Worst Poet, Less Worse Than Before
I’m still not a good poet. I don’t submit work like I should. There should have been an onslaught of submissions from me, after all it was summer, but I only mustered up 14. Which I guess is far better than I did at any other time, ever. Because technically I have submitted more this summer than I ever did in my entire life. I have gone to more poetry readings alone than I have ever done before. Well sans the Tuesday Night Poets days (but those days were gatherings of writers, not actual poetry readings. gatherings of friends to drink as much as share poetry). So I am making strives forwards.
My issue is, I guess like every writer, I always think that no poem is ever done. So hard to submit. I’m constantly changing things. I literally was forced to handwrite a poem (because of my possessed printer) I had on the computer for a very long time, “Abel” and as I rewrote it prior to a reading. As I rewrote it through my hand it changed. Went from 20 lines to 16, and I think better. though I hate single word titles and that haunts me.
But “Abel” leads me to a week of learning that submitting actually pays off, and perhaps my downward spirals are not to be traveled with such zeal. My friend, Alan often tells me that rejection means that I am doing it right, because no rejection means you aren’t even trying. I felt like I was doing it well, after 6 straight rejections. But Monday when I woke up I had an acceptance from Bop Dead City, and while I was at the dentist, Eunoia Review took three of my poems, but not to become arrogant I was put to bed with another rejection (#7 for the year). Wednesday “Abel” was taken by San Pedro River Review, and they actually offered me help to make it even better. Last night I was put to bed with an acceptance from Gutter Eloquence. Well with the acceptance and a five-line poem about Jessie, my AA friend who is cool enough, but I like drinkers, because there is always somewhere to hide with a drinker.
All good news, right?
Now the problem, I only have 3 submissions out, so before Sunday closes its eyes on me, I have to submit. It’s the only way to do this right. And as a less worse poet than I once was, it is a requirement to continue.