As a young poet, I remember “swearing off” journals that didn’t accept my work. Some, I was gracious enough to grant a “three strike” rule: If they rejected me three times, then I was done with them. But the big picture was just this: I held grudges and gave the mental ax to any publication that didn’t think my work suited their editorial needs.

Today I’ve risen above that kind of pettiness, but I still harbor a few of my old prejudices about journals that don’t greet me with an eloquent acceptance letter. After all, rejection is hard to take — veteran or novice makes no difference. It just so happens that I have developed a system for dealing with rejections these days:

1. When a rejection arrives, and I know the submitted work has true literary merit, I will immediately submit somewhere else.

2. If the rejection is worded in an ugly, condescending, or rude manner, then yes, I “swear off” that journal. I don’t want to be published by people who are high-minded or rude to others. Obviously, I suspend this rule for longstanding, proven journals of cultural worth. Abrupt rejections are expected from places that have made themselves landmarks in the literary landscape. They’ve earned the right to a degree of snobbishness through their history and contribution.

3. If the rejection is well thought-out and the editor has encouraged me to submit again earnestly, then I will wait for a while and try them again, if it’s a journal that I admire or one for which I feel my work is well-suited. These places are few and far between, however.

In the same vein as these rules, I also have a rule about re-submitting to journals that have published me previously: I believe in waiting at least one year before submitting to places that have published me previously. It gives the editor a breather from my work, and it also allows me to seek out other venues for my work besides those that I know are “poet-friendly.”

I believe that every writer should have some set rules about dealing with rejections, whether they mimic those above, or whether they are completely opposite of the opinions asserted here. Only through persistence and critical analysis can writers reap rewards from even the sting of rejection. It’s part of the life, and the sooner one knows how to process it, the better things become.

At what point is poetry TOO honest? Here’s a question I’ve been struggling with lately. There are some things that people just don’t want to know, and yet, poets have always had the propensity to “overshare” every tiny scrap of minutiae that inhabits their lives. In a sense, it’s what we do.

Recently I wrote a poem that I know would be horribly unpopular with the modern literati because of its right-centric viewpoint and brazen language. What’s more, I’ve considered deleting the poem altogether just because it’s so blunt. Yet there’s always been room in poetry for verses that shriek personal truth — I’m just not certain that this piece is one I would personally be comfortable putting out there for the world to read. Yeah, I know; now you’re curious, right?

A couple of years ago, a friend of mine was banned from reading his poetry at an area coffeehouse near where he lives because he used politically incorrect language in his writing. People got offended (gasp!) and the owner of the joint “disinvited” this friend, telling him that his poetry should conform to the hyperliberal ethos of his establishment. Now granted, people could read explicit poems about sodomy and BDSM all night and feel free to do so, but a well-written poem from the other end of the political spectrum was grossly unwelcome. It seemed that open-mindedness was only extended to those whose viewpoint would meet with “house rules.” Hypocrisy at its finest. 

Questions for readers to ponder today: At what line does poetry become too revealing? Is there such a line, or is it only when we flirt with danger that real and raw emotional writing occurs? Is there room in today’s literary realm for voices of dissent from both sides of the proverbial aisle? Your comments appreciated.

Soon, I will be doing a photo shoot for potential shots to grace the cover of my upcoming book. I have a dilemma in this area: I’ve never been the most photogenic person, at least in my opinion. I have, as the old-timers would say, “a face for radio.” This is not some statement of false modesty — I’ve honestly just never looked that great in photos (see my “about” page for evidence). So, as I prepare for this shoot, needless to say I’m somewhat hesitant.

My main concern is concealing my incessant double-chin, which, no matter how little I weigh, always seems to push itself outward in photos, making me look like a modern-day Boss Hogg. In addition, my eyes always seem to disappear in photographs, morphing into black lines that are almost indiscernable from the eyebrows above them. I’ve always been a little vain about my eyes, as I believe they’re better features of mine. And yet, pictures always seem to minimize them. Alas.

Finally, there’s the glasses vs. no-glasses issue: I wear glasses irregularly because I have only slight astigmatism in one eye. When I really want to concentrate or focus intensely, out come the glasses. But if I’m doing everyday tasks, the glasses are nowhere to be found. I suppose that if I want to look “writerly,” I should really wear them, but then, I’d be playing to a stereotype that I’ve worked hard to avoid. (Deep sigh).

I suppose the answer in the end is just to do what the photographer says and hope for the best. I have a lot of confidence in the abilities of this camera-artist, so I guess I’ll just sit back and let her do the work. Expect photos posted here in the next week or so, and wish me luck, good readers…