All Abuzz
Okay, so it’s taken me a while to get to it, but this week I’ve sent a number of essays off to small literary journals for their Kind Consideration. There. I’ve told you. And now you know, Henshaw, that if you don’t hear anything about this from me after this ever again, that I haven’t gotten published. Ah, yes. But that’s fine. ‘Cause life really is one big string of “No” upon “No” upon “I’m Sorry but No,” which is what makes it such a fabulous, sun-drenched moment when you finally get your “Yes.”

So that’s okay.
I’ve sent ‘em out and now I keep expecting to hear back, like, at every second. Which won’t happen. This feels especially paradoxical with the places where you submit your work via email. Rather than this painstaking business with the p.o. and stamps and a SASE and addresses in the right places and having the right names and the right paper without coffee stains on it—Instead of all this, it’s zap, and it’s there right away. Which, unfortunately, doesn’t speed up the turnaround time at all. It’ll still be months and months before I begin getting my “I’m sorry, but” and “Thank you, but” emails and slips in the mail, all delivered to me in envelopes with my own handwriting on the outside. Which is the oddest thing of all.

But again, it’s all right because doing is better than not doing. There’s a buzz in the air among us MFA-ers here in my program. Everyone’s gearing up for the AWP Conference in Atlanta next week, which is this big literary hoo-ha. And right now it feels as if everybody’s working extra hard to try everything out and push ourselves as hard as possible with our writing and everything related to it. We all want to feel like we’re missing zero opportunities, like we’re living the life we intended to lead in our short years here.

I lump myself in with that, but of course I also just can’t wait till I’m back at the Earl in Atlanta with a damn PBR in my hand and my old friends all around.