Rejections... and persistence

I'm struggling lately with writing rejections. Yes, they are part of the whole writing-publishing game, but there's been quite a string of them. I try to remind myself that it is a process, that there's a lot of my work out there that has found homes, some of them "respectable" ones, and there will be others given homes sometime along. That said, it's still kind of crushing, especially the ones that are for chapbook contests. I should give up on contests--it's a bit of a racket, really-- hundreds and hundreds of applicants, all paying anywhere from 10-25 dollars each for reading fees-- with one winner. I mean, it would be really gratifying to have my chapbook(s) accepted somewhere, but it's not looking likely. 

I've revisited my longer chapbook over and over again, almost to the point of really not liking it all that much. I'm trying to second-guess a panel of readers and a final judge I don't even know. Many of the poems in it have found homes, so they can't be truly awful. It's not that I'm just scattering the little ms to the wind; I read the stuff they've published before, and I've shied away from sending mine out to places that are way out there on the edge. 

I'm not edgy. But maybe they just don't want to publish work that is of the same tenor as the things they've published before. Or maybe I'm just so damned boring and pedestrian? Maybe my reader friends are just very kind, but secretly think the poems are flat and lifeless? 

Gosh, I hope not. 

But it's easy to go down that road. 

I have four or five publications to send work to, and one more chapbook contest--if I even bother. I do have the publishing deadline in mind for another place that produces chapbooks--no contest. Maybe that one will bear some good news my way. I'll keep trying, but sometimes it feels pretty muddy. And I keep reminding myself that at least I'm not trying to make a living by my words. Recently, a friend congratulated me on having another poetry review accepted, and she said that maybe this is my "metier"-- and all my brain could fill in was, instead of being a poet. Kind of like the wordsmith version of Moses. I do write decent reviews; it's something I'm very capable of doing. But my poems... I wish I could find the switch in the dark to light them up. Sometimes it seems like I should just accept that I have dabbled long enough, and I should just figure out a new thing to chase. I dunno.

I know that most of the poets I know have manuscripts shelved, collecting dust, that can't seem to find a home. So I know it's a wider experience than just mine. It's hard to maintain that thick skin, though. Validation is not just for the ego-fluffing, it's the only way we really find out if we are any good. 

Keep cool, folks. Another hot one on tap.

C