The haphazard adventures of publishing.

So, one day I was sitting in class, daydreaming about the guy sitting across from me. The problem? I had a boyfriend and he had a girlfriend. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't seriously considering pursuing him; I just thought he was cute & intelligent. So what did I do with those temporary feelings? Write them into a poem and forget about them.

A couple years later, I'm shooting emails left and write to poetry publishers with my submissions. This month, a publisher replied saying that they were interested in my 10-line (literally), daydream-fest of a poem. A poem I thought was a throwaway. And the kicker? I'd already sent them several other poems which were more recent and which I thought were my best.

What sense does that make, right?

No idea, but really. I'm trying not to question it. Sure, it's not one of my STELLAR poems that I would LOVE for people to read and analyze, but it's a poem that's mine, getting published. That alone is awesome, and that's why I keep sending out a variety, because I can never fully guess what a publisher will or won't decide they'd like included in their publication.

Remembering 9/11

As everyone else, I have a story.

My story is uninspiring, trivial, and slightly embarrassing.

I rarely ever tell my story.

I was in 5th grade. I was still at home, getting ready for school.

When my mother found me to tell me, I was sitting on the toilet, after brushing my teeth and before packing up my stuff to wait for the bus. I remember being very confused, and thinking she was over-dramatizing something small as she beckoned me to "come see what these people are doing to the U.S." before I walked into our main room and saw the TV.

I remember staring at the fire, the smoke and the wreckage, barely understanding the news reporter and the spectators and whoever else.

I remember feeling very small, very powerless, in awe and in shock.

I don't remember if we talked about it at school. We may have tuned in briefly to listen to reports on the radio. We may have discussed things briefly in my gifted class. The main feelings clinging to my mind from that day are confusion, disbelief, sadness. But I don't believe I ever cried.

To this day, it doesn't make me angry, but it doesn't make me feel extremely patriotic. It just breaks my heart.

Brain's busy buzzing.

Seems like the only thing I've been able to focus on lately is the literary magazine.

I have 15 credit hours worth of classes, and while that may not be as much as my usual load, they still exist and still have work I have to finish. Short stories and Old English works I have to read. Journal entries I have to write. Newspaper articles to build, and photos to capture.

I put together a video for my grandparents' 50th anniversary, but my mom would like a memory book as well, to present to them at Christmas, which means I have to keep it in my head to a certain extent, so I can lay out pages and fill it up in time to get it printed & shipped.

Karen would like help with her poetry books, revising her first one or working on her sequel, and I think she wanted at least one finished in time for her mother's birthday, which is coming up soon. Over Christmas break, my brother wants help with his own poetry book.

I'm the vice president of the Art Club, so I have to keep that on the back-burner, discussing fundraisers, planning events, posting updates on Facebook.

I'm also on the Trojan Student Senate, and while I'm not an actual officer, I am a "committee chair" as well as a member of another committee. My position as a chair means I need to hold at least one official meeting of my committee per semester. And I have no idea when my other committee will meet.

Then there are also room checks to clean for, chapel to attend, a boyfriend to hang out with, and a new obsession (Minecraft) to hold my attention.

Yet the main thing stuck in my head is that darn literary magazine.

I'm aware that it's only September 7. (And that it's nearly 1am.) I'm aware that there is plenty more semester left before the December 16 deadline I set, and that most people put things off anyhow. But I don't understand, I guess. If it were me, I would want to gather my 5 pieces to send in right away and submit them, that way I wouldn't have to worry about it, or risk forgetting about it and missing the deadline. I guess others don't have that same philosophy.

Mr. C and Mr. Stone have shown such support, I actually have approved fliers hanging around the campus. So far so good, right? But I'm impatient for that first submission to be sent. Because then I'll be reassured that the rest will trickle in eventually.

I guess I just need to trust that everything will turn out okay again, maybe even better than last year, now that I've got the support of multiple professors/faculty members, and the potential of accepting art submissions as well. Just gotta calm down, breathe, remember everything else in my life, while always hoping. It's a tough balance for me to find, evidently.