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Morning, Lovelies!

I’ve been perfectly pretentious and submitting my rear off. Word Raccoon has been cracking the whip while I do her grunt work: organizing the precious word-hoard. And TBH? I HATE admin work.

So I slinked over to Submittable, and what do I find? A whole flurry of deadlines closing on the 15th, with more lurking at the end of the month. Seriously? It’s like all the literary journals conspired to throw a rager and forgot to invite me until five minutes before the house lights come on.

(You still got time, poet babes! Don’t be a scaredy-cat. Toss your brilliance into the ring. Or your gloriously weird drafts. Same diff.)

Why Submit? (Even If You Feel a Little Gross About It)

Here’s the thing—I still feel like a bit of a hypocrite when I submit poems.

I love to preach the gospel of writing for the joy of it, making for the sake of making, fame is a trap, burn it all down, etc. And yet… here I am, ironing the metaphorical napkin under a semi-revised latte so it looks pretty.

Also? I’m new to poetry. Like, new-new. I’ve been writing fiction and essays for years, but poems still feel like private doodles I accidentally left on a café table. So when I hit ‘submit’ on poetry, part of me feels like I’m thinking too highly of myself. Like I’m strutting into a ballroom in pajamas saying, “I belong here.”

But I also know this:

• Deadlines keep me writing. Even raccoons need a reason to stop editing the same line for the 47th time.
• Rejection builds grit. Not the fun kind with butter. But still—it thickens your skin like proper poetry armor.
• You discover new lit mags. Like the one where I found the poem Paper Boat — a lovely, strange little piece that reminded me why I love this game.
• It reminds you that you’re in the game. Not just writing poems to fold into paper airplanes. You’re playing. Risking. Belonging.

I might be afraid of heights, but sugar, I will PLUNGE out of a literary window starkers.

So yeah, maybe I’m a little emotionally allergic to the idea of self-promotion—but I still did the thing. Hit ‘submit’. Whispered a little blessing over my word-babies and let them go.

The Love Poem Dilemma

Here’s the thing: there’s a contest that wants love poems. And I’m tempted. But Word Raccoon is in charge of the writing, and if you’ve noticed, she doesn’t do love well. She views it as an inconvenience. She doesn’t like the time and attention it takes from her art. She hates feeling dependent on it, would just as soon stomp on a love interest’s foot as kiss him, some days. She’s all “come here but go away.”

The “love” poems are jagged and not sure anyone would classify hers as romantic. Then again, she sees it all and still loves it, so there’s that?

(For the record, I, on the other hand, have been married for over 30 years now. I think it stuck. I don’t think Word Raccoon will ever marry, bless her. She has no idea what she’s missing.)

Still, jagged or not, I’ve been submitting like mad.

Chapbook Tease: Waxing the Parasitical Muse

Yep, I submitted not only my first collection Look, I Built a Cathedral but also the second Waxing the Parasitical Muse. I know it sounds like a joke title, but Word Raccoon insisted.

TOC for the chapbook-sized version:

• I Love You, Butt! (From a Fat-Bottomed Woman)
• Lady Lazarus Worries Me
• Karen Russell Did It Best
• Bite Marks?
• Microwaving Sadness
• Shagging Helen of Troy
• Snack Time for Bougies
• This One’s for the Girls
• Kitchen Marital Aids
• Obligatory Cherry Flip
• 5 Stars, Would Devastate Again
• intellectual domme energy
• Get Down, Make Freud
• “Excusivity”
• Making Fancy Outta Spam
• Unleashed Pettiness
• Kill a Poem with a Stick of Butter
• Comfort Eagle (yes, it’s about my grandson, and yes, it wrecks me every time I see it)

What I’ve Learned (So Far) from Submitting Poems

• I’m still figuring out what belongs in a stanza, and my line breaks have been arbitrary until I tried reading one aloud and thought, “Oh. That’s…not easy.”
• I’m still unsure if anyone wants to hear what I have to say, but I’ve also learned that doesn’t matter.
• If I give you something to read, it’s because I think you might need it. Or because I’m trying to say something I don’t know how else to communicate.
• Okay, sometimes I want a pat on the head. I’m only human, rumor has it.

What You Need (to Submit, More or Less)

1. A few poems you’re not ashamed of (today).
2. A short bio (2–4 sentences, first and third person versions).
3. A cover letter. Keep it brief, and please don’t be an anonymous dick. Learn something about the journal.
4. A clean file of your poems (.doc, .docx, or PDF). One poem per page is ideal.
5. A Submittable account (free).
6. $3–5 for submission fees (some offer hardship waivers or tip jars).
7. A little bravery (and maybe a snack).

Final Thoughts

Anyone else out there submitting? What kind of glorious or gloriously terrible chaos are you dealing with?

Are you doing it because you believe in your work? Because you want a deadline? Because you’re trying to prove something to yourself?

I’ll be over here, sipping lukewarm tea, wondering if I should have revised that last stanza one more time.

(I shouldn’t. I should hit ‘submit’ and get on with it.)

And wrangling WR’s “love” poems into shape. Four of them?? Jesus. Maybe I’m not made for this. Unless I am.