So I’m published… [Prose, one year in – a thank you note]

Because my journalism profs would tell me not to bury the lede, let me start by saying I wrote a hitherto-unseen poem that got published here: http://www.sleetmagazine.com/selected/love_v12n2.html. I’ve also had a short story selected for publication by The Copperfield Review, and I’ll post a link to it when it goes live in December.

I owe you people, and what follows is a bit about why. [You should probably go read the poem first; it’s approximately 1100 words shorter than this post.]

If you’re a longtime reader, you might know that I forced myself to create a Prose account a little over a year ago because the creative well was dry. It might be more accurate to say that it was a pretty unproductive well to begin with, and after it went dry I had said, “who needs a well, anyway?” and wandered off to buy Aquafina. But on October 16 of last year, I reopened the browser tab I had just closed and said, “no, you’re going to do this, you’re going to make an account and enter that contest with that stupid prompt.”

Other people commented on what I wrote. And I read and commented on other people’s writing, which made me want to write more, so I did. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

It’s a remarkable thing to have an audience.

It’s a remarkable thing to have a writing community.

A couple weeks ago—exactly on October 16—I clicked my profile and saw a significant number: 365 followers, one a day since I joined. [OK, at least half a dozen of those just wanted me to try the Keto diet and a few more only clicked cuz I was site-suggested and they never read a damn thing and also it was a leap year, but still,] that is far more readership than I’ve had in my life. My responses to them are inconsistent at best, but I treasure every comment.

There’s an extent to which a followers list is a graveyard. Listed alongside the living are users who flew in and out one night and were done, or those who dove in with vigor for a month or so and then disappeared. Seeing names of those writers whom I admired and who trailed off without fanfare, I feel sad; I feel proud. I wonder where they are, if they’re OK, if they’re still writing. I know that I am, and that’s an achievement for me. I’ve written for a solid year. When I told myself, “I’ll get back to writing after this obligation has passed,” it turned out that I meant it. It’s hard to say if those one-time writers are still at it. I’d like to think they merely migrated to a place where the grass looked greener.

I’m not going anywhere. Prose has proven a bountiful pasture for me. Here’s something I posted just a couple weeks into my Prose tenure, I think for my first-ever weekly challenge:

My smaller desire, the one I would confess to few outside of Prose, is for something I wrote to be selected for publication. That would take me beyond this little world. It would mean that I could have my provincial cake and eat it too. I could live a small life but know that my thoughts and passions had been shared, been communicated to people beyond the boundaries of my county. There is a sense in which I am a writer. I would like to feel like a real writer. I would like something I have written to be chosen.

I do not endorse that line of thinking. As a friend once told me, “A writer is one who writes,” and I readily and happily apply that definition to others. Still, I could never feel it of myself, and I hoped that at some future time I might get validation and see beyond my “dilettante hack” self-image. That’s what publication meant to me, and to my amazement, it has happened now. I can check one off the bucket list.

There was a precise point in time when my publication dream worked its way out of the pipe into real possibility. Many Prosers had made many kind comments—too many to thank, and I am genuinely sorry for the omissions; I hope you know who you are and that your words matter. The comments helped me to keep writing and think that someday, if I persisted and worked very hard and had a little luck, someone would choose my writing for publication. The exact tipping point, when I believed I could make it happen now, came after I wrote a story titled “Rideshare.” Several of the writers on Prose whom I most respect said it was genuinely good, in the comment section or via DM. The comment that most directly made a believer out of me was from @Scratch77: “Congrats, man, you’re the real deal…”

Just now, when two inches rather than six months separated the phrases, I finally realized why his choice of words hit home: it was my own. I had written, “I would like to feel like a real writer.” When that word real came back at me, it all became real.

My profile text says “I teach high school English,” and unless I’m hacked or fired, it always will. It’s a declaration of identity and principles. I am not a writer who pays the bills by teaching; I am a teacher. It’s what I love and what I do best. But the writing part, for the first time, feels real, too.

Without many, many users in the Prose community, that reality would not have come. I would not have tried for publication to begin with, and even if I had, I would have given up when the rejection notices started to roll in (and they are legion). But I kept at it.

If I tried to thank everyone I should, I’d leave someone out and then just feel guilty, so again, I’m trusting you to recognize yourselves in this letter. I do need to thank three people who directly influenced “the raspberries.” First, @paintingskies, who graciously shared tips for submitting pieces, including the resource where I found Sleet Magazine in the first place. She does not know it, but I also owe Sam for another reason: right at the time I was revising, one of her wonderful poems used the word “watercolor,” and I suddenly realized what line was missing from my own poem. I am further indebted, as has often been the case, to friends and editors @TomJonas and @Posey, who brought the final clarity I needed to get the phrasing just right.

Hopefully you took my advice and already read the poem through that link, because if not, I’ve now built it up way too much. But, from the bottom of my heart, thank you :)