Nothing but rejections lately, at least when I do get mail, as the more prevalent tendency has been a big lack of responses—I haven't heard back from lots of places for a long time. It feels like forever...
I’m not sure what a perpetual calendar is, what it does. It sounds like whoever owns one becomes immortal. Maybe I’ll write a story about that rather than do school work. I’m big sick of school. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up—I’m 28...
I wrote a sonnet for one of my classes:
THE EPITOME OF EPITAPH (Monuments)
Our life is as sincere an odyssey
Of glimpses, souvenirs from where we’ve roamed—
Revealed so vivid an obscurity
And tamed the world, a wilderness of home.
Our life is all reward but suffering,
A glowing shadow haunts our heart. We’ve sown
A vibrantly addictive sympathy
For those we’ve loved and cruelly left alone.
Our life pretends a secret shape in sleep,
The dawn, as drowsy, mimes our name in stone,
For then we’ll act our age immortally—
The children we will never have outgrown.
Abandoned to our slumbering, we choose
Cheerful furniture to rest our statues.
The iambic pentameter throughout is okay, except for the last line in which I purposely reversed the stress pattern to be as sudden as death often is...
I had a silly idea today: Rather than submitting things to journals to be rejected and/or not receive responses, I would maybe leave stories or chapters from novels or poems as comments on other people’s blogs, or any website that allows comments. That seems like a punk-ass thing to do, though, and I'm sure someone's already done it to some extent, so I probably won't do that. Just a silly thought...
Hi to everyone...
11 comments:
I once had a writing professor tell me that blurbing the back of someones book was an excuse to have any poem you wanted published on their book.
I too am big tired of school. We'll make it I guess guess, or we won't make it. I understand not know what you want to do. Since I'm about to have a degree in journalism I guess I should be a journalist. I've been doing some freelance stuff around Atlanta, maybe that will work out. You'll find something. Just keep writing.
We'll just have to ride this cycle out, Eric. Happy days will come again :-) Lots to admire in your sonnet. Nice.
Keep on truckin', E. You're good. Liked the sonnet.
D
Hi Ben, your professor was right. And you're right about school and finding something. That's cool you're already doing freelance work--it looks good on your CV...
Hi Ethel, I know, it feels like waiting for a bus that never seems to come, and when it does I don't have exact change. I'm big happy you liked the sonnet...
Hi David, I definitely will. And big thanks, I'm happy you liked the sonnet...
I think that 'leaving stuff' idea is pretty sweet. Like graffiting one's name onto an art gallery. Why can't I remember who it was who did that. Everyone probably.
If it makes it any better, I'm getting shitloads of rejections too and no e-mails at all (apart from f*ing facebook notifications).
Hi to you back.
i've gotten some really nice rejections lately too.
Hi Jessica, I was definitely thinking of Basquiat tagging his name up all over NYC with little epigrams and logos. It does make it better, not that you're experiencing it but that we're not alone in the experience.
Hi Charles, I'm sorry to hear that. It's strange because you're a damn fine writer--we all are, I think. But like Ethel said: We'll just have to ride this cycle out." And like David said: "Keep on truckin'."
big love, eb. hang tough. i'm 32 and i still have no clue what i want to be when i grow up. maybe we're already what we're supposed to be.
Hi Mel, I like that big: "we're already what we're supposed to be." Then there's nothing to worry about--in that area, at least. Bobby McFerrin: "Don't worry, be happy"...
I feel like Steve Martin as Vincent Antonelli in "My Blue Heaven" when he's feeling alone while living in a small town under the protection of the witness protection program and Jonny Bird, whom he runs into accidentally, tells him: "You're not alone. You're really not alone."
we are good writers! though everything i've written lately i want to throw into some sort of mulcher and then work over the tiny pieces to place it back together into something new, a new kind of tree. i don't know what i'm saying. i'll stop now.
I know exactly what you mean, Charles. And that's a really wonderful image, I love it: "A new kind of tree..." I know what you're saying. Don't stop...
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