July 20: Quick, Tired, Hot

I've been trying to post all day long, but it has been crazy busy.  I only have time to give you something quick and unsatisfying.  (Please refrain from any sexual innuendo.  I'm too tired to retaliate.)

This morning, I dusted off my bruised ego, picked up my copy of the 2011 Poet's Market, and submitted some of my poems for publication.  I shot for the moon today.  I sent five of my poems to The Atlantic.  This magazine receives 60,000 poem submissions a year.  It accepts 30 to 35 of them.  It only takes short poems and pays $4 per line.  That means if you get a 100-line poem accepted, you will receive $400.  That ain't chump change in the universe of verse.  Of course, this is a magazine that publishes mainly Pulitzer Prize winners like Phil Levine and Carl Dennis.  Therefore, my five little poems in the slush pile of Great American Poets at The Atlantic will, more than likely, end up as bathroom tissue for the poetry editor.  However, for the four to six weeks it takes to receive my rejection, I can dream a little dream.  I suppose that's worth the cost of postage.

Soon, I will grace these pages...

My plan, for the next week, is to send out submissions every day.  Just so I have something to sustain my illusion of being a real writer.

Tonight, after work, I plan to go for run, even though its 95 degrees outside and the National Weather Service has issued heat warnings.  That's if I can get my wife to let me.  She thinks it's unsafe for some reason.  Silly girl.

Saint Marty is keeping the dream alive.