I am slightly upset, but I am trying not to show it. Writers are supposed to have personas that are never upset, and ever smiling. If we are upset, we are supposed to pour out our upset-ness into our creativity.
Last week, three of my poems were accepted by the same publication. After I did a little jig around my bedroom, I realised my ghazal was going to be up first. I was happy. It had been written with a specific purpose in mind. Today would have been the perfect day for its inauguration.
But no, the editors decided for reasons of their own to publish one of my other poems. I would never argue with an editor unless they messed with my actual work (which thankfully, has happened only twice in my memory, and both of the editors I am afraid, were rather inept.). So, even though I love the publication and the very approachable editors, I am slightly upset. Slightly pouting. Slightly sulky.
What a start to a weekend, eh?
Two more of my poems and a short pulp fiction piece are forthcoming in Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure. Watch this space.