Rejection Letters from magazines/publishers

I Got my Work Permit


My Canadian work permit arrived on Friday. It’s somewhat of an anti-climatically thing however since the move to Texas appears to be back on – in theory anyway. We will know more next week after Rob chats with the man in charge of bringing all the project elements together. 

The first thing I did upon opening the envelope from the CIC was to glance through the Fort Record to see if there were any jobs of interest. A pointless activity as I have no intention of getting a job until my daughter is in school full time and even then there are more things that don’t interest me than do. Teaching for example is only of slight interest and drops to negative interest levels when I ponder the prospect of teaching in Texas. I turned down an offer from the Houston Independent School District long ago. In Iowa we are taught to believe that any school south of our own border is teaches Genesis in place of Darwin and a twangy version of English grammar. Besides when I was offered the position back in the late 1980’s it was well-known that Texas schools were just looking for new hire straight out of college fodder to plunk down in the worst schools. Socially and economically disadvantaged kids grew on trees in Iowa then too and I didn’t see the point of being underpaid in an expensive place to live when I could do the same thing in Iowa within my meager means. Anyway, I have a very negative view of the American education system right now. It stifles good teaching in favor of bad policy. And it’s not fun. Why would I want a job that is joyless to perform? Even if I am good at it. 

I sent out emails back in January, when I thought Texas was a surer thing, soliciting letters of recommendation. I got four positive replies and assurances I would have the letters by March at the latest but now we are into the second week of April – no letters. Hmmm. Whenever I have been asked for a letter and committed to writing it, I have them to the requester within days. But that is just me. And I wrote letters for anyone who asked really regardless of their work for me. The way I saw it was even if the person (a student usually) didn’t do much for me wasn’t any indication of how they would fare somewhere else. A lot of what we call “underachievement” is really just due to bad fits. Of course some people never find the right fit and that is another matter all together. Anyway I don’t have the interest in tracking any of these letters down, so I will just let it go but for this blog piece. C’est la vie.

So I have no letters, but I have one published writing credit to my name and about three rejection letters. I think that makes me a writer in most people’s eyes, but I don’t think you are allowed to include the rejections on your resume. I had a Technorati authority of 15 but it dropped a bit of late. Someone unlinked me I guess or the link expired. They do that. I don’t really understand the whole blog ranking thing. It’s a bit of a puzzlement and probably doesn’t mean much unless you are actually engaged in advertising on your space. In terms of writing resumes, blogging doesn’t count for jack even with that curious prohibition many literary outlets – paper or virtual – have on self-publishing.

Dilemmas. Dilemmas. I have a work permit. Now what do I do with it?

Another Day, Another REJECTED Story


Strathcona writing group last night was a small turn out. There were just three of us, but we had a nice discussion about online literary magazines and submitting. The two women who were there talked about their submission process and how they keep track of things. They are both published authors and one of them is an illustrator as well. It makes me a tiny bit jealous, but also determined to push on. I WANT to SEE my writing in print. That’s one of the drawbacks, we all agreed, to the online literary magazines. The majority do not have a print equivalent and there is something about having a printed copy to hold and show your mother (especially if your mother is like mine and can’t even open her own email). 

We read. They are mainly poets and very goods ones. My poetry always seems like a school assignment effort. I did take a poetry workshop one summer before I graduated from Iowa. I found the workshop technique a bit puzzling. I rarely thought about the meaning behind the things I wrote (I had done a writing workshop not long before the poetry) and was always amused by the things that the others would “read” into my work. Usually they were so far off in the left field that all I could do was say, “Right exactly. I was wondering if anyone would notice that.” Then I would go back to my apartment and reread my stuff and wonder if other writers just wrote and then co-opted the interpretations of others for future use. I remember the instructor was very impressed with my poetry. He encouraged me to submit them and sign up for  more poetry classes. Another smile and nod moment. I am not a poet. I don’t like reading it. I don’t even really enjoy listening to it. When people at writing group read their poetry, I have to really force myself to listen and not wander off mentally. I just wasn’t born with a poetry gene.

I read my new work in progress. I think I wrote about it on my wordpress site. Both women thought it was a very good start. I am such a compliment junkie. I love to have people read and listen to my work and give me strokes. On the other hand, I don’t care much for the opposite. Rejection. Which is what I found waiting for me on the email when I got home. It was from the Matrix, a lit magazine out of Calgary. I had sent them the first story in my Sci-Fi series at the beginning for December and I already knew that they had rejected it because their new issue is out already. It was bland. Obviously what they sent to everyone but they did include the link to their submission call for the next issue. 

Gallows humor. As a widow, I wouldn’t know anything about that.

Today there will not be much time for writing. I need to get to the gym and hustle home to clean up and get Katy ready for school.  I am meeting Rob at our Subjoint to pick up veggies wraps before heading to a financial planning meeting that his company is sponsoring for employees and their partners (Canada recognizes common law unions and same sex marriages). It’s all about retirement, and Rob and I are all about getting plans in place for that. It is expected to go until 3PM and then it’s hustle home to meet Katy’s bus and get supper started. Tonight I am going into town to sit in on  a planning session for a grief support group. I have always found the one size fits all approach to support groups of this nature a bit wanting and if I can input in the planning stages, perhaps I can alter that a bit. And perhaps not. My approach to grief is not, I have been vehemently told, a sound one. Whatever. Nothing ventured, as they say.

Rejection


I received my first rejection email  the other night. It was from an online poetry magazine called Blue Skies. I believe that it is run by a member or former member of the Fort writing group. I had gotten word of an open call for submissions from the leader of the Fort group and submitted three poems before the first of the year. They were about Alberta places: the Fort, Edmonton and a range road near our home. The rejection was short and to the point, which was “sorry, but I don’t like your poems”. At least that is how I read it. 

Poetry, in my own opinion, is one of the most subjective forms of written expression, and for the most part I don’t enjoy reading others poetry or even listening to them read it. I think that is because many poets are pretty ordinary writers and it shows in their choice of topic, theme, word choice, comparisons and structure. By far the most common has to do with emotional upset, particularly of the romantic variety, and consequently it reads like the bad poetry of a heartbroken 15 year old. Plaintive and cliche. Of course there are those poets who write about things – like their cats – or are “landscape” artists who drone on about flowers and meadows and the brilliant blue sky.

I didn’t really love the poems I submitted because I was tied to writing about Alberta as a place. That was the theme. The work was a forced and I guess it showed too much. Oh well, I am not a poet by nature though I can write it and an ever inspired to do so spontaneously on occasion, but I really just consider poetry a writing exercise more than something to do on purpose day in and day out.

Since I haven’t much invested in these poems, I am going to publish them myself here and on my Anniegirl1138 site. 

Prairie Canopy

Sitting atop the earth like a crown

A canopy covering

Cloudy or crisply stark 

Close enough to touch

Where far off rains occasionally drape its horizon

And the moon might hold a mid-day chat with the sun

A clean blue awning over all I can see

That darkens gradually from the prairie to become a backdrop for the clouds

Range Road 213

East past the tracks in Josephburg

Right at the gymkhana field

Forest lined but for acreage drives, canola fields and ponies grazing

Rolling and narrow it leads to the Yellowhead

From there, anywhere

Edmonton Skyline

Just past the Camrose exit 

Heading west on Yellowhead Trail

And nearer than it looks 

Sits Edmonton

So much like a cutout, 

A child’s toy,

Waiting to be reached for 

Scooped and carried

Away from refineries 

Hazy obscurity

That the problem with writing to order. It’s soulless.