while a couple of the rejections have been encouraging, I still have nothing accepted, except perhaps by a new magazine that may or may not have any idea what it's doing, bless their enthusiastic twentysomething hearts. and even that was nonfiction, which after all is what I (used to) do for a living.

most of the poems have still only been rejected once or twice. some I've put aside as either bad or enjoyably but unpublishably self-indulgent. the stories are going through a similar process. no major rewrites have happened yet. the ones I continue to send are, I think, OK. I think. One piece, which is 3500+ words, is just plain good. but it's long. too long for short story comps, and it's not a short story. too long for magazines. too short for book publishers, who anyway get thousands of unsolicited stuff every year.

funny how I want to be "published" when my blog - no, not this one - gets 20-30 readers a day. but it's not writing. it's a diary, a journey that hooks people in because of certain dramas in my life.

from time to time I consider merging my public blog - which carries my name - with this and with my better-read anonymous blog. and if any of my stuff gets published Bluebug will not be a secret. it's not meant to be, I guess. it's just a separate, purpose-built space.

in theory, I could just whack all my stuff up online and consider it "published". but it's not the same as a moderated, edited journal, is it? in the uncertainty and fumbling of learning to write, one does crave approval of one's peers and of editors whose opinions have gained them a readership.

not writing much right now - the odd poem about death. it's time to consolidate some rejected poems and send 'em off again, I guess.