Despite my new goal of pursuing publication more assiduously, I’m still prone to writing things that no one would ever want to publish. Massive blank verse monstrosities. Sonnet sequences that can’t stand alone as individual sonnets.
I’m feeling very grim and angry at myself, which probably isn’t the best attitude one can take.
not unpublishable. just requiring a diligent search for the right editor. and there’s definitely many a good julie one out there. don’t you dare give up.
I would very much like to run WITH the wind for a while. That’d be swell. Instead, I always seem to be drawn to the stuff no one else gives a damn about, and it’s not because I’m some sort of noble crusader or iconoclast. No. It’s because I’m fucking weird.