The First Three Months

Reflecting back upon the day I began this blog, it amazes me to think of how things have surpassed my expectations. I figured this would be a small blog where a few family and friends would read occasionally because they feel the need to be kind and read a post or two. That was the status of my previous attempt at a blog almost two years ago. I think that one made it a month before it died off, much like my attempt at creating a website.

That tends to happen a lot. The grand visions fizzle out when the initial excitement wears off.

The excitement for this one hasn't fizzled yet. Instead it is exceeding what I aspired to accomplish when I created Scholarly Scribe. So, in celebration of reaching this first minor milestone, I will answer a few questions that were put forward by some of the readers of my Guys' Night post on Friday.

The following questions were asked by Youngman Brown:

1. What was your original reason for starting a blog?

My original reason for starting a blog was actually highlighted in my first post, Why I Write. I created this as a place to share my thoughts on writing and being a writer. I wanted to be able to share some literary opinions and make book recommendations for other readers (which I still haven't done!). And, most importantly, I wanted a place to share my writing with the world.

Like I mentioned in that post, I don't care whether or not I become a rich or famous writer. I write because I want to share my poems and stories with others. If I were to measure the success of that over the past three months, I would have to say I've succeeded. I've had almost 800 page views in three months. That is much better than I anticipated, and a lot of that is courtesy of Yeah Write. But people are reading some of these posts, which means I've met that goal.

2. Have you always been interested in writing/sharing your life, or was it something encouraged by others?

I have been interested in writing itself since about my Sophomore year of high school. That would date around 1999 or so. My earliest poems and stories come from that time frame, and some of them are still among my favorites. For years I have dreamed of getting things published so others could read what I've written. I have made websites and a blog over the past few years where I would tease with a portion of a story, or with some of my poems that I didn't expect to submit.

I was worried about First Electronic Rights for future submissions. So I posted subpar material or general blogs with my thoughts on a certain topic. But I never really shared the ones that I loved. That ended when I started this blog. I've shared a few of my favorites so far, and have even more to come (and others that I've yet to write!)

3. And would you say that now, three months later, that your motivation for blogging has stayed the same or has it changed?

I would say that it has evolved. Originally my intent was to do nothing but post short stories and poems and occasionally throw in something blogish, like my post From Skeptical to Faithful. Today I still have some original writings, such as my Serial Novel that I started a few weeks ago, but I also have a fair mix of regular blog posts about my life or my thoughts on certain topics. I'm sure over the next nine months it will continue to evolve as I find my style and my voice as a blogger.

But I don't think I'll ever lose my desire to share my writing with everyone. I love getting feedback on poems and stories. The good and the bad. Those comments help me to continuously grow as a writer and hone my skills.

The next set of questions come from Shiftless Mommie:

1. What were your biggest concerns when you first got started?

I was concerned about several things when I first started this blog. The first concern was that I would lost interest, yet again, in an attempt to share my thoughts and writing with others. As I mentioned above, I have had several failed attempts at starting blogs and websites with a similar purpose in mind. Thankfully it only takes one exception to break the cycle, and I think that is going to happen with Scholarly Scribe.

My second concern was that no one would take notice. My blog is still small enough and new enough that I get a sense of excitement when I see any new comment, or notice that any single post is getting a fair number of views. It gives me a feeling of accomplishment that aligns with the goals that I had for this blog. As long as I continue to get some views and some comments, I believe I'll continue to have a reason to post.

My third concern was that my greatest fears would become realized. My self-confidence would take a beating. The comments I would get would all be negative and along the lines of telling me to stick to a real job and that I couldn't make it as a writer. Finding acceptance and a sense of belonging never really came easy to me growing up. For the most part I have left that sense of insecurity in the past, but it is always ready to sprout up at the (not so) perfect moment and crush my hopes.

2. What is drawing you to WordPress?

Comparitively there aren't many major differences between Blogger and Wordpress. At least that is what I have been led to believe from the bit of research I have done into the matter. Blogger is newbie-friendly and has some great features. Wordpress, from what I have read and seen so far, takes most things a little bit further in what you can do. I like the designs offered on Wordpress, and they have a free account that gives the same sort of address choice that Blogger allows.

In the end it is just those minor things that Blogger doesn't do that draws me to try it out. I think the biggest appeal is the ability to create Pages, which will make it easy for readers to access each part of my Serial Novel. I'm 98% certain I'm going to enjoy the change to Wordpress and stay there for a long time. Now I just need to get enough skill to create a passable-looking banner for the top of my blog. I've never been able to do things in Paint, much less any of the more advanced photo/image creation/modification programs.


Many thanks to the two bloggers who presented some questions. Any others that happen to pop up over the next few days will be addressed in a future blog post. Feedback is always welcome, as are any other questions you may have thought of!

The Curse of Fierabras - Part Three

Part III - The First Battle

            The blade of the saber slices through the air. Dante crouches down, shifting his momentum and leaping back to avoid the fatal blow. The soldier’s force carries his weight forward and his sword cuts into the ground. Dante runs from the man as he struggles to remove his weapon from the arena floor. With his eyesight finally adjusted, Dante is able to look around and see what he is facing.

            A dozen pillars are scattered throughout the arena, most of them broken and worn down with time. Several large pieces of pillar lie among scattered rubble and debris from the prior battles. The floor of the arena is coated with a thin layer of reddish dirt intermixed with coarse sand. A few broken weapons have been left abandoned around the arena, many coated with a layer of dust. A few spears and an axe are lodged in the wall encircling the arena.

            Half a dozen men, including the one Dante evaded, are their opponents. Each one is wearing the same gold armor on their upper torso and is wearing a pair of gold greaves on their legs. Their feet are sandaled. Each appears to carry two weapons with them: a sword being paired with shield, spear, or mace. The four prisoners are outnumbered and outmatched, just like he was told they would be. The other three aren’t faring much better, either.

            Dante turns back to check on the location of his opponent. There is a large gash in the ground where the sword became lodged, but neither man nor saber is anywhere to be seen. Dante steps around a stone pillar, determined to locate this missing soldier. A large piece of stone falls to the ground in front of him, sliding into the pillar. Dante looks over and sees the soldier reaching down to grab another stone to hurl.

            Dante notices a splintered shaft of wood on the ground a few feet away from the soldier. The man is taking aim with another stone. Dante charges forward, sidestepping the projectile as it flies through the air. The soldier picks up his sword and plants his feet, bracing himself to meet the attack. Dante slides along the ground, his fingers grasping the fragment of a wooden handle. Dust stirs in the air. The soldier swings his sword in a powerful cut, but the shaft of wood has better reach and pierces the soldier’s exposed shoulder.

            The sword drops to the ground and the soldier staggers back a step. His left arm dangles uselessly at his side. Dante gets to his feet and grabs the dropped sword. He swings wildly, cutting through the air. The wounded soldier easily dodges a few attacks. Dante rushes forward with a feint, but the soldier trips him up.

            Dante slides along the ground, his lungs filling with dust. He rolls over in time to see the soldier pull the splintered stick from his shoulder, blood oozing from the wound. Dante scrambles backward, sword still clutched in his hand. The sun gleams on the golden armor as his opponent readies the makeshift weapon for a fatal blow. He pulls the weapon back for a powerful thrust. Dante brings his arms up over his face and braces himself for the upcoming pain. Instead of being skewered, the soldier falls to the ground, his neck twisted.

            Dante looks up to see Slate standing over him, arm extended to help him up. He is covered in cuts and scrapes. His one good eye is slowly swelling shut. His breathing is ragged. The corpses of two soldiers are behind him. Hoggle is pinned to the wall of the arena by a spear through his chest. Jerek is nowhere to be seen. The remaining three guards are advancing quickly on Dante and Slate. Dante grips the saber in his hand and Slate picks up a massive stone.

            Slate times his throw perfectly, but the three soldiers scatter before it hits them. The stone shatters into a dozen smaller pieces, flying in various directions. Most bounce harmlessly off the greaves, but a few cut through skin and one lodges itself in the foot of a soldier. Dante swings his sword at the nearest soldier. It is easily deflected off a large brass shield and the soldier thrusts with a counter-strike. Dante steps aside to avoid the blow but the sword catches his side, leaving a narrow gash in its wake.

            The soldier presses the attack on Dante, slashing and striking relentlessly. Dante backpedals, struggling to keep up with each attack. His breathing becomes heavy and sweat pours down his face. The soldier sees the sign of slowing and presses with renewed vigor. Dante parries a thrust, ducks under a slash. The soldier sweeps at Dante’s feet with his shield. Dante jumps to avoid the blow. The soldier anticipates this and stabs Dante’s thigh.

            The crowd frantically cheers for the soldiers. Dante is exhausted and wounded. Slate takes the mace from one soldier and crushes his skull with it, but the other soldier takes advantage and runs Slate through the chest with his sword. Jerek is still nowhere to be seen. The other soldier picks up a discarded spear and starts toward Dante. Pain shoots through his left leg from the wound, but Dante tries to ignore it while fending off the swordsman. His reactions are getting slower and the attacks are getting closer to striking a lethal blow. Dante closes his eyes and makes a desperate thrust, praying for a miracle.


Go To: Part Two - Cellmates                                                                                Go To: Part Four - Jerek

Guys' Night

Before I begin my post for today, I'm going to make three announcements:

1. Tonight I've been busy with babysitting and homework, so I'm pushing back my third installment of my Serial Novel until Sunday night.

2. April 17 marks the three-month anniversary of this blog. It has far surpassed my expectations, so I will be making a special post on Tuesday night where I will answer some questions about me. They can be about who I am, the blog, my writing...anything, really. The only condition is that I need you to post some questions in the comments of this post and I will answer them all on Tuesday. Don't feel like asking a question? Leave a writing prompt instead and I will hit that sometime in the next week or two (time permitting).

3. I am considering making a transition from Blogger to WordPress in the near future. At some point, once I have things in a format I like over there, I will provide a link to the future site and post on both for 2-3 weeks before I make the move for good. Any tips about WordPress are welcome!

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Almost a week ago my fiancee and I decided to bring a child into our home. Her cousin has been rehabilitating from a surgery and there is no telling how soon she'll be able to take care of her three children. Prior to Saturday the extent of our help in all of this was praying for them and visiting a few times during the week. We agreed to watch her six-month old boy, Michael, for a night. It is almost a week later and he is still here.

He is such a happy, smiling boy. It is impossible not to fall in love with him almost immediately. He is a lot of fun to have around in spite of our busy (and unusual) schedules. We've found ways to juggle things adequately enough to continue our activities like normal. But I have to confess that it is tough going from no baby to having one around without much notice or time to mentally (and emotionally) prepare for the task.

A few weeks ago my fiancee signed up to attend a women's function at our church with one of her friends. That meant she would be away all evening, leaving me alone with Michael at home. It has been years since I've watched a baby for any amount of time. Being alone with him for hours tonight was, on some level, a scary thought. But I mustered enough courage to encourage her to go anyway.

So we've enjoyed guys' night tonight. We played on the floor and in his walker. We had Avatar: The Last Airbender playing in the background, which is a fitting cartoon for the guys' night. We've danced and sang and tickled. We've pet the cats (one of them finally warmed up to him enough tonight to let him pet her. She did good, even when he grabbed a handful of fur) and had raspberries blown on his tummy. He had a bath and got ready for bed. He got his nightly dose of Albuterol with the respiration machine. Many nights he screams and fights that. Not tonight.

Tonight he fell asleep during it. He was so tired that he stayed asleep when I set him down in the car seat long enough to make his bottle. He has been sleeping sound for almost two hours no. This was, by far, the easiest night for getting him to sleep.

Maybe we just played too hard and had too much fun for him to stay awake and fight his sleep. We enjoyed getting to bond tonight. I love this baby and now I can't wait for us to have some of our own filling up our house.

Maybe we should have guys' night more often. I think he'd like that. What do you think?

Entering this post in Yeah Write #53 this week. Stop by and check out all the awesome blogs. I'm sure you'll find at least one you like.

The Curse of Fierabras - Part Two

Part II - Cellmates

    Dante wakes when a bucket of cold water is splashed on his face. One of the guards spits at him and they walk out the door, locking him in. The room is dark and has a musty smell. Rough, dirty clumps of straw are scattered about on the stone floor. A single torch burns out in the corridor on the other side of the door, granting a small amount of light for him to see. His chains are gone and he rubs his wrists. Dante winces in pain as his hands pass over cuts from the metal bonds. His legs have cuts and scrapes everywhere from being dragged to this cell.
           Dante struggles to his feet, reeling back as a wave of light-headedness sweeps over him. A pair of rough, calloused hands grabs his shoulders and helps to steady him. He turns around and finds himself face to face with a giant. The tall man stares at him with his one remaining eye, frowning. Behind him are two others cowering against the wall.
           “You picked a bad day to come here,” says the giant. “It is our day to perform.”
           A frail old man begins to chuckle nervously. His long, white beard sways as the man laughs. He has two teeth left in his mouth, both yellow and rotten. He has a wild look in his eyes and he skitters forward to get a better look at Dante.
           “Hoggle thinks you’re not going to last,” the old man says.
           A short, heavy-set man looks at Dante with a hard glint in his eye. “He’ll outlast you, old man,” he says.
           “Hoggle will live,” the old man snaps. “New boy doesn’t know what is coming. He will be the first to die.”
           Dante is confused and irate at the exchange between these two. “What do you mean by perform?” he asks the giant man.
           “That coliseum above us isn’t just for appearances,” he answers. “Each week they pick a cell to fight up there, and bring the others up to watch. Today is our day to fight.”
           “Fight against whom?” Dante asks as he swats a fly.
           “Depends,” the short man answers. “Some days it is the Emperor’s Royal Guard. Sometimes mercenaries paid to fight. Sometimes wild beasts.”
           “No matter who it is, the odds are against us,” the tall man says.
           Dante turns and takes a step toward the door, looking at the ground. “In what way?”
           “Our opponents have weapons,” the short man says, “while we get a dull knife or a knotted stick if we’re lucky.”

            “Jerek is right,” the giant man says. “Few survive their first battle in the coliseum.”

            Dante sighs and turns around. “There has to be a way to get out of this.”

            “Hoggle thinks you are fool if you think of escape,” says Hoggle.

            “There is no escape,” Jerek says. “There is one chance of being released, but no one has ever managed it” The giant turns his head and glares at Jerek. “I’m telling him the truth, Slate, and you know it.”

            “No sense getting the kid’s hopes up,” Slate says.

            “What is it?” Dante asks.

            Slate looks back at Dante and shakes his head. “Anyone who wins five battles gets an audience with the Emperor. He is the only one who can release us, but he won’t.”

            “He seems like a good man,” Dante says, taking a step forward with a glint of hope in his eye.

            All three men laugh hysterically. The laughter dies down when Hoggle coughs violently, spraying a light mist of blood. Dante wants to ask them what is so funny, but the sound of footsteps approaching turns their attention to the door. Two dozen armed guards crowd the hallway outside the door as the captain turns the key. All four men are shackled without attempting to resist. Dante begins to understand why escape seems impossible.

            They are led through musty corridors, past dozens of cells holding prisoners. Everyone has the same look of despondency. They all expect to die soon, and have resigned themselves to that fate. Dante tells himself he won’t let himself fall into that same state. No one will escape if they don’t try.

            The cheers of thousands of people reach his ears as they reach the surface. Sunlight floods into the eyes of the men as they march forward. Dante brings his hands up to shield his eyes as they try to adjust. The guards fall in behind them, forming a defensive barrier to prevent escape. The chains are removed from the four men and they are shoved through a doorway.

            The cheers become a chorus of jeers when they see the prisoners step outside. The door they came through slams shut and is locked behind them. Dante tries to see the surroundings, but his vision is still blurred from the sunlight. His three companions take off in different directions, seeking weapons or shelter, while Dante is still trying to adjust. A gate across the arena opens up and the crowd cheers. Dante struggles to make out the forms coming out of the gate, his impaired vision still creating problems for him.

            Dante runs to his left, rubbing his eyes frantically to get them to adjust. He sprints past a large stone pillar in the ground. A spear flies past, inches from his face, and secures itself in the wall. Dante turns to see a large, muscular man dressed in gold armor standing five feet away from him. The man swings a giant sabre at Dante as the crowd cheers him on.

Go To: Part One - Into the Capital                                                       Go To: Part Three - The First Battle

The Princess and the Poet

Today I celebrate the birth of my better half, Nicole. Words can't do justice to how much I love her and how blessed my life has become since she became a part of it. In celebration of this great day I thought I would share the story of my proposal to her last year.

It started by me asking her parents to eat lunch with me once I purchased the ring. We ate at a sushi place in West Des Moines and I asked their permission to marry their daughter. They gave me permission, and that night I came home and we were both doing homework. The whole time I was mulling over how to propose. I knew one thing was certain:

She didn't want any sort of public proposal. She had mentioned that before in passing.

I kept coming up with all these grand, elaborate ideas like proposing after going skydiving. But the more I thought about it the more I realized I didn't want to wait any longer. I wanted to ask her that night.

And then it hit me: I should propose in a story.

And so I wrote a short story and, when she was done with her homework I asked her if she would let me read her a story and tell me what she thought about it.

And here is how it goes:

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            Once upon a time there was a beautiful young princess who was the envy of the kingdom. She had long brown hair and a smile that could melt any man’s heart. Her brown eyes sparkled brighter than any star in the sky. Her skin was smooth and fair in complexion and as soft as silk. When she sang it left men enchanted by her angelic voice. She had a great many suitors during the prime years of her youth, but she never met a prince in the four corners of the earth that could win her heart.

            One day a young poet was in the courtyard when he heard the young princess singing. It filled him with such rapture that words flowed freely from his quill onto the parchment, filling it with such perfect lines of poetry that he became convinced that he must meet the source of such a sweet melody. Every day he came back to the same courtyard, hoping to hear that sweet voice. Nearly a week passed until he once again heard the wonderful singing, and although his urge to write inspired poetry was great, he instead followed the sound of the voice until he came across its source.

            When he first laid eyes on the young princess he instantly believed that she was an angel sent from heaven, so great was her beauty to match her voice. He admired her from behind a bush, and watched as several men tried in vain to get her attention. She ignored them all and continued singing, and the poet had an idea and began to write a new poem. When the singing ceased, and the men all dispersed, he walked over toward the window where she had stood and began to recite his poem.

            The young princess had never heard words filled with such fire and emotion, so she came to the window to see what manner of prince was making these claims. When she saw the poor poet, she took an instant liking to him because he was nothing like all the boring princes she had rejected. For over a year the two continued to meet in secret, since it was forbidden for the young princess to take an interest in anyone but a prince. Yet her heart sang every time she was with the poet, and the poet’s soul was filled with such sweet verse that neither one wanted things to come to an end.

            One warm spring day the poet professed his undying love to the young princess, saying he wanted her to run away with him and live down by the sea in his hut. While she loved the poet, she could not bear to leave her family and her castle behind. She ached to do as he asked, but before she could give up her life she decided to test the poet to determine his commitment.

            The next day, when the poet came and proclaimed his love for the princess and once more asked her to run away with him, she presented her challenge to him. He had thirty days to prove to her his love and, if he could do this, she would run away with him. If he could not do this, she would have no choice but to accept he did not love her and they would never speak to each other again.

            Over the next twenty-nine days the poor poet tried everything he could think of. He wrote her songs and poems about his love for her, but that could not move the princess to be convinced of his commitment. He brought her jewels and flowers, but she was still not convinced. He begged and pleaded for her to change her mind, or to give him a hint, but she stood firm by her decision. On the final day of the test, the princess woke up feeling sick with despair, knowing that this might be the day she would have to say good bye to the poet forever. While her heart ached to consider the idea, she knew she could never leave her life behind. She put on her best dress and went to her window, and there was the poor poet waiting for her.

            He looked up into her eyes and smiled, certain he had finally figured out what he needed to do. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box and opened it up, dropping to one knee as he spoke to her, saying:

            “You are a wonderful woman and I am so happy to be with you. I am so happy you are a part of my life and I want you to be part of my life forever. I love you so much. Would you do me the absolute honor of marrying me?”

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At this point I was on one knee with the ring in my hand as I said that last paragraph. She cried and said yes. And then we tried taking a good picture of the ring for about half an hour. It was dark and the flash wasn't cooperating. Then we watched her favorite movie: Twilight.

Ten months later we're still happily engaged and celebrating her birthday today. I love her so much and can't wait to find out where our lives will take us as we journey together. Forever.

 Happy Birthday Nicole. I love you. :)

The Curse of Fierabras - Part One

I've decided to try my hand at writing a serial novel. My intent is post every Friday with a continuation of the story, so be sure to check back each week for the next installment. Feedback is strongly encouraged, so please let me know what you think in the comments below. I do not have a title for this yet, but I hope to come up with one before next week.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy and encourage you to share with anyone you think might enjoy reading this as well!

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Part I - Into the Capital

            Dante has always wanted to see the capital in person, but he never imagined for his first visit he would be bound in chains. The rusty metal links rattle every time he shuffles his feet along the dirt road. The thick bars of iron cut into his flesh every time he lifts his feet too high or takes too large of a step. He has to move fast in order to keep up with the guards surrounding him. They won’t stop for him if he falls. He learned that two days ago when they dragged him along the road for over a mile.

            His lips are cracked and his skin is caked with dirt. Dante tries to rub the dirt from his eyes but he only manages to irritate them further. The heat from marching under the sun has his brown hair slick with sweat. He tries to catch the droplets with his tongue as they roll down his face. His body is in dire need of hydration.

            Dante’s mind, distracted by the physical discomfort, is still in awe of the vast walls surrounding the capital. They stretch in all directions as far as he can see with hundreds of buildings crowding together inside of them. Thousands of people swarm through the streets and stand in doorways, most of them dressed in torn and dirty clothing. His appearance right now blends in perfectly with the crowd of citizens, apart from the chains around his hands and feet. The stench of the unsanitary living conditions threatens to knock him off his feet, but the guards around him seem unfazed by it. He reaches up to cover his nose but a guard tugs on the chain and forces his hands down by his side. He supposes the smell is to be part of his punishment.

            As they navigate the labyrinthine twists and turns of the outer city the swarms of people begin to thin out. He can smell fresh fruits and meats and the aroma of burning coals in the furnaces of blacksmiths. Peddlers are stationed alongside wooden carts, holding up their wares to try and attract customers. The ragged clothing of the outer city has been replaced by vibrant colors and smooth layers of cloth. This part of town seems more alive, even though there are fewer people crowding the streets.

                The further they travel into the city the more open space they encounter. Houses and buildings become scarce, replaced by flowering trees and flowing fountains. Thick tufts of green grass are sprouting everywhere and extinct birds and animals are present among them. Everything he has ever been told about the capital and the Emperor don’t fit with this image of beauty. Why would the Emperor destroy everything out there while maintaining this paradise outside the palace?
            A sharp jab from the blunt end of a spear disrupts his thoughts and gets his feet moving again. Suddenly the decisions that have led him to this situation no longer seem to be the right choices. Maybe his family and friends were wrong; maybe the Emperor was trying to restore peace and prosperity to the land and everyone rebelling was preventing his success. Maybe he should have chosen differently.
            The guards bring him to a halt in front of a massive coliseum. White marble pillars gleam in the sunlight. Beds of vibrant-colored flowers encircle the base of each massive column. Dozens of arches lead into the building, each opening as wide as a dozen people. Stone steps are chiseled into the structure, leading up and down into hundreds of rows of seats. All the people in his hometown, combined with all the neighboring villages, couldn’t fill up a fraction of the seats in this coliseum. The enormity of the structure leaves him in awe of the place.
            All around them are soldiers dressed in short crimson tunics over a thin coat of chain mail. A black raven is embroidered on the left shoulder of each tunic. Each soldier has at least a small sword sheathed at their waist and a longbow strapped to their back. Many others also carry a variety of spears or maces, and a few have massive battle axes. All of them salute the man seated in front of the prisoner and his accompaniment of guards.
            The captain appears bored as he rustles through a few scrolls of parchment. He scratches his gray beard as his eyes glance up at the prisoner. He frowns and grasps a black quill and a blank roll of parchment.
            “Name?” he says without looking back up. The prisoner is hit upside the head from a gauntleted hand of the guard next to him. His vision blurs and he stumbles over his words as he attempts to answer the captain.
            “My name is Dante Silverstar,” he says. The captain jots the name down without looking up.
            “Crime?” he asks. Dante starts to answer, but one of his guards cuts him off and answers for him.
            “The prisoner is guilty of open defiance of the Emperor, inciting rebellious activity, and being in league with The Restoration.”
            Dante furrows his eyebrows and tries to step forward but the guard behind him kicks him in the back of his knee. He falls down on his knees, inhaling a cloud of dust that stirs from the impact. “I did no such thing,” he says.

            “Guilty,” the captain says.

            “Because I refused to join the Emperor’s army?”

            “Guilty,” the captain says again as he stifles a yawn. “Take the prisoner to the pit.”

            “But I…” are the last words Dante says before the world goes black and the guards drag the unconscious prisoner into the depths of the coliseum.

Go To: Part II - Cellmates

Reject This

At the end of the week I had something arrive in the mail that I forgot even existed. Last year I had entered some of my writing into the Des Moines Area Community College writing contest and my essay took first place. I opened up a packet from DMACC and inside were two copies of the West Campus publication that had winning writings from 2009-2011. I finally held in my hands a printed, published copy of my writing.

That feeling was inspiring. I have felt the urge to write and submit some more. I've decided to put pen to paper and start writing more new things. And this motivation came at the perfect time...

Because yesterday I got an email back from Poetry magazine with a polite rejection of the poems I submitted to them.

Normally I would go through a phase of lost motivation because I sent them what I felt was the best of the best. But today I really feel like just submitting even more things.

Because I know my writing is good enough for publication. I have physical proof of that on my desk right now. If it is good enough for one, it is good enough for others. I just have to find the right place at the right time.

So I'm going to send out a flood of submissions this week. And if I get a flood of rejections, hopefully there will be at least one pearl that washes up with an acceptance.

And those publications who reject me have only strengthened my resolve to continue writing. And inspired this poem:

Reject This

Reject this poem

Like you have rejected many others,

You aren't rejecting me;

I am not this poem.

Reject this poem

So that it can move on

To be rejected again and again;

That is its fate.

For if a thousand publications

All read this and reject it,

At least it will be read a thousand times.

  And the reason I write

Is so that others can read, so

Reject this poem.

I'm linking this post up with Yeah Write this week so they can all read and reject this poem, too. Feel free to share this with others so that it can get rejected 1,000 times! :)