In a fit of literary mania the other day, I got a bee in my proverbial bonnet and submitted a poem to the New Yorker. I don't know why. I just did. I've been threatening to submit poetry to magazines for awhile now and I decided I might as well at least take a shot at the biggest name there is. I have every expectation that I will get a nice little email saying "Thankssomuchsosooryneversendagain." Which would be about right. I also submitted five poems to IUPUI's literary magazine. That one, I am hoping for better things. I shall see about that, too, I suppose.
I should probably try and keep this mania going by sending to the Columbia Poetry Review and the Borderlands Poetry Review (the former is from Chicago and the latter is located in Texas).
I realized today that I am, in the great scheme of things, almost done with my masters degree. I have four classes left. I'm amazed at this. Shocked, actually. I was talking with a classmate (or is collegue at this level?) about this and it really sank in: four more classes... four more...
Good question, that. I'm not really sure. Lately, I've thought about looking into continuing on... but I need to get a real job, eventually, right? I don't know. I guess we'll see where the Good Lord leads me.
I wish was more verbose here, but alas, I'm not. I start to type and suddenly words I might have lined up scurry to the bleak, dark, recesses of my brain and I don't feel like taking the time necessary to round them all up again. That takes too much time and my brain is awfully dusty and cluttered.
Well, then. I suppose I should shove off.