Writer’s Ennui

Submitting to Litmags is like playing the slots

As I click “submit” on the 1 millionth lit mag submission for 2024 – actually it’s #82 but who’s counting? – I pull back and look at my computer screen. 

“Why?” I ask myself for what I’m sure is the millionth time.  Why do I keep writing and submitting? 

I’ve been writing since before I can remember.  It’s a part of who I am.  Writing is like breathing.  I need to do both to survive.  Poetry is my natural form of expression, but I can be inspired to create short works of fiction.  If I focus my mind, I’m capable of crafting decent essays.

But why do I submit?  Why do I expose myself to wave after wave of rejection emails that usually begin with “Thank you,” before they segue into “unfortunately.”  Is it some form of masochism that is unique to the “tortured poets department”?

Occasionally, I get an acceptance, and that little hit of dopamine keeps me going.  I guess it’s a little bit like playing slot machines.  Most of the time, you pull that lever and lose your quarter, but every now and then – Ding Ding Ding!  Bright lights, bells, and the rush of coins pouring out.  Okay, forget the coins.  We know there is no money in poetry. 

We do it because the words sometimes reach down through the drab gray blanket draped wetly across our spirits and wake us up to the potential of something more.  There we are, as flat and tasteless as last night’s glass of water on the nightstand, then the words deliver some new effervescence, carbonating our spirits, tickling our tongues with their flavor, and we’re inspired, uplifted, and refreshed.

We share our words in hopes of slaking the thirst of another human spirit.   

Here's to an inspiring weekend and many acceptances to all of you!