On Friday, I rushed to the post office to pick up a box from Rosebud Magazine. Ethan has been suffering from a cold, so he wailed on top of his lungs my entire drive into town. I only had time to rip open the box and browse quickly through a copy of the magazine that contained my first creative nonfiction publication before getting on the highway. I was in a rush to surprise my husband with something (yes, I'm purposely being obscure here, because it's not really that important in the context of my rant) he really needed for his studying. Kyra had to be picked up from daycare along the way, so pretty much it would be several more hours before I would have time to savor the publication.
After searching for Thomas at his work and discovering he had already left, I had to drive to UAA's Consortium Library with both kids to drop off my special study gift. Ethan was still screaming and I had to feed him and entertain Kyra. I did make Thomas extremely happy with the effort I made to drop off his gift, especially since he was having an awful day at work. As we said our goodbyes, I remembered the magazine. "Oh, I have one more gift for you," I said, then openned the passenger side front door. In slow motion, I watched the magazine slip out of the car and drop with an awful splash into a thick mud puddle. Great...I thought, there goes $8.95 and yes, I had to pay for my copies of the magazine. Thomas tried to rescue it, but the mud sucked the magazine in like quicksand. We extracted it and tried to towel it off, but it was ruined.
Then today, Sunday, I had made my way through four or five essays and stories in the Rosebud Magazine, reading it while feeding Ethan or making dinner for the fam or washing dishes or doing laundry or playing with Kyra. Somehow, I lost track of the magazine. Kyra looks up at me and says, "Mommy, I have to go pee." I don't know why she always asks me before going, but as usual, I say, "Go. Go. Go. Hurry!" So she ran off down the hall and then a few minutes later, came back, without pants on, holding something in her hand, saying, "Uh. Oh. Mommy I broke it. Wet."
And there in her little hands was another $8.95 gone! Again I tried to rescue it, but who wants to keep a magazine that got peed on...yes, she managed to pee on the cover and through the middle...I don't know what she did.
But I really hope that this trend isn't any indication of my future writing endeavors.
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1 comment:
That's why you never, never open the box until you're at home. (Not that it would have prevented the peeing incident.) Don't look at these things as signs, necessarily -- look at them as reminders: writing is not easy. Publishing does not come easy. The world can and will interfere. (And if it didn't, what would there be to write about, anyway?) Your job as the writer is to push forward through the distractions.
Easier said than done, of course. I should maybe try to follow my own advice. :)
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