I am supposed to be reorganizing my collection for the spring crop of first book prizes, but I spent most of my Tuesday working on revisions and on sending my work out to new publications.
As I have mentioned this week, I received a number of rejection slips in just a few days--while offset by a couple of acceptance letters, the rejections did leave me in a position where I had work that could be sent out again.
I revised a few older poems, and four brand-new poems were revised and made ready to send out into the world for the first time. All told, I sent 3-5 poems to five separate publications yesterday. And, I submitted to one more this morning.
I sent to Still: The Journal, which published Appalachian writers exclusively. While I do consider myself very deeply connected to the area where I grew up, and my family is still there, I know that my current location may hinder my acceptance there. My work is not connected explicitly to that region, but I do think that some of my tendency toward magic realism/fabulism in recent work is absolutely a response to growing up in an industrial town where much of my escape came from books and movies with magical elements. It might be a stretch for any editor, though.This is my first time submitting work this this journal.
I also submitted to Gold Man Review for the first time--they focus on writers from the West coast states. Here I am, trying to straddle the entire United States. LOL.
I also sent some work to Phantom Drift, after spending a little time researching publications that focus on publishing fabulist authors. And, I submitted for a second time to Outlook Springs. Their editors write that the journal is "devoted to fiction, poetry, and non-fiction tinged with the strange." These are the sorts of journals where I hope my work finds a home, but I'm never quite sure if my brand of strange is what they're hoping to find.
And, I submitted to Fugue yesterday, as well, for the first time. This morning, I sent four poems to North American Review.
Interspersed in these submissions was the new poem "Witchcraft," as well as three other new works: "This Chapter," "Pickpocket," and "This Daughter." I need to back away from using "THIS" as the first word in poem titles for a while--I'm afraid I've come to rely on "this," and I know that's not good. I just hate writing titles.
So, my Submittable account is bulging with newly-submitted work, and I am caught up on recording rejections and acceptances in my own records and at Duotrope.
So, today will likely be my manuscript revision day, though it's Wednesday of Spring Break, and I'm tempted to jump in the car and take a drive out to the coast for lunch and some junk shopping. I also have a living room to paint and lupines to transplant . . . but I'm trying to take it easy, too. Faculty have gotten no extra time off this school year, despite our extra work as the whole college moved online/remote for a year.
I deliberately did not make a long honey-do list for Spring Break, because I have no honey to do it all. Ha! But, that is not a gripe. I enjoy living alone, and while I sometimes wish I had a partner to share chores and expenses, I know what it's like to have a partner who didn't contribute at all. And, I know that my first husband dealt with me going to graduate school twice--the second time, while commuting an hour east to teach full time, then commuting home, only to commute another 45 minutes across downtown Pittsburgh to grad school at night. I wasn't necessarily lazy, but I know I didn't help out enough at home. My life was school--I just wasn't there.
Anyhow. I'm going to go to the grocery store, and hopefully to pick up some garden soil, so that I can con myself into getting those lupines in the ground, at least. I started them from seed three years ago, and they took over the raised bed where I've had them growing while they mature. I don't want to lose them--so much time and effort went into getting them to this point!
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