Finding just the right markets to submit work is tough. Putting the time into researching is essential though. I've noticed there a numerous markets for literary fiction in magazines and e-zines primarily. If you're a short story writer of various genres like myself locating publishers who need or specialize in only sci-fi, humor, mystery, sports, or horror is one strenous step to complete. Then having these publishers consider your work and actually response is a much longer process. Does anyone out there know easier routes to getting short fiction published, whether in a small, medium, or large market? I've been submitting several of my short stories to online magazines, but only hear back from a few within a month or so.

I understand how hard it is to write a compelling, brilliant story or idea that sells. After reading writing guides and books similar to my style of writing, I see why characterization plays a huge role in the development of a story. Making characters memorable which posess special qualiites(entertaining, sophiscated, egotistical, or manipulative) captivate readers. They are usually the central focus of the story. Making sure they carry out their purpose, reach a conflict, then have a resolution in a climax or later makes the plot hold up. My work on short stories continues. Making progress on refining or touching them up. A sample page of my short story, "Aging Scholar" is posted below.

P.S. I invite all writers to voice their experiences, frustrations, current writing projects, advice, list manuscripts/work for sale, etc. here. This can be an open writers forum to discuss anything related to fiction writing. Feel free to express yourself any time.

Aging Scholar

In a spacious, cluttered office an old, thick-bearded man sits behind a wide wooden desk. Along the wall across from him stands a tall shelf filled with an array of psychology, history, and religion books. Plastered on the right side of the room are posters of Albert Einstein, Charles Darwin, and Mark Twain. The window that’s adjacent from the posters show the hint of spring as leaves blow in the wind while the sun’s ultra violet rays shine. The spring semester at Princeton was rearing around the corner. The year dragged on as if it were prolonged. The students that attended professor Bartholomew Hopkins class were frequently puzzled and disgusted with the lectures in class. Psychology was a way to explore the mind and body without really having to touch anyone. The utter audacity and absentmindedness of some pupils struck the professor as deplorable.
Bartholomew Hopkins, a.k.a. Mr. Mewly taught at colleges and high schools for over forty years. This far exceeded the career expectancy of the average teacher. His extensive knowledge of world issues, psychology, historical facts, travel experiences, and wilderness remedies among many other sources of information was extraordinary. His age was his only flaw at this point in his life. A year ago it really started to show too. One day he was discussing a survival story in the wilderness he experienced as a young man to his class and he kept repeating himself. Mr. Mewly as his students knew him, bored everyone with his rambling, irrelevant blurred story recollections. One time he told them how he had contacted a mild case of malaria, but miraculously discovered a remedy for the disease. Just as the old Professor was about to tell the class what the remedy was he fell asleep. It was normal to see a person do this when sitting down, but standing up made for an awkward moment. Slobber began to trickle down his grin as students remained in their seats silent for a few seconds, incredulous. Since Professor Mewly didn’t seem to be waking up any time soon all the students left the class room, some elated while others felt disturbed and flabbergasted.
The stories that the old yet wise scholar told contained a life-time of knowledge, but just as sure as the day was long were so dry it make people yawn and drift into sleep. The inappropriate details of his wild, explicit encounters with Rogue women disgusted everyone. Some students became so ill at the visual images created that they vomited, beyond their control in the restroom. His fascination of his own world travels he expressed so vividly and crudely definitely took their toll on the students who expected a lecture on psychological and mental disorders. After a short while in his class they began to wonder if Mr. Mewly was suffering from such a disorder. Maybe it was just Alzheimer’s, they all knew something wasn‘t right with him. After hearing about his obsession for dog meat while exploring in the ancient lands of Southeast Asia certain students had all they could take and evacuated the room. They decided it was more important to have an appetite for lunch rather than listen to such inappropriate conservation.
A week passed as several students had already dropped the course and signed up for another psychology class taught by a different professor to gain their college credits. This went unnoticed to Bartholomew who didn’t seem cognizant of the number of empty seats in the class room as well as his constant flagellant problem as he strolled around the room, speaking too loud. Whispers spread across the room concerning the foul air pollution as students struggled for fresh air. Those who remained in the class were sorry they did. Without a doubt, they would regret it. Professor Mewly wrote notes on the blackboard behind him in chicken scratch and didn’t bother to explain each point because he forgot. He had a surprise for his class on that day, one that would catch them off guard. As the world renown traveler and scholar was about to say something he felt he had a frog in his throat.