April 16: "Carol" Dip Monday, Surprise Rejection, Publishing

Once again, it is Monday.,  If there were any way to skip Mondays and go directly to Tuesdays, I'd get on that train in a heartbeat.  But then Tuesdays would become Mondays, and I would want to skip Tuesdays and got directly to Wednesdays.  It would get quite confusing for the Julian calendar.  Therefore, I guess we'll just have to leave things as they are and simply bitch about the fact that it is yet again Monday.

About nine months ago, I submitted a batch of poems to the online publication The Christian Century.  This morning, I opened an e-mail on one of my work accounts (one that I would never use for submissions), and there was my "thanks, but you suck" response from the editor.  Frankly, I'd written that magazine off about, oh, six months ago.  So today's surprise rejection was just a reminder of how much of a failure I am.  Hey, I shouldn't expect anything better on a Monday.

I think this calls for a Carol dip.  My question was prompted by my unpleasant message from The Christian Century:

Will I ever get another poem published?

And the answer from Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol is:

...Here, again, were shadows on the window-blind of guests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls, all hooded and fur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped lightly off to some near neighbour's house; where, woe upon the single man who saw them enter--artful witches; well they knew it--in a glow!

I have no idea what the hell that means.  The passage comes right after Scrooge's visit with the Ghost of Christmas Present to the Cratchit household.  Therefore, I believe it's supposed to describe a happy moment.  It does have the "glow" of yuletide revelry.  I guess I'm going to take Dickens' handsome girls and artful witches as a positive sign.  Some editor(s) out there will fall under the spell of my art.  I will publish poetry this year.

Now, if Saint Marty can just avoid any more nasty electronic surprises, he may be able to salvage the rest of this day.

Trying to avoid shit like this for the rest of the day

April 3: Trying to Remain Positive, Thoughts About Jobs

I've been thinking a lot today about writing and publishing and teaching and trying to remain positive.

It really seems that the only way people get hired at the English Department full-time is if they have tons of publications (or at least one or two really impressive ones).  Most of my non-academic friends don't understand that it's not just a matter of submitting a cover letter and vita and landing an interview.  There're phone interviews.  There're portfolios.  There're campus visits with presentations and classroom teaching demonstrations.  Plus, there's always three or four other candidates with more impressive vitas than yours.

My good friend who was just hired this year by the university has four books under his belt.  He just had his fifth book published last fall.  Really impressive.  Also really depressing.  I wouldn't stand a chance against a guy like him.

However, I'm trying to remain positive.  About writing.  About publishing.  About jobs.  I've got my new book of poems submitted to another contest at the moment.  I'm just waiting for the rejection letter/e-mail to come my way.  (For some reason, receiving a rejection by e-mail is the most esteem-crushing experience I've had.  It says to me that I'm not even worth the cost of a first class postage stamp.)  I still might win.  I might.  There's always a chance.

Saint Marty is trying to remain positive.

Right now, it's perish for me.

July 26: Ego, Blessed Titus Brandsma, Humility

OK, for the last week or so, I've been totally focused on sending out work for publication.  This morning, I submitted five more poems, this time to the Black Warrior Review.  This magazine is one of the long shots.  If I get published there, it will be a huge deal.  My motivation for this push to publish is purely selfish:  if I don't get more publications, I will never be even considered for a full-time teaching position at the university where I'm currently an adjunct.  And I'm tired of being the writer on the panel with only one book and a couple magazine credits.  I want to be better known.

That is a total ego thing.  I don't want to be a starving poet.  I want to be a poet with a full-time, well-paying job.  Plus a few prizes and awards.  That's all I'm asking for.  I really don't want to spend the rest of my life working two jobs and 13-hour days.  It's no fun.

Of course, when I'm feeling this self-absorbed, God sends me a little reminder about humility.  Today's saint is Titus Brandsma, a Carmelite priest who died in a concentration camp.  Before World War II, Titus did a lot of things:  taught at the Catholic University of Nijmegen, wrote as a journalist, traveled, and evangelized.  When Hitler came into power in Germany, Titus refused to hide from the Third Reich.  That's how he ended up at Dachau.  At Dachau, he was beaten daily, tortured, and experimented on.  The end of his life humbles me:

On July 26, 1942, Titus gave his Rosary to his nurse who had left the Church.  She administered poison by injections, and Titus died in ten minutes.  His body was cremated at Dachau.

Titus didn't really care about being published, even though he was a journalist.  He used his work to combat injustice in the world.  (He once wrote about marriage laws against Jews in Germany, condemning them publicly.)  In comparison, my poems seem pretty trivial, even silly.  I'm not fighting Nazis or terrorists, unless you count Republicans.  For Titus, it was all about helping the children of God.  For me, it's all about helping a child of God.  Myself, to be exact.

Titus, keeping me honest

I guess I need to keep things in perspective.  Yes, it would be nice if I published some poems, but nobody is going to die if I don't.  In the grand scheme of the universe, my poems are about as important as a crystal of ice on Uranus.  Maybe I need to refocus my efforts.  Instead of trying to help just myself, I need to look around, see who really needs help.  That's what Titus Brandsma would have done.  That's what any saint would do.

Saint Marty needs to make a difference, one poem at a time.