Sometime in April 2021, I made a decision. I can’t tell you the exact day or what prompted me to do it. Nothing had “happened” other than the constant 24-hour a day high-pitched electronic sound in my head and ears that began in March. I didn’t make a plan or any sort of mighty declaration. Something in me shifted.
In response to what I learned was a sudden onset of severe tinnitus, I started an aggressive protocol of craniosacral therapy, medication, vitamins and herbs, chiropractic therapy, and acupuncture. I was in full-on healing mode, and I was determined to fight for my sanity while the perpetual tone in my head got louder.
So, it was time to create. I had to keep my mind occupied at all times. It became tough to meditate, sleep, or be still. This scared me to my core. I started writing again– and making textile arts. I had to purge some of these feelings and make sense of what I was going through. I had to be regimented. I had to be calm.
So, one day in April, I told myself that I would like to write every day and get ten pieces published by the end of the year. I don’t know why I picked ten. It’s a round number. A good number. A solid number. But, I also thought it was an incredibly ambitious number. I know myself well enough to say that I need to have goals when I’m creative. I know that the majority of what I write will never see the light of day. These pieces are unrefined and unfinished. They are steps. They are abandoned children. But, if I gave myself a publishing goal, that would force me to do well. The goal to publish would force my best and make me finish. And that’s what I did.
I dusted off a few older pieces to edit and began to write new ones. I didn’t try to be clever or overthink too much. I wrote from my pains, my joys, my memories, and my wishes. In the process, I’ve discovered some fantastic literary magazines and journals operated by sage and passionate people. I read through dozens of journals and submitted pieces to ones that I believed would appreciate my work.
I. Got. Many Rejections.
Let’s make that last point very clear. But every time an editor rejected my work, I resolved to continue submitting. Then, I got an acceptance. And then another one. And another one. I just kept writing and submitting to purge myself of years of emotions and, quite frankly, stress. I’ve spent years understanding my trauma, working through depression and anxiety, navigating a career, parenting an incredible child, grieving over lost loved ones, and just trying to be myself. That last one? It has been MUCH harder than I ever that it would be. Yet, here I am.
Today is Sep. 27– about five months after I made that decision to write creatively (again) after many years of feeling pretty stuck. It seems like nature has been a prominent, ever-changing character in my poems– nature as a mirror, an amplifier, a consoler. This theme yields rich memories and insights I could not have encountered without my connection to water, trees, sky, and animals. In the short stories I’ve written, I’ve gravitated toward women characters who struggle to be brave in the face of volatile and confusing situations.
Right now, I’d like to share more about the beautiful publications that have accepted my work and encourage you to become regular readers or subscribers, or both. For this post, I’m featuring my first published poem, “How to Swim with Dolphins” which appeared in the Summer 2020 issue of the San Antonio Review– before I made the April promise. I’ll highlight other publications in future posts.
“San Antonio Review publishes original essays, poetry, art, reviews, theory and other work twice a week on its website. Print issues are published twice a year. Founded in San Antonio in 2017, SAR is based in Austin, Texas.
San Antonio Review is devoted to serving as a gathering space outside academia, the market and government for writers, artists, scholars, activists, workers, students, parents and others to express their perspectives and reflections on our shared world and help develop visions of our collective future. Funded by its publisher’s income from his day jobs, donations and the sale of print editions and other materials and led and maintained by an all-volunteer editorial collective, SAR is not beholden to any institution, organization or ideology.
SAR is a seed undefined. Planted and tended, we hope it grows. We can at best provide a hospitable environment and some nurturing care to the pieces we publish and ensure their dissemination and preservation in hopes some future finder may be spurred to positive action by what they share. The SAR Editorial Collective is an experiment undefined in the prefigurative politics of constructive, everyday resistance.undefined That is, SAR is trying to create a publishing organization today that reflects the world as it might be; that proves an alternative is possible and things may be otherwise.”
Here are some poems I particularly love published by the San Antonio Review.
“Premonition” by Anannya Uberoi
“Dirty Looks” by Tom C. Hunley
Jennifer Hill-Flores 