Some weeks back I sent out a tall greasy pile of manuscripts (essays, articles, stories, poems, etc.) to a veritable smorgasbord of publications and editors. I'm just now beginning to get responses from some of these nincompoops, and most are rejections. But I've also have a few acceptances so far. The ones I like best come from the editors who write, "Please send us more of your work."
So I do.
I'm doing my best to keep track of all this material, but as I near the age of fiddy . . . it's a rough road. I often can't remember where I sent a particular manuscript, and if I didn't write it down, I'm doomed.
I'm just glad to sent the pile out before it was too late and I lost my mind completely. One thing I do remember, though . . . the pile I sent was a total of 204 pages. And this was material I had produced in a four-five month span. Not bad output for a guy who can't remember to tie his own shoe laces.
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