Waiting to Hear Back

So March could be a very big month in the rejection letter category. I’m due to hear back from the first competition that I entered. Previously I had dabbled in general submissions but never contests generally because they required a reading fee and presumably drew more attention therefore lowering my chances of discovery. (But seeing as editorial work is highly subjective no one can prove any theory relating to when or where a first offer of publication will come from.) But sometime last fall after combing the last issue of the year from Poets & Writers I realized that I had enough material to enter a poetry manuscript competition. And it was to be judged by my favorite living poet, Thomas Lux.

Filled with an ecstasy that had nothing to do with probability of winning or the practicality of the situation or any such thing or theory I set to work rounding out and organizing what would turn into my poetry manuscript. Packed up my baby. Wished it luck. Kissed it goodbye. (Literally.) And sat back to be my very own rejection letter from Thomas Lux.

Man, did that confuse people. First I got the “You want to lose? Don’t you mean you want to get a letter saying you won?” Of course I want to win but I’m a realistic person. Not everyone can win. So I won’t set my hopes on it. This was followed by “Oh, so you just want a letter with his signature on it.” No not really that either. Since I fully expect a form letter not signed by anyone at all. Depending on the volume of entries perhaps it will have gotten the autopen from the contest organizer. So no, this is not an autograph attempt. As a side note, I’ve never really understood why people chase autographs. I’d much rather just say that I have seen someone or talked with them or whatever. I already keep way too many little pieces of paper no point in more of them for me to lose. Return from side note: So by this point my friends are totally confused. Except the ones that are writers themselves. They never asked a single question about my desire for a rejection slip. They just nodded at the beginning completely understanding that the thought that this manuscript was out there being read by someone – someone I actually admire! – was completely awesome.

So when the little postcard came back in the mail letting me know that the manuscript had arrived in the mail and some poor worker bee had dropped my card back in the mail, I was excited. One step closer to the Thomas Lux Rejection Letter! But now my excitement is starting to fade. Why? Not because of something I’ve heard. My problem is that the check for the entry fee hasn’t cleared. My check I sent along with a different contest has cleared. Cleared very quickly. Free money. Candy from a baby. Cash my check already!

Even more annoying? I’m trying to close that checking account and this is the only outstanding check. Grr.

But it’s also making me nervous. I know the entire package got there or the postcard wouldn’t have found its way home to me. (Is it possible that some how it came home through another means? Yes but I really don’t want to go there.) Now my biggest fear: the entire thing got rejected, not even looked at, because I did something stupid like not including enough envelopes or something for reply. It’s one of those contests where every entrant gets a copy of the winning book if they send an envelope with enough postage (I think, I could be confusing it with the other contest) and now I can’t remember which is which and whether or not I sent another envelope for reply prior to book publishing. Damnit people, you really can’t do this to me; I'm a writer and therefore -- by definition! -- slightly neurotic.

From Facebook Note: Who the F?

Pretext: If you are a college student or recent grad you are familiar with the phenomenon of Facebook. If you’re not then think MySpace except supposedly less creepy because you don’t “meet” people online with it. With Facebook you meet people in the real world and then you “friend” them online in an attempt to generate an online community that mirrors your actual social circle.

Does your facebook homepage ever tell you that "your friend so-n-so just updated their facebook picture" and you squint at the little tiny square and the name beneath and say "Who the f*** are you?"

I've done this quite a bit in the past month. Apparently a lot of you I don't remember have been getting a little profile picture happy. Maybe it's not that I don't remember you, maybe it's just that I don't remember why I care about you. Sometimes I can figure it out, and I'll go "oooooh party junior year, yeah you were cool" and then I'll remember that we only partied once and you were actually just visiting from a campus which I have no idea where it's located. Well other than the fact that it was in the state of Indiana because it was called Indiana something or the other. There are other people though, people who supposedly went to the same university as me that make me go "huh?"

Now in the past I have been told that it is rude not to friend someone if they ask and even then I thought that was bullshit. Someone even went so far as to tell me I was mean -- which I protested at the time, but really I'd rather be mean than a push over, no news there. I mean, honestly, just because I know your name does not mean that I give two shits about you. Face it though, we've all friended people we only gave one shit about, or maybe a shit and a half, simply because they asked. However, I draw the line at people whom I would avoid talking to in real life. If I will go out of my way not to make eye contact with you because making eye contact would mean we would have to say hi and I don't want to even say hi then I will not friend you. I was trying to explain this when I got called “mean” as noted above. But really, if I don't even want to talk to you why would I want your face on my friend wall or your information coming up on my "home" page every time you tinker with the quotes on your profile?

What's even worse though is when you friend someone just to up your friend count in a particular area. Don't act like it's never crossed your mind. I know very well that some of you do this. Some of you have even told me that you want to break X-number on your friend count and then happily inform me when you reach it. I'm not saying that there is anything wrong with friended every member of your seminar just because you can, however if there is someone in that seminar whom you would rather strangle than speak to, you, my friend, have an issue.Maybe the whole thing is harsh.

But what does it matter in the long run? Whomever I "friend" now who isn't really one of my real friends in another year's time -- with my granny memory -- is just going to be a tiny blurry square under the updated pictures section that I stare at going "who the f*** are you?"

The "Well ... Crap." Moment

Do you ever have those "Well ... crap." moments? These are different from the "Oh crap!" moments. "Oh crap!" is more of a surprised state of anger. Something negative and unexpected has happened and, more likely than not, you've been blindsided by it. The "Well ... crap." moment is defined by a realization of an inconvenience and no direct way to fix it. No one's bleeding. No one's dropped a large glass vase that's just shattered all over the floor. You've just realized that, man, you've been screwed over by the system. I had one of these "Well ... crap." moments just last night.

I was at one of my bookstore hangouts where I walked in to the women’s room. Scorning the first stall for its rag tag appearance I took up occupying the second stall. I even settled the little sanitary seat cover thing (got it in place on the first try) only to reach up into the toilet paper dispenser and discover there was no TP. Not even a backup roll that I could gouge out of the upper part of the dispenser with a jaws of life maneuver.

What was I gonna do? After all, I was already peeing. Well … crap.

Then it dawned on me. An epiphany. Necessity mother of invention here we go. I reached under the partition and back into the first stall. That stall I had shunned not two minutes prior. I flailed my hand around in the right vicinity … and – got it! – yanked down toilet paper from the full dispenser next door and into my stall.

I felt pretty damn smart. Smug even. I felt like I had cheated the system. You can bet I was smiling at my reflection as I washed my hands and left the restroom. Yep, smile still in place as I walked back out and into the store. Sign me up for MENSA because I got the TP!

It wasn’t too long before I decided maybe I should check myself and my big goof grin. Maybe I wasn’t that smart. Maybe I didn’t really cheat the system. But hey, at least I was able to wipe myself.

Resurrection

Okay, time to resurrect this puppy.

So "Speak Coffee" has been down for some time even though I've been writing during that time. What was I doing that was so damn important? I have no idea. But to be honest, one coffee shop gig and one crazy workshop later I'm probably a little more conservative in my language and a little more desperate to talk to people. Both being the results of moving off of a college campus. Out here in the "real world" your neighbors are not going to strike up a conversation about life on your couch daily and are not going to drop the f-bomb while doing so. Bummer.

I am engaged in going "full tilt" as a writer. So far I've been successful at gathering rejection notes from literary magazines. Like I said, just a beginning. Although I do see the work at hand as gathering more of these rejection letters.

While I only have just over a half dozen of these thing it's enough to begin realizing trends. Most start out with "thank you" although the "many thanks" letter was terribly chessy but a nice break in the menotony. The letter starting off "unfortunately" let me know that there was no point in finishing the form letter and I appreciate the straightforwardness. Although my ego wouldn't have minded a little pampering prior to delivering the blow. So far all but one was signed simply "the Editors" and okay, whatever, it's a form letter. I understand. But one, one golden letter, actually had someone write in my first name after the preprinted "dear" and then sighed his initials at the end of the note. Ohmigod! I nearly fainted. It was like Elvis having thrown me his towel.

None of them are ever more than half a sheet of paper. I prefer the quarter sheet because it looks sharper with the tiny "thank you but no way in hell" message written on it. Also it saves more trees. Although having different sized rejection letters does allow me to create a more visually appealing display of them on my bulletin board. Some may think this display is morbid, that I'm doing it because I don't believe I can succeed. Which is, of course, bullshit. I do it so that I can keep track of what is out and what has already come back. It is also visual proof that I am not only saying I'm a writer but I'm going out there and doing something about it. But the best part of my display? The Ray Bradbury quote I've printed out on a strip of green paper and tacked over all these slight rejection slips: Advice to Writers "You have to know how to accept rejection and reject acceptance."