathy also had, "Head Jazz," published. Those titles may be similar, but bear in mind that my story, "Heads," is literally about heads. Two of them, hence the plural.
Having been reminded of my old submission, I now have internet documentation that I'm a published author, albeit an unpaid one (I didn't even get the fucking free copy I was promised, and these douchebags don't pay out. That's how it doesn't pay to be a writer. There's only like ten people who've ever made any money writing books. You can fill up an entire shelf at the library and still have to work at KFC unless your name's J.K. Rowling. Bitch. Seriously, do you know how much some people make per book, at a minimum? $5,000. Think you can be self-supporting off of those funds? Hells no. That's four books a year you'd have to write to even be making the equivalent of minimum wage. Ever notice how some authors take years between books? It took J.K. Rowling nearly a decade to pump out her seven books, and she had a machine pumping cash directly up her tight asshole. No one's that prolific.)
So in summation, I am a published author, and it is apparently possible to order a copy of the book I was published in, for $7.00 plus shipping and handling. Or, you could order a tasty Baconator Combo at Wendy's. The choice is yours.

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