Doing and Waiting: Subtle Opposites

"It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder
'Til it was a battle cry"
- The Call, by Regina Spektor

Life spills over with opposites. There are the obvious ones like light and darkness, summer and winter, chaos and calm, but the ones I'm thinking of currently are more subtle: doing, and waiting. 

In the context of writing, there are periods of picking up a pen or sitting down at a keyboard and writing anything which comes into your head, but there are also times of waiting until inspiration pings you just so. There are times of creating and submitting, followed by the waiting. The waiting to see if the story/poem/essay you strove to bring into being and put into the hands of a teacher/judge/publisher will be accepted, or denied. When the waiting produces a "no", it's hard to not let it feel somewhat crushing. It can feel like a personal rejection, and there we find another mixed-up opposite. It is, and it isn't. It is, because it's your personal words, written with intention and bravely submitted, and to hear that they aren't good enough can be a heavy blow. It isn't, because the reader doesn't know you, doesn't know if you took two minutes or two years in the writing and is likely wading through a slew of other hopefuls with their best judgment at hand. Subtle opposites. 

I go through waves where I might submit a number of things all at once, and the vast majority of the time, I receive gentle rejections back. 
"Thank you, but unfortunately ..." 

It stings, but I get it. Writing has a steep slope of competition. My only hope is that I can grow better over time, not just in the style and content of my writing but in submitting the right pieces to the right places, something which takes research and dedication. The "no's" are a learning curb which I attempt to let inform me rather than deflate me. Therefore, it was with great delight and surprise that over the past eight months, I received three significant acceptances. The first was a project put on by NPR to create a poem about the Covid-19 pandemic using a community effort of submissions. A friend in Ecuador sent me the link, which stated the deadline and that each submission must begin with the line, "What I'm learning about grief is ..." Inspired, I sent in a submission, and in waiting, heard nothing. It wasn't until months later, after I'd shared my poem with only my encouraging friend and after chalking it up to a rejection which still produced a nice poem from me, only then did I stumble upon my name peaking out from NPR's website on a google search. It turned out that my words were accepted after all. In fact, they used two whole stanzas of mine towards the end of the poem, starting with "it is anger and denial" and ending with "same storm".
"If The Trees Can Keep Dancing So Can I"

The next surprise came as an honorable mention in the Poets and Patrons International Sonnet Contest. 

Finally, I have long been an advocate of the work of  To Write Love On Her Arms, an organization which helps with suicide prevention and encourages difficult conversations for the goal of mental health. I had submitted blog posts to them in the past to no avail, but what is that saying about try, try again? So, I did. Once again, I had given up on the hope that this time they'd say yes, because so many months had passed since the deadline. So, it was with great surprise that I saw an email from the editor requesting permission to publish my essay. It was somewhat strange to read my words six months later and consider how they are true, but in seasons. Written today, the piece may have had a sunnier hue. That's the thing about writing; it can be reflective and personal even as the person who wrote them can continue to shift over time. 

"Happy For A Sad Person"

I find I'm thankful for the opposites, and for the ways in which they subtly run together. For the tides of writing, submitting, waiting, receiving, and trying again. I will celebrate the acceptances, and acknowledge and hopefully learn from the rejections. As much as I might quietly dream that someday writing may be a more successful part of my life, it may not ever be more than it is now, and that is alright. Therefore, first and foremost, I do it for myself, out of love and need. Then, to see what else may happen with it, inspired by the hard-won "yeses". 

So, may you be encouraged in both your doing and your waiting, knowing both are necessarily, and not necessarily very different. May you continue to wait, or move onward. May you do, but first, and throughout, may you be.