Autumn has arrived, first in a slurry of rain, and then in these oddly warm Indian Summer November days that can't possibly last. I feel like writing, yet lack the inspiration for anything particularly compelling.
I feel like I am waiting for the skies to clear, for something dramatic to happen, but can't (for the life of me) imagine what it is. This week will be hectic, with heavy mom duties and such--although some are pleasant, like taking Z on his first college visit!
Sometimes, I wish I were a visual artist, or sculptor, or a quilter... I feel this compulsion to be creative using my hands, to get out of my headspace for a while, although I tend to be no good at escaping the cerebral. No good at all. I am so often accused of "overthinking." Is this really such a bad thing? Who knows?
I have some pieces floating around in the ether, poems and such. I recently got a personal rejection from Ninth Letter, with one of those quickly inked "please try us again" cursive scrawls that mean somebody considered the poems publishable, if only for a brief moment.
I have learned to be so much more circumspect about rejection in all its various forms. It tends to slide by like a gust of air, a chilly breeze I was expecting but hoping to avoid all the same.
In the meantime, I am redesigning my website, and hoping to get started designing the winter issue of blossombones next month. We'll reopen for submissions in February, and I'm considering an all poetry issue. I'd like to have a little extra space, to take a few more writers' work for summer, as I often turn down some lovely pieces for the sake of time and journal space. I don't like to overwhelm, but rather to showcase a few stellar pieces in the hopes that visitors will read the whole issue, rather than just peruse a few poems.
New guidelines should be up with the winter issue, possibly sooner.