The story I've been working on for a few weeks now (longer really but this is active work) is, save a few misplaced commas, done. This means that I'll have to send my ever-so-slightly retarded baby out into the world soon. I've done this before and don't expect the results to be any different. I sent this one out (to Glimmer Train of all places in a moment of undergraduate well-I'm better-than-the-dipshits-in-my-intro-fiction-writing-class-I-must-be-publishable! grandiosity) and it was promptly (a relative term) rejected...albeit politely. I've since sent a few poems back and have heard nothing. I think I sent them out around the middle of May. I can't image that the poety editors at Magazine-that-shall-remain-nameless have been sitting on these poems beucase they cannot yet form the words required to admire and appreciate my genius. They have probably just forgotten that I exist.
Oh well. This is the life of an unprofessional writer, right? It takes years to get published, if that little. I suppose I will have to finally shell out the cash for a copy of the Writer's Market and stop pretending to do thing and actually, you know, do it.
More on this later. Especially after the second rejection comes it. That should be a good read.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment