Published by Batman

Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention PLEASE. I would like to inform all of you that I am no longer "theoretically" a writer. No, we opened up this box and after we scooped out the cat who had technically been dead for the entirety of Schrodinger's lecture we found a real life bonafide miracle. God is real.
_And in other news I am published.

First thing's first, click here and here and here and here and not here to read the Mr. Pascal's Funeral Parlor on Literally Stories' website where I am an author and have an author page which you can see by clicking here and here and it's dangerous to go alone click here.

Second order of business, GIFs.









I could go on, but that might not be safest for everyone.

Third, the story.

So all of my writing friends got to talking without out me there one day (not salty I swear) and they were like "hey wudn't b funni if we started 2 b pros w/o nikki" and I was like "not cool gais" so after they got some short work floating around I started thinking of submitting. Good thing about being in a creative writing program is that there's a sub-department dedicated to getting you out there with your face and your beautiful words. (There is literally an event where they press send on your submission email for you.) So I start workshoping some stuff with them and researching markets and while I was looking for completed stuff to submit I found this piece which is clearly a rip off of a Panic! At The Disco music video, which I wrote in high school, and I was like lol sure, never going to get published though. I send it in and they basically tell me it's ready to publish so I write my cover letter and draft the email and attach the work and then I'm like "...This could prolly use twenty more edits" and they were like "nah, it's done bro" and I press a dainty finger to their collective lips and said "shhhhhhh...."
One sunday morning of an indefinite amount of days after this occurred I talked to my mother about this conundrum. This is also the day that I learned that I have nausea-inducing publishing anxiety. Her advice to me was this. Worry about it tomorrow, today just relax and focus on Jesus. 
So of course I ignored her advice and went to tinker with the email. I changed a period to a coma and went to save it and then oops, pressed send.
_This, my friends, is how the Grinch stole Christmas.
Six days and three stress balls later and I receive this email while unloading a truck full of food with my father.

That is right, dear reader. Adam West, aka Batman, had decided to publish my story. And I choose to end the tale there. 

Four order of business, the feels. 

_ahem_

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOUR GRANDMA WISHES SHE WERE ME

That is all. 'Til next time nerds.