I sent off a short story submission today. Nothing unusual in that, Stevie boy, I hear you say. But this was a real, paper submission, in an envelope and with stamps on and everything.
I can't remember the last time I did that. Everything's electronic these days—push-of-a-button-easy—or so I thought.
But, I liked it. It felt like a real submission; like the old days of International Reply Coupons and Air-mail stickers. Mind you, the post office had closed down, and the other post office has double yellow lines and a permanently grumpy Traffic Warden who patrols troll-like up and down outside. And there was a large queue of old ladies out for a bit of a chat and a stamp or two, so that rather slowed things down.
Still, it's oddly satisfying to hand over a real letter, particularly if it's headed to some foreign land. It feels more of a journey, more of an adventure.
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