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Sigh…

What a miserable day!

I’m a writer; at least I think I am. After two email rejections this morning, I can’t help but think that I should throw in the towel. AND, if that wasn’t demoralising enough, I found an awesome site that matches my style and interest… BUT, this online magazine requires a submission fee and does not pay for accepted articles.

I can’t imagine sending a publication $15.00 to read my prose and then not compensate me for my time and effort. Three years into this game and I’ve seen the payment scale range from $.01 per 100 words to $1500.00 per article. What is that all about?

Of course, I’m ranting. My ego took a hit in the belly and boy does that sting! Please don’t surmise that I believe I’m an extraordinary writer. Realistically, I would say that I’m average. I think I have a bit of talent and that my forte is my desire to be forthright. I’ve penned tales of my alcoholism, my struggles with emotional issues, my horrid role as a wife and my childhood molestation.

As an animal rights proponent, I’ve done many pieces on the world’s critters. From stray kitties to the laboratory experiments on our ape cousins; I try to give a voice to the voiceless. Mahatma Gandhi stated, “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”

Back to the issue at hand, are we writers allowing ourselves to be doormats? I am realising that I, for one, am doing just that. Spending hours creating and receiving $10.00 seems a token at best.

I suppose that a bit of luck plays a part in my desire to be considered a professional. Getting in the door at certain publications seems to be the key and dare I say that men tend to be called authors more often than women?

I have several choices I suppose; I can throw this evil machine out of the window or I can continue to bare my soul in hopes of paying my rent. I’m half way into a book of my stories and do not as yet have a working title. I vacillate between, “Come What May” and “This Sucks.” At this point I can’t honestly say that either title would make a difference.

Whine, whine, whine… so sorry. Truth be told, I adore writing. I adore language and the huge part it plays in humankind. Athletes and actors make monumental salaries when compared to educators and I hope that in some small way that I do educate.

Ah my. Tomorrow is another day and perhaps I will have that bit of luck. Perhaps the right editor will be in a mood where she sees promise in my work. Perhaps I will knock on that door and be handed a key.

Most likely, I will continue to type away and receive minimal compensation. That seems sad.

My father once told me that, progress, not perfection is all that we can strive for.

Sigh.

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