Should a writer be a consumer is a question that has an obvious answer as I found myself more a consumer than actually writing like the guy who’s cleaning his fridge more than writing the next Oscar winner. The image of a writer is non-consumerist. They even have to write about being non-consumerist. But I found a little retail therapy just up my ally. I try so hard trying to be non-consumerist, though. So where does this leave my writing? Or more precisely where does this leave me?
For a few months, I’ve been conflicted between flagging my freelance work or keeping on going submitting projects and short material. Looking back at the event where an editor probably would have seriously considered my work, but his publication was strictly “in-house”, changed my mind. I just never know what may come up. He encouraged me.
It occurs to me, in a moment of reflection, that the many times I submitted to various publications over the last few years–the faith-based ones and the literary/fiction ones—came up fruitless. Except a few publications will see my work, but I don’t have the material for it. Nobody came to my aid this time. Frankly I’m tired of trying.
This week: The beginning of the week started with a rejection slip. Enough said, but it started the week with a bang. Then, it got quiet because I’m in a phase of writing that is quietly pondering. So while I blog a film review, a poem here or there, other things are on my radar that I’m silently working on slowly but surely. The quiet voice of the “muse” as they call inspiration stirs in the sounds of silence.
Yesterday I wanted to try something different, in terms of submitting to a publisher, who has accepted two, but also rejected quite a few other submissions of mine. But I recalled today that the publisher had told me a little while ago that they wanted submissions based on the harder passages. Only those passages. Let me keep on going with that then…