A friend of mine questioned her writing ability the other day. She had submitted a poem to a literary journal and was worried that it wasn’t good enough. I commiserated with her, saying that I do it all the time, and that self-doubt is just part and parcel of the writing life. And then she posted on Facebook that her poem was accepted by Gargoyle and her crisis was at and end. That is, until the next time her inner critic pipes up.
It got me thinking that I should start submitting again. I haven’t sent anything out in five years or so, but had near success when did…meaning I got handwritten letters of rejection rather than the form letters. I came close with a story entitled The Old Ways that made it out of the slush pile at Realms of Fantasy. The assistant editor passed it (and said she liked the story) but the editor ultimately passed on it. I sent the story other places, which also rejected it, and I retired it. I also retired my fourth novel Seven Feet Small after a literary agent said, “I liked it, but didn’t love it enough to offer you a contract.” Close, but no cigar.
And then we moved from Virginia to Savannah and I began teaching, Sam was born, and life tumbled down a different rabbit hole. But maybe it’s time to start sending stuff out again. I shall ponder this.
