Publishing or Perish

I really don't know any writers who would rather be unread than read. I know some writers who don't want to be published, and I think the two are different animals. I know artists who pour their heart and soul into their work but turn crimson at the thought of showing it to anyone. I know many professionals who sing, or act, or quilt, and keep this artistic nature a private, personal activity that they do not share with their business colleagues.

Recently, I had several people ask me where I could publish some of the posts I write. I felt very complimented by their interest and their praise. Yet, I haven't done much to pursue publication beyond my blog. I've submitted a few pieces to some competitions, looked up the guidelines for a few literary journals, made some queries to a couple of magazines. The truth is that I have a full time job, a family, a house, a mortgage, and very limited time.

Even in terms of publicity or exposure for the blog, I have very little idea of how to go about it. Beyond linking to directories that I can ping, I haven't even had the time to understand how to do a RSS feed. I promised my sister artwork for a new banner which she kindly will make me, and I haven't had a chance in six days to even go into the art room, let alone make anything. When you come right down to it, I'd rather write the essay and paint the picture then spend an evening researching how to publish it.

But the other night, I finally got around to seriously writing a piece for a competition that had a deadline. In 24 hours. I'd known about it for around a month. I'd written some tentative few paragraphs, journaled about it, and had it on my mind for several weeks. I just couldn't get into the meat of it and what I'd written was really pedantic.

Instead of throwing the notebook against the wall, I just let it simmer for a week or two. I trusted in my own creative process, which is completely organic and cannot be rushed. I knew that eventually I'd reach "the zone" where I would be able to express the heart of the matter and not a how-to article. I stayed up very late and wrote and rewrote and was able to finish a satisfactory piece in time to email it before the deadline.

Now I know that I ended up with something very different than anything I started out to write. And I also know that it doesn't really meet the requirements of the theme for the contest. But it didn't matter because I was more excited about the really good first draft I'd completed that will the spin off for a piece that is very different from anything I've written before.

So maybe it wouldn't hurt to research my publication venues. Maybe it will push me to write longer, more sustained, more complex pieces. Maybe I'll get a collection of essays published out of it. I don't know. But I do know that this blog has become a lifeblood to me. It feeds my soul in ways that you cannot imagine.
The thought of it remains with me all day, like a silk camisole I wear under my starchy suits, or the worn, satin quilted corner of the baby blanket that my daughter keeps under her pillow and holds at night before she goes to bed. The blog is my "secret" delight, a paradise of words and images that has no theme requirements, no word count, no editorial direction other than my own. My readers are not happening across my article because it is published in a magazine that had a pretty cover. The people who read this blog read it strictly to hear what I have to say. You have no idea how heady that is for a writer! I am eternally grateful to all of you who read my blog, including the silent core, the faithful commentators, the referring addresses that appear each day, even the crazy searches that pick me out for "spring prayers" and "journal sluts".

Without you, I would just be another middle aged woman in a dark suit and ugly shoes, carrying a briefcase full of papers and heart full of stones.