Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

I'm right at the edge today, fearing I might step off if the just-right reason shows up. What the just-right reason is, I don't know, but I guess if I end up dissolving into the tears that seem to be threatening, I'll know then. I'm trying to be analytical about the feeling pressing against the back of my eyes and through my nasal passages, hoping that analysis will help the feeling go away. It's not really working. Sleep eluded me most of the night. Once or twice a month I have a night sleep just won't come. I go to bed tired, but after an hour or two of sleep, I'm wide awake. Tossing, mostly onto my back and my left side. I don't sleep on my right side since my vertigo incident. I actually prefer my right but I'm afraid I'll trigger another bout of dizziness. Sleep laughed at me and slithered off to bathe someone else in dreamland. I'm pretty sure lack of sleep is part of today's slipping into sadness. That and thoughts of Ado. I miss h...

So, five days now and no critiques on my haiku. I did receive one comment, basically asking about one or two of the haiku maybe needing a "cutting" word and saying the cricket haiku was the least favorite of the six. I sent the person a thank-you note. Then, I opened my email to find yet another rejection. This one from a literary magazine I sent some poems to back in early November. Now, I'm sitting here wondering why I feel the need to be published. The literary magazines don't pay. Most have a small readership. Yet I keep sending my work in hopes one of them will eventually say yes. Prestige is definitely part of the equation. Being able to put on my vita that I've had work published by recognized literary magazines adds a degree of expertise. In the event I decide to seek employment at another institution, the publishing credits will help me stand out over applicants who don't have publishing credits. And I have entertained the idea of seeking empl...

A couple of days ago, Funny Delightful Son came in from work and sat in the overstuffed chair in front of the windows overlooking the backyard. I had been lounging on the couch most of the afternoon, binging a program I didn't have to give much attention to keep up with what was going on. Mostly I was simmering in self-pity over receiving yet another rejection. "What're you doing?" Funny Delightful Son asked. "Soothing my sobbing soul," I said. "Hmmm. Is that right? Why is it sobbing?" I could see Funny Delightful Son trying really hard not to laugh at me. "Another editor telling me my writing sucks." "So Mom . . .." This is what Funny Delightful Son always says just before he launches into his practical, matter-of-fact take on a situation. " . . .why is it so important to you to have someone else tell you your writing is good, or at least good enough for whatever publication they are putting out?" All I co...

In December of 2010, I finished uploading my grandma's memoir to a self-publishing site and released it to be sold on Amazon. I had started working on her manuscript around 1994, taking it from her longhand to a word processing program. I'm pretty sure it was Word 3.1, or something like that. Thankfully, I knew enough about saving digital work then to save it in a format that would be compatible to different programs if need be. I completed transferring the manuscript in 1997, printed out all 200+ pages, took it to a copy store, and had several spiral bound copies made to present to my grandma. Her delight in having her book in hand was the only payment I needed. Her happiness made me happy. In 2006, I came across a self-publishing site and decided to take Grandma's book and turn it into a "real" book, a paperback with a "real" cover and its own ISBN. At the time, I didn't have the skills to create a cover, and after several failed attempts, the bo...