My Weekly is a popular British women’s magazine that has been kind to my novels (it gave Kill Chain a fantastic review). To be honest, I last read it a few years back while getting my hair cut. And since I moved to Austin, it’s not on my local newsstand.
When the magazine asked me to submit a short story for a recent issue featuring crime fiction, I was delighted — but I had a problem. As I always tell people: Never submit a piece to a publisher before reading that magazine and understanding what kind of fiction they publish. (Lyrical and literary? Hard-edged pulp? Experimental 50 Shades parodies? Haiku?) And in this case, I could not find a copy of My Weekly.
Even when I went to London over the winter, I couldn’t seem to find a copy. This was good news and bad news — every newsagent I went to said they were sold out. I took the magazine’s popularity as a good sign, but it didn’t help my quest. I didn’t actually spot a copy until I was heading to my boarding gate at Heathrow, about to fly back to the States. I don’t remember much about the frenzy to grab it before anybody else could, but I clutched it in my hot little hands as I ran onto the plane.
Not long after, I sent in a short story titled “Never the Bride.”
And I knew I’d never find it on a newsstand in Austin. I had to wait for my contributor’s copy to arrive. Which it finally has. Man, I am glad I took the time to hunt down the last copy at Heathrow. As the Brits say, I’m chuffed.