The Gutless Wonder

6 May 2012
I am a gutless wonder. I spend a lot of time writing, but I never do anything with my writing. I write short stories, poems, researched scholarly articles, and even a longish satire, but they sit in the digital ether, waiting for me grow a backbone. I have no idea if I'll ever actually develop one, but I have a plan. My plan includes moral support that might wind up being a coffee klatch, or coffee clutch, depending on what part of the country you live in. All my life it was clutch, and one day, I looked it up. It's klatch. I was so disappointed. Clutch reminds me of tiny farm foul twittering around mama hen. Klatch, well, it just rhymes with, never mind. The word klatch is just not nearly as appealing. As I was saying before, I plan to gather moral support, in the form of a friend, to help me sort through the overwhelming task of submitting. I've started before, but the sheer number of places I could submit my writing to was daunting, and after I'd decided where to submit, the rules were confusing, and by the time I got that far, I lost my nerve. Except once. I submitted a poem to The New Yorker. I was graciously declined via a form letter, which according to all my writing friends and colleagues, should be framed and mounted on the wall like some sort of trophy. I'm not like my friends. I have this image of their letters on the walls papier machéed into the shapes of moose and elk, looking rather grayish as they stare down into the room. My New Yorker letter is here, somewhere, and I'll probably see it again, but I've no great respect for the fact that the editors at The New Yorker weren't interested. I have my Master's thesis, which is a book of poems that I haven't decided whether to submit whole, or in parts, dozens of other poems,  several short stories, and three scholarly articles that need an existence in the physical world. I promised myself I would work on it last month, but I didn't. I'm constantly breaking promises to myself regarding submissions. I watch my friends juggle teaching, writing, and raising families, and they have what it takes to submit their work and get published. Maybe this time, just maybe, I'll actually send something off.