I received a rejected letter from a literary journal a day after I turned 34. If my work were to get published, then this would be one of the loveliest birthday gifts from the publishing world. Frankly speaking, I don’t mind rejection letters. I’ve gotten them so much that I can make collage on the wall. It’s part of growing up as a writer. It helps me (the writers) to grow-up and mature before we are accepted by one of the top-five publishing houses.
Now, the editor commented the lack in its ‘form, structure and plot’. And she’s willing to help me to polish it up, so that I’m ‘always welcome to re-submit’ to the journal again. Fine. I did as she told. It’s approaching a week or so, and I have yet to hear from her.
‘When there’s a will, there’s a way.’
Right. ‘That’ isn’t the only journal that’s available in this world. I can never blocking the door, idly standing there. I have to move on, not that I still have my legs that functioning, but I’m not going to waste anymore time. I’ve already submitted it to another literary mag, and had other alternative online journals in mind, as well.
Somehow, the feminism theory that I’d studied in the Jurisprudence class has kept me going ’til this day.
First of all, let me apologize for my four months missing in action. Mr Thunder and Ms Rain are on their way, hence, I have to finish this before they found me. Or, if I’m daring enough to write this under their nose (Eek, if they ever have a nose lol)…
I’ve done some manuscript editing and then put it aside cos’ I have something in mind that I have to do, or else it’ll be like a raven crow pecking my head wherever I go.
WanderInkZ Creative Services – I’ve set up this small business venture on Facebook to sell my framed and printed poems, instead of printing them in a chapbook. This is for those who wish to purchase my work individually, of course it’s not as cheap as a chapbook. Having said so, I’ve spent all my time to choose the best photo frame, beautifully designed papers, of which some I designed on my own, using fabric tapes, lace tapes and other ornaments, in order to provide the best and well-decorated artwork…in writing. I’m also taking in personalized poems ordering. This business will also branching into writing motivational poems, poetry editing services and poetry writing workshop. Do check the page out and click a ‘Like’ (truly appreciate that): https://www.facebook.com/wanderinkzCS
ZiggyZag Arms Poetry Journal – It says it all, as a published poet besides volunteering for Eastlit to be part of the editorial board member, I’ve started my own online poetry journal. It aims to publish under-represented and emerging Asian descent poets around the world (even if you’re half Asian, you’re welcome to submit). The publication months are February, April, June, August, October and December. Do check the website: http://ziggyzagarmspoetryjournal.weebly.com. Facebook ‘Like’ us (truly appreciate that): https://www.facebook.com/ziggyzagarmsPJ
Stay tune for more of me and my other baby-ventures…
Think I’ve missed the 1st January 2016 post but that’s alright.
It has been quite a hiatus for me last year but I will try to post as much as I can. Besides the recent acceptance from ‘Streetcake Magazine’ and ‘The Stray Branch’ (for the upcoming Spring/Summer 2016 issue), I’ve tried my hands on other small presses and those…others…bigger ones too.
Shhhhhh… Pardon for unable to reveal much at the moment.
Washing off my clay mask time.
Love, Write, Live
This love is not an obsession
yet difficult to remain conscious
fumbling with insanity,
Like a bird I should hold it with care,
neither too tight, nor too loose
In case the curtain closes;
damage committed –
I will let it sink and swim
in this pit-less heart.
They say uninvited love hurts a lifetime,
let him go move on look forward,
The right one will eventually appear;
be patient and persevere
Bear in mind that True Love Waits,
But there’s something no one would resonant:
Once his name has been set in this mind,
will always be as pure as wine,
Kiss when your cigarette’s dying
Sing when my eyes are laughing
This weekend dress I’m putting on
Zip the ribbon that turns you on —
Name our child over the cereal bowl
Cross the thorny continents
Miles and miles to prove my worth
only to realise you’re uneasy to find —
Black is where love has gone to hide
Weaving into this messy trail to fight
each of our phony confession
like orphans of forgotten loneliness.
Have you seen my hair clip?
The one I couldn’t leave without —
You then ignore as I’m rummaging
through your drawers and cabinets,
You detach it from a stack of script
and then put it on me before ambling
to the kitchen with my coffee mug.
I — should leave
for a place that
no one knows me
only to give credence to —
I have yet to witness
nor to feel — inhale with pride.
I bet they’re as
enigmatic like your eyes, lips
and everything about you.