The response to my poetry submissions came surprisingly quickly, late last Monday night, only about a week after I had sent them. I was pretty excited when I saw the email pop up on my laptop, not because I assumed they’d be accepted, though of course I hoped they would, but because they were my first submissions. It was the first time I had sent my work out for someone else to make the publishing decision.
And as you can tell by the title of this post, I was totally rejected.
There was this nagging feeling inside me that wanted to cry, but there was another part of me that just shrugged it off and didn’t let the tears come out because it knew they weren’t really necessary and they weren’t going to fix anything. I had a stronger urge to push onward than to cry about it, so that is exactly what I did when I sent my poems to another journal last week, as well as sending out a short story–because moving on is all I can really do. Continuing to create and write and submit, submit, submit, either until something is accepted or I decide to publish on my own. Obviously I’m all about DIY publishing with my zines, but it’s a different experience to try going the traditional route too, and I can’t help but give it a shot, at least for a bit.
I didn’t cry, and the feeling that I needed to passed in about ten to fifteen minutes anyway. Instead, I jumped right into trying again, and I think that’s just another clue that this is exactly what I want and need: there’s an understanding in my brain and my heart of how this process works and how to approach it; it’s natural, embedded in my DNA.
Writing is exactly what I’m meant to be doing as much and as often as possible.