So I'm submitting poetry. Rag-a-Bag is off into the wider world to make, well, maybe copies. Bon voyage little poem.
I've only submitted poetry to college publications before. It's a long story. Basically, poetry was the major focus of my minor in Creative Writing, although my senior thesis was on the writings of Arthur C. Clarke (the thesis explored the relationship of religion to science in his writings, yeah, I had a brain, once, long ago).
There was a professor at my college that taught poetry. One critique in advanced poetry he criticised my use of a specific image in a love poem (well, actually it was a poem about love, not an actual love poem). "Buchheit," he said, "you just can't have dogs pissing on phone polls in a poem about love. It doesn't work. Even if you're using it to show frustration." (the dog's actions were showing the frustration he had with his moon-god, the street light) Flash forward 4 years (I was an undergraduate for 6-years, I changed majors, plus I worked several jobs to get through, deal with it) and my last semester. Said professor has a new book of poems out. I use my final bookstore discount (one of the three jobs I was working while attending full time, yes, full time AND three jobs) to purchase the little volume. Where I find a love poem (actually, a poem about love) with (wait for it) a dog peeing on a telephone poll to show frustration. That book still bears the crease in the cover. I have it somewhere (it's in a box right now). I think that was the last poetry book I ever bought.
Am I still mad? Maaayyybbbee. What's it to ya?