I've got an essay about Blake in the spring 2013 issue of The Sewanee Review, a book review in the spring/summer 2013 issue of New Walk, and this week two journals have accepted western Pennsylvania poems. All of this feels surprising because I haven't submitted anything to anyone for months, though I have a dragon's lair full of stuff that's ready to go. Most of it has already been submitted at least once before and then rejected, and for whatever reason I've never gotten around to resubmitting it. So here it sits on the shelf.
I have a friend who is obsessed with submitting work, so much so that she posts a daily Facebook status announcing every submission and rejection. I can't decide what I think about this behavior. On the one hand, it's a grit-her-teeth, make-herself-undergo-the-torture strategy; on the other hand, it bleeds desperation.
But don't think I am speaking pejoratively. We all have to find ways to keep ourselves going.
And now I will go feed the goat, and then I'll drop back into the world of Amy Lowell and her swarming details, and if I'm lucky, I'll write a paragraph or so of my story-in-progress, and then I will mow grass and water my parched garden, and then I will pick up my son after track practice and listen to sports-talk radio all the way home (sigh), and then I will make potato gnocchi with chive, butter, and lemon sauce and possibly the first rhubarb-custard pie of the season.