It’s the waiting game that I hate the most. I’m sure many big-wig writers who have been published a couple hundred times don’t carry the knot in their stomach like I do. But as a young writer who has only been published once (in the now deceased Absent Willow Review. Read about my initial excitement here). Several months ago I submitted some poetry to some magazines and they gave me a sixty-ninety days ball range to wait and that made me quiver with nervousness. But fiction is where my heart truly lies. My short story “Cycles”, that I’ve talked about before if any of you remember, has been lying around on computer hard drives and yellow envelope interiors homeless. It needs a home.
Absent Willow Review shut down and I’m not quite sure if they will ever come back around (though their site does appear optimistic). With my best friend Duotrope, I’ve been tacking some horror magazines to submit this story too. I found one Hungur that appears pretty legit and I’ve tackled several other zines in the horror/ vampire genre. Now I’m like a jealous girlfriend waiting for her boyfriend to text- I’m checking my phone every thirty minutes waiting for a wondrous email to appear bathing me in acceptance. I don’t know if I’ll be accepted or not, but I sure hope I do. I’m trying to fortify a platform.
I’m not in the game for money, though of course, that would be nice. I have a day job that takes care of my monetary needs, but I want to live off of my words. I guess that’s an artist’s plight. I’ve made a vow as of tonight that I will only check my email twice a day. Too much time is being deviated from writing to viewing my endless backlog of spam messages hoping for an email from a publisher. I guess I can write, and dream of success, and write some more, but I don’t think it is really about that at all. As wordsmiths are we not here to entertain, educate, and inspire? In this art is there a deeper meaning behind our most beloved texts or merely just a paycheck?
Let’s see what the future holds, wish me luck all!