After I cleaned my carpets, I did another submission of poems to a literary journal. It took me a while to find a place currently accepting submissions. An hour and a half, to be specific. It was probably a monumental waste of time, but it's nice to have something for which to hope, if only for a little while.
And now, another Web dip:
Will I get published this fall?
And another answer from E. B. White:
Charlotte was delighted with the way her trick was working. She sat without moving a muscle, and listened to the conversation of the people...
So, maybe I'm Charlotte, and maybe my trick is going to work. People are going to talk about my poetry.
Saint Marty will accept that.
Pick a poem, any poem |
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