two more

shining rejections.  One of them wasn’t a big deal, I had forgotten I’d even sent the poems out.  But the other one was a prose contest, and I’d sent along my novella which I’ve worked on for eleven years, on and off.  This was the first time I sent it out (though I have shown it to a few people, and read from it at my MFA graduation—people loved it there), and I was nervous.  The comments the editors sent confirmed my worst fears; despite having many “pretty moments,” they had too many questions, they weren’t sure how old the protagonist was, etc.  Big sigh.  Guess I’m just a poet and not a story writer, and must embrace this somehow.  Or should I pick up Flood, again, and re-edit it some more? I worked on it six hours a day for six days before I sent it out this last time.  Not sure if this is a case of “don’t let the bastards get you down” or, “it’s over, Rambo.”

About emvlovely

Oh, I live in an RV. I write poems, essays and prose. Thanks for reading my blog, good health to you!
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