July 9: Hard Work, Keeping at It, Confidence

Andy also found that his spirit was calmed by hard work.  He gravitated to the college newspaper, the Cornell Daily Sun.  One of only two dailies published by an American university--and also Ithaca's only morning paper--its eight pages even carried national and international news, complete with an Associated Press feed that came in every night via the telephone line.  It seemed sophisticated.  Andy's long-running connection with the paper raised his status until by his last year he walked across campus with unprecedented confidence...

The "Andy" in the above paragraph is E. B. White.  When White entered Cornell, he was given that nickname by his fellow students, and he embraced his new identity with relish.  Gone was the shy, sickly young boy.  Instead, "Andy" White was smart, talented, and full of confidence.


Sometimes I have that swagger and confidence, too.  I believe that I'm a good writer.  Talented, even.  Other times, I suffer from incredibly low self-esteem.  My poems seem derivative, sentimental.  I dwell on my failures instead of my successes.  Writing is a difficult avocation.  It sort of depends on acceptance.  Yet, more often than not, a writer receives rejection instead.

But you keep at it.  Keep sending out manuscripts to publishers.  Keep entering writing contests.  Keep sitting down with a pen and paper.  Keep writing.  Confidence comes with experience.  I know good writing.  I know when I write something good.  However, getting published is 25% talent and good writing.  The other 75% is simply luck.  Stephen King's wife rescued a manuscript from the garbage and forced him to finish it.  The manuscript turned out to be Carrie.  Luck.

At the moment, my confidence is at a low ebb.  Despite that fact, tomorrow night, I will submit more poems for publication.  Keeping at it.  That's the whole game.

Saint Marty is rolling the dice.

C'mon, daddy needs a publisher

June 30: Fat and Bald, Submitting, "Web" Dip

So, I was registering a patient at my medical office job this afternoon.  It had been a very long, busy day.  I was trying to help this older gentleman finish one of the forms for his appointment.  One of the questions on the form is "Do you wear glasses?"

I read the question to him, and he answered, "No, I have 20-20 vision."

"So, how do I look?" I joked.

"Fat and bald," the man answered.

I stood in front of him for a second, stunned.  Then I smiled and said, "Well, you look old and rude to me.  Shall we move on?"  And I finished the form with him.

I certainly could get in trouble for my response, if this gentleman decides to complain.  I don't care.  I'm a nice guy, but I couldn't help myself.  My medical office work is not a career for me.  It's a job.  Writing/teaching is my career.  It's what I love.

This week, I've set a goal.  I promised myself that every day this week, starting yesterday, I would submit my poetry for publication.  On Sunday, I sent my new book to a small press.  Tonight, I e-mailed some poems to a magazine editor with whom I have a connection.  Tomorrow, I will enter a contest.

So, my question for this Web dip Monday is:

Will I get my new poetry collection accepted by a publisher this summer?

And the answer from the little radiant pig is:

"You know," [Zuckerman] said, in an important voice, "I've thought all along that that pig of ours was an extra good one.  He's a solid pig.  That pig is as solid as they come.  You notice how solid he is around the shoulders, Lurvy?"

OK, so Wilbur is a solid, winning pig.  Zuckerman finally takes notice.

And fat, bald Saint Marty is going to get his book published soon.

Suck it, you old, rude bastard