In the zone, within in a zone,
holding a megaphone.
High I fly, high indeed,
high above the cacophonous drone.
For a moment, an eternal moment,
it seems that I might stand alone.
I look around, and take a breath,
and breathe in deep of everything known.
Filed under Poetry, Writing
Raymond Carver rejected me today.
It wasn’t personal, of course; Raymond Carver passed away in 1988. It was actually a publication named in honor of Raymond Carver that passed me up.
Months ago, I began work on a short story entitled Windswept. It’s the first real writing that I have ever committed my heart to and, since I completed draft seven on the day before the deadline for submissions, I decided to go for it.
Now, months later, I am reading a personable rejection letter courtesy of the folks at Carve Magazine. Woe is me.
When I woke up all I could see was the teacher looking at me in the dim light of the overhead projector.
Now, with consciousness seeping back across my synaptic bridges, the various geometric proofs scribbled on the wall are like Egyptian hieroglyphics. The rest of the students are conspiring in the shadows, half-wits scoffing at a dimly lit dimwit. There’s drool on the desk.
“What’s wrong with you?” says teacher, “maybe you need to go to the vending machines for a can of pop? Get some sugar in you?”
This cheeky witch is hip! How much does she really know?