r.kv.r.y. Quarterly Literary Journal

A story of exasperation that ends in acceptance

A recent experience has me wondering if Gmail is flawed. In November I sent a submission to Bards and Sages Quarterly. I didn’t hear back. I saw on Facebook that Hugh O’Donnell was promoting the April issue. I checked the blog and read that the editor was caught up with submissions and if you hadn’t heard back to shoot her an email. I did. She had never received the original email! I was told I could resubmit and I’d have an answer by the end of the week. Nothing happened, but with the current state of whacked out occurrences, I let it slide. I finally sent another email wondering if a dragon had eaten my submission again.

I’m happy to report that the dragon had eaten an acceptance–wait–that doesn’t sound right. Regardless, many grateful thanks to Julie Dawson for her graciousness and patience. My story, “Cosmas: Reporting for Duty” will be included in the September issue. I am so pleased.

Of course now I’m wondering if I shouldn’t send follow up emails to publications I haven’t heard from yet. Alex Pruteanu will be the first I contact if any of those work out in a positive way. (By the way, buy his book. I’ve read a few of the story in Gears and they are impressive.)(Also, you should check out Hugh’s The Way of The Buffalo podcast if you haven’t already done so. )

Life, otherwise, is also on a happy mixed-up tirade. I mowed part of the lawn yesterday. My pet sitting responsibilities have ended–all three survived in my care. The trillium has raised its bloody red head.

The remodel, which is more of a modification, is progressing.

I finished a first draft of a novel I have high hopes for once I rewrite it. Thank you Camp NaNo!

Have I ever mentioned how awesome Mary Akers is? She rocks. From her grace I conducted my first interview with another artist. If I remember, I’ll update this post with the interview here when it goes live.

So, pretty much, an awesome week…except for the beginning of the lawn mowing season.. And the rewriting I have to do…and an acceptance getting gobbled…

Ah well. It is what it is.

*(These are just my creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.)

One Trip Leads to Another

This week I feel as though things are returning to what passes for normal. Our regular postal carrier is back, I volunteered at the library on Saturday, a few rejections have rolled in, I read the NY Times on Sunday, etc. but now it’s time to make a list and pack a few bags.

Soon after I arrived in Boston, my brother-in-law suffered a heart attack. It was scary and surreal. I thought my niece and I would be changing plans and leaving for Pennsylvania, but we didn’t. The blockage was removed. A stent was put in. He made it to a medical facility in time…

Rachael drove home this past weekend. Husband and I are going this weekend. We’re going to visit and make sure he’s ok.

I talked to him last week. He called his heart attack a “wake-up call.” I wonder how far he’ll take it. He’s quitting smoking (again) and choosing better foods. I think it’s a great start, but he confessed he had a beer already. I thought it was a bit too soon.

Currently, I’m on the “preachy” side of sobriety where I am well aware of what drinking does–and doesn’t do–for me. I stop drinking every year for Lent. Somehow, it is easy. Then I restart. Searching in old notebooks for notes on Ellie’s Elephants, I came across a thought last year that maybe last year would be the year I just stop drinking for good. I’ve had the same thought this year, too, but I sense the reason I do restart is that it makes life easier.

This realization is a complaint of sorts, but I don’t think I’ve made it before. Being away from home during Lent let me see things in a different way. Yes, Husband is not a neat person. I don’t think it would kill him to help a little more. Nothing drastic–just not rip open the shower curtain so the hooks come off the rod OR hooking them back on when he’s done. Little tiny things. I know I ask him to do these things and occasionally he’ll remember to, then he forgets. I think I go back to drinking so these things bother me but I can block them out, get up the next day, notice more minor irritations, block them out or sleep them off and begin again.

Sad, isn’t it?

Right now, I think it is sad, but, will I turn that realization into a “wake-up call” for my life? I don’t know…

What I do know is that I’ve gotten a milder wake-up call–a nudge really–from a few places about my own poetry. I received a few higher tiers and a personal rejection in the past two weeks. A writer friend wrote “…however, you are a poet; prolific it seems to me, but you don’t let the poet come out very much in your workaday writing…” I had decided to be mad at him for that, but a story I read for r.kv.r.y had me look at something in a way I hadn’t considered before, so maybe being a “poet” is what I’m trying to recover from, or block out or choose not to deal with because poets rarely get respect, let alone paid, and then a poetry submission to r.kv.r.y. from someone I briefly met in Boston came in and showed me beauty and passion with a few words so perhaps–this is just my sobriety speaking–perhaps being a poet wouldn’t be the most tragic thing in the world ever to happen to me if I decided to pursue it. Maybe.

* These are just my creekside reflections. Your epiphanies may vary.

Happy 2013! I’m an Editor now!

I hope your 2013 is starting off to be a great year. Yesterday, I was promoted from a fiction reader to a Fiction Editor at r.kv.r.y. Quarterly Literary Journal. Thank you, Mary Akers! I went through the receipts for the year and gathered all the tax information I have so that dreadful bit which I usually wait until the last minute to do is over and I already have a contest entry and three submissions sent off. My year is starting off very well, and last year was not too shabby. I went to a writer’s conference in Westfield where I met James Goertel, Reg Darling, LouAnne Johnson, and Linda Lavid. I traveled to Binghamton and met Jefferson Rose and his family. My son and his family visited. I saw Chicago again. My garden shed was completed. I had ten pieces accepted (including one which will appear in Rosebud–one of my “dream” publications) and an agent queried me.

While I don’t make resolutions, per se, I’m not immune to the hype for personal betterment in the new year. I do hope that my writing (and editing) skills improve and that my work is accepted in awesome venues. Payment would be nice and finding an agent that believes in my work would be fantastic. I think I have these vague “goals” at all points during the year, but they seem most pronounced in January.

I know it works for some people, but declaring a new start at the beginning of the year has never worked for me. When I quit smoking (on Saturday, it will be the eighth anniversary) it was something I had tried before. I hadn’t been as serious about it until then. And don’t get me wrong, the drugs helped, too. Without Welbutrin, I don’t think I would have made it past the hump. But, I quit on the fifth, not the first. Now, writing challenges and prompts are different. So are deadlines. I have a better chance of meeting another person’s parameters than deciding which things to impose on myself for some reason.

I’m so grateful the holidays are over. Husband has been home too much for my taste. I thought that today I might be able to get back to normal, but no. On the ride over to Weber City, he got a call and he’ll be putting a bid in on a job in Depew this afternoon, and since there will be no time for him to get back to the Buffalo Zoo and get tools out, he’ll be home early again. Yesterday, he was home early because he was all ‘manly’ and had three cavities filled during one dentist visit which numbed his tongue completely. *Sigh* Men…

Cats though, they are sweet and look lovely in ribbons. Since mine is a diva, here are two photos where I tried to capture her New Year’s Eve ‘costume.’

This month there will be an additional posting as I’ve been tagged to participate in the “Next Big Thing.”

Thanks for checking in!

(*These are just my Creekside Reflections. Your experience may vary.)