This week featured another long-shot contest submission, with a prize amount that could give your Bohemian Crip's life a real jolt. But I have tried for this market a few times by now, to not much avail, although when they gave me feedback, it was good enough to put aside the Joyce Davenport law school fantasy, that poor threadbare thing, for another year or so. Even if I'm not sure how I'd have made that happen, either, and I've never sold those pieces that I wanted their opinion on so eagerly.
Basically, they think I'm a writer, but I'm not their girl or anything. Given the numbers of writers there are, I suppose that's likely, and doubly so for the Disability issues that continually chap my hide for not making room for me, even if when short-sighted abled editors look at ideas like that and see a lock.(Which still seems reductive. Not that I'm on his level but I hope nobody followed Ralph Ellison around like "Wow, there are sure a lot of black people in this."but I almost bet they did. Maybe I'll end up being a class project someday, too; I'm not sure if I really want that anymore, though. Being me at this age makes it hard to dream at the same time I'm not sure I'm actively doing anything else, either, which my youth repeating the catechism of Ed Roberts and Judy Huemann did not prepare me for, and which actively sucks.)
I'm not completely torn up about that, but it does kind of cut into either "You never know!" or "You already know what will happen when it's just on your hard drive," because, a lot of times I do and the computer passes.
But, hell, maybe I'm due. And at least, I've started sending out things in which I really believe, so I guess I wouldn't mind seeing them get around a bit before finding what might be some kind of permanent home. Before this, I submitted to get used to the process, which didn't really happen anyway, or because it was The Chicken Challenge and I thought my chicken bit was hilarious and nobody agreed.(it's fine that not many of those pieces are out and about now, though.)
Watching "Pleasantville" feels different under encroaching fascism--it's one of my favorite movies of the nineties and one of the most beautiful films I know, but like many reviewers when it came out, I also kind of thought it was refighting the sixties, which, given that I am hippie spawn, I'm kind of down for, but I couldn't have that little Dumb History People satisfied pause at the end, right? Because plenty of people now would be happy if our books were blank and if we never escaped Main Street.
JD Vance hates that movie so much.
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