This Has Nothing To Do With Crocheting or Smoking

I have been writing for about 8 years, sending things out, trying to get published. Haven't had much luck aside from an online zine that quickly went belly-up, one poem in a magazine devoted to poetry 2 yrs. ago, and this spring a short story in a university literary journal. I've got one novel manuscript needing a final, I hope, rewrite before agent-seeking and another first draft nearing completion, which will need at least a couple years' work before it sees the light of day. Last fall my writer friend, Jenny, found a flash fiction contest she thought we should enter. (Flash is a very short story form that has from 50 to 1500 words, depending on who is doing the defining.) They were supposed to notify the winners by 5/15, but sent an email that they were running late. We were complaining just last night that we hadn't heard from them again, but this morning I did. My little story, Octopus, is a finalist, not a cash prize winner, but will be included in their Ultra-Short edition. I'm so excited I'd be dancing if I wasn't at work! This is a picture of me writing on the patio of our bungalow in Bonaire in January, not on my upper Midwest patio which doesn't look anything like this, neither does my garden.