Reflections

As the snowy mist swirls outside my office window turning everything uncovered a ghostly white in the fading light of day, I sit and wonder about how far I have come as a writer artist in the past six months I've been doing it full time. There is much I have accomplished in those six months and much more to appreciate in ways of experience garnered: The sixth issue of the monthly Exile Calling journal is about to be released in a few days, I have already received my first acceptance letter to be published, I have established useful contacts in the field, and, most of all, my skin has grown thicker and my mind wiser to distinguish between useful advice and empty praise. I have become aware of the realities of my profession, and I am emboldened to face the trek with will and determination reserved for a cornered prey of the wild.
However, there is much I would love to improve, both in character and circumstances. I lack patience to excite my calmness and remain unchanged by the long periods of waiting for editors to make up their mind. I also long for the open-mindedness to pursue opportunities whose requirements I regard as backwards and lacing evolution. I still refuse to submit to publications that do not accept electronic submissions whether through electronic mail or other website systems. I realize this might reduce my chances of being published, but I want to publish so people can read my work, not just to say I have been published. I want to be known for my work and not a published unknown.
Well, I hope to hear more from editors in the next few months about the dozen or so works I have submitted this year, and hopes are high that the majority will be accepted for publication. In the meantime, I will continue to find inspiration in the alternating moments of chaos and calm around me, and transmit them into words capable of projecting the emotions they entice to you readers. As the ground outside is masked by the white mass, I, too, seek to be enveloped by a layer of motivation to lead me on, unerringly, through a maze of patience and zeal possessed by few. I hope to count myself in the number of those blessed few.