Skip to main content

First Step Forward on a Long Journey....

Today...tonight... 2 hours ago, I did something I've put off, procrastinated, and shied away from for the last 10 years---

I submitted my first work of fiction to a literary journal.

When I first started writing (no, let me phrase that better), when I first began writing again, just after college, all I could think about was someday becoming published---one day I could call myself an author. It's funny, but when I was an 11-year-old poet, I never thought about using my writing to make a living. I just wrote because I wanted/needed to.

And, while that want/need is still the same, 23 years later, now...NOW... I'm thinking of my writing with a career in mind.

It isn't so much that I believe I can truly make a living from what I write---though I would love it if I could. No, what I'm thinking about now is the cold, hard fact that writing must be treated as a profession, and not a hobby, if I ever intend on doing anything with it.

Every year I've accumulated a mass of words-- poems, novella-length and novel-length manuscripts, blog posts, etc. What I haven't done is accumulate a stack of rejection slips...because I've never submitted anything. Well, outside of the 4 random pieces I sent off to different contests about 4 years ago. But, I don't want to count the contest entries as submissions (even though I placed 2nd in one of them and was subsequently published on their website).

No, today was different.

Do I EXPECT my submission to amount to anything?    Other than my first rejection slip, no I don't.

What I HOPE, however, is that this submission is like the tiny pebble popping free from the dike---allowing a steady stream to trickle through until the eroding trait of the water allows that stream to grow and the pressure to increase until the sea breaks forth.....

So, I say Bon Voyage, A Measure of Worth, may your journey be smooth and swift!


  1. Congratulations! Think positive though! That rejection letter could be a acceptance letter

    1. Thanks! We'll see though.... I'm kinda liking the idea of papering my wall with rejection slips----


Post a Comment

Share your thoughts!

Popular posts from this blog

I is for...

... Iron Maiden

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ---Edgar Allan Poe

---and not the English heavy metal band from East London...

Day 2 in the realm of morbid/macabre torture devices finds us back in the Middle Ages (there was definitely a fashionable trend of imaginative torture devices during this time). Though, the Middle Ages isn't really when we should be turning our attention when we discuss the Iron Maiden. In fact, there has been some debate as to the exact appearance of this monstrous creation.

It's probably easiest to relocate such a torturous thing back to a time when it seemed everyone was as skilled at exacting a confession as they were at creating the tools to exact those confessions. It's easier to blame ancestors from several hundred years ago than to accept that anyone of civilized disposition would be capable of doing such horrible things with such terrif…

Y is for Yeth Hound.....

Yeth Hound--- one of the incarnations of the "Black Dog" myth, this one located specifically, in Devon, England.

"Black Dogs" appear in myths across the world, most are associated with death and bad omens... i.e. Hell Hounds.

The Yeth Hound is said to be the spirit of an unbaptised child that takes the form of a headless black dog. The Hound wanders the woods at night making pitiful wailing sounds (though, I'm unclear as to how it makes wailing sounds without having a head).

The Black Dogs were possibly one inspiration from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's ghost dog in The Hound of the Baskervilles-- "an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen."

Heed Not, the Lonesome Cry
Heed not, the lonesome cry, the baleful wail echoing through the woods. Seek not, the black hound's sigh, look not where the headless creature stood.
One sound, your limbs will shake, your heart filled with the deepest dread. One glimpse, your sou…

V is for...

... Vrolik Museum

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ---Edgar Allan Poe

How about a morbid museum?

Still used by the medical faculty and students at the University of Amsterdam, the Vrolik Museum is a unique collection of odd bones and skulls, pathogenic specimens, and an assortment of anomalous embryos.

The collection was amassed by Dutch anatomist, Gerardus Vrolik (1775-1859) and continued by his son, Dutch anatomist and pathologist, Willem Vrolik (1801-1863). And since Willem's death, various donations have expanded the collection even further. Most specimens are human, though a few zoological specimens have trickled into the collection. Preserved remains, plaster casts, and various models show an assortment of congenital deformities and malformations.

This is one of those places that isn't for the faint of heart---certainly not for those who are easily moved or triggered by…