Many times throughout the last ten years I’ve considered what would be the “right” time to let go of NS. No one wants to keep a thing afloat past its prime. It’s not time yet.
The thing I most enjoy about curating this tiny journal is interactions with submitters. I’ve written before about the initial motive for doing this, and it remains the same. I am consistently inspired by that thread that connects us as humans. Via music, film, photography, painting, illustration, all of the various art forms, not the least of which, the written word, we truly see ourselves in each other, and more importantly, we are able to truly see each other.
I want to say happy tenth birthday to NS, to its readers and contributors. I want to thank every person who has ever clicked on the link to take a peek, even if it wasn’t your cup of tea. I want to thank those who have come back again and again. I want to thank professors who have used nail polish stories as a writing exercise for creative writing students. I want to thank writers, emerging and established, who have given NS a look, and who have taken on the challenge, and those who have supported from afar with a like or a comment on Facebook. I see each of you.
I make a practice of thanking submitters for trusting me with their work. As a writer myself, I see it as a unique and intimate honor to read your words and make a decision whether to publish them here. I viscerally understand the vulnerability of putting down words and sending them off for someone to make decisions about. Thank you to the submitters whose work I’ve accepted. Your talent reinvigorates me. Thank you to the submitters whose work I have not accepted. Your grace and understanding humble me. Thank you to those who just today clicked here for the first time. I’m glad for every connection. Happy 10 th birthday, Nail Polish Stories, a Tiny and Colorful Literary Journal.
Whirligigs spun like in the movie “Twister.” Sirens blared. We dashed to the bathroom, wishing for a basement. Our property soon “Gone with the Wind.”
We pressed our hands to our ears. The hum intensified. We’re in a horror film, “Invasion of the Red-eyed Bugs.” The cicadas mobifriends vowed to return.
In the literary magazine world, ten is like dog years–quite old, but endearingly seasoned, well-loved, and intricately connected to everything you care about
Sometimes in life you need a little nudge, but not when you are perched on a treetop obstacle course’s platform forty feet off the ground.
Suzanne Cottrell lives with her husband and one rescued dog in rural Piedmont North Carolina. An outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, she enjoys reading, writing, hiking, knitting, Pilates, Tai Chi, and yoga. Her flash fiction has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature; Dragon Poet Review; Flash Fiction Magazine; Nailpolish Stories, A Tiny and Colorful Literary Journal; Dual Coast Magazine; and Inwood Indiana Press anthologies. She’s the author of two poetry chapbooks: Gifts of the Seasons, Fall and Winter and Gifts of the Seasons, Spring and Summer (Kelsay Books). suzanneswords
I want to thank family members and friends who have supported any and every writing and editing endeavor I’ve taken on simply because they believe in me, or simply because they love me
Whenever I pass from here, I still remember that day we last met. How good it would be if I survived that accident with him.