Monday, February 16, 2004

Aside from this banter, I write poetry, which is a little more than refined banter and love drivel, but I can't live without it. It's about the only completely satisfying thing in my sphere, which is far from expansive.

Sure, I know what you're saying: "I write, too!" How many times have I heard a new acquaintance, even an old one, make a remark to this effect? Too many. But I'm not discounting all of you closet writers out there who scrawl and scratch it out in your diaries and daybooks. Those are valuable endeavors to look into yourselves. Please don't stop doing it.

But, yes, I write poetry and I write it for other people. I want other people to read it. I consider my audience, however small. I send my work to electronic publications.

I used to do it the old-fashioned way, by stuffing envelopes, but times have obviously changed. I don't have a fixed residence or a P.O. Box to which I am returning. I live in Japan and forsee continued movement to other foreign lands for, at least, the next 18 months. Now, it's simply cheaper, faster, environmentally proper and more efficient to submit my work electronically. No more checking the letterbox, which has well-rusted shut by now. I find that I get many more personal responses, even in rejection, which was a rarity the old-fashioned way.

So after some years of doing this and cutting my niche in poetic cyberspace, albeit shallow, I'm still shocked to find that some magazines do not accept work electronically. It's preposterous. I won't name names. I can review the magazines and look at their impressive list of authors, but I can't reach them unless I send them a dreadfully slow letter by post. I don't have the time, energy or interest. I just don't read that stuff anymore.

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