Submission

No, not as in surrendering one's power. As in, submitting one's work to various publications. Which, I suppose, is sort of surrendering one's power. It's out of my hands now; it's up to some unknowable, unnamed "Editor" to decide whether my piece strikes his or her fancy at the particular moment of the particular day he or she happens to read it.

Sigh.

It's slightly stressful. But also wonderfully relieving.


I took the step today of submitting a fiction piece--a 5,000 word piece that drained the life out of me over the last year--to the literary award offered by my community college. Buoyed by the hope intrinsic in the action of letting go, I also submitted it to various online publications. And then I threw another piece, a flash-fiction piece, at a couple other publications. Why not? *shrug* (Thank goodness for duotrope.)

The frightening act of submission is saying--here you go, world. I believe this piece is at a point where, if it were to be published tomorrow, I wouldn't be (too) embarrassed by it. (Because a piece is never really done, right?) But letting a piece float into the atmosphere of our universal, communal spirit also provides a sense of freedom. I can focus on other things now. At least, for the moment, anyway. Give it four months. When I still haven't heard back from the editor and I'm wondering if anyone will ever love me, we'll see how I feel.