I swore I wouldn’t but I indeed have sent one of my latest short stories out to select literary journals (select here meaning open reading time and sign up and click rather than print out, besides the "know your market" that always applies).
It’s really more a matter of keeping active as a writer, earning the right to say "I’m a writer" whilst crossing fingers in hope that no one asks exactly where you’ve been published–at which point you can say "I’m an author" and smile smugly.
At the Hypertext 2008 workshop, I mentioned that I’ve not been published except for a few poems and there was comment that I indeed have been published, referring to the weblogs that I produce. But while it’s true that that is "publishing," it’s not what I mean when I say that my intent is to be published. After five years of weblogging and many more of producing three different magazines in which my work was included both in fiction, non-fiction, and editorial comment, I don’t consider anything but the two poems accepted by a legit online publisher as truly being published.
Yeah, I know, anal right? But there’s a line we each draw personally for ourselves though we may stretch it a bit for fellow writers in what we call "being published." For me, that line is someone else’s acceptance for publication. Clear, simple, and for me, the validation that I seek.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology