I've had a pretty good week. I think I've had a good week? Couple of weeks? Time oozes by in weird hunks for me, like slightly past date cottage cheese, so it gets hard to tell. But it inches by in good things-- The Poetry Brothel Rendezvous event went fantastically, bang up good time, etc, and I think I did well for myself--my skirts stayed on the entire time (dang) and did a generous handful (heh) of private readings, almost entirely to "clients" I'd never met before (almost all men, but I do look ravishing in a corset so can't blame them). I also have two pieces in the new Volume 4 of Smoking Glue Gun (GO READ), as well as work forthcoming in plain china. Also, finally got my rejection from Fairy Tale Review, not a bad thing--I wasn't sure if they had gotten my submission at all, and it was very pleasant and encouraging. I knew publication there was a pretty long shot, so it's nice to receive the positive response I did.
Anyway, was thinking on all this and realized--with more than a little relief--that this feels right. I feel really good about getting my work out there, and I'm excited to produce more. Yes, this is indeed what I want to be doing.
I had lost touch with that feeling for quite a while, and it was not only discomforting but actually a bit terrifying. Because I was still doing writing stuff, submitting, reading, but without any real heart behind it--and more importantly, without making any new stuff, better stuff. Basically writing a bunch of literary checks I couldn't cash. So pushing forward and pushing forward blindly, without knowing why or how I was going to keep it up...felt like I might end up pushing myself over a cliff in the dark. But now, for lack of some less trite image, there's a little bit of light, a Tinkerbell of encouragement: Yes, this is going to be hard. No, you are not a prolific prodigy but you have your damn foot in the door and that's better than some. Use it, you can take another step here. And here. Etc.
There are no fresh starts. Keep on keeping on.
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