For the better part of a year I had entertained the idea of submitting my poetry to the venerable New Yorker, but I chickened out each time. Recently, I decided that I was being a lazy piece of shit, and that if I didn’t submit something, then I would punish myself by eating a lot of junk food (it makes me break out). Not wanting to deal with the consequences, I took the few, simple steps necessary, filled out a simple sheet, pressed send, and voila. It was literally very easy.
I know that the New Yorker isn’t going to look at my poetry and say, Gosh. Would you, would – hey David come look at this poetic genius we have here! We must, nay, are obligated to publish this in it’s own seperate magazine!
I mean, obviously that won’t happen. (It is fun to consider though)
In any case, I did it, and it feels great! I could be published! I don’t even care that a trillion other people also submit for the poetry slots. If I didn’t submit, I’d have a 0 out of 0 chance of getting published. But now that I have, I have a 50% chance. Either I don’t get published, or I do!!!!!!!! HOW COOL.
So now I’ve crossed off another tiny item. But also a big item. Sort of one-small-step kind of deal, and I’m weirdly proud of myself for it.
Congrats, Me, for doing something productive and also crossing another item off your bucket list!
Choice Cuts 