Is lack of rejection similar to acceptance?

At this point, I haven't heard back from any magazines or journals I've sent work to.  Right now, I'm fine with that.  If they haven't actually sent me a rejection, then it's as if I haven't been rejected.  Even if I sent them a self-addressed, stamped envelope.  Seriously.

What is with this trend of rudeness, I wonder?  I've encountered it a lot as I've been searching for jobs.  They don't even bother to tell you to give up hope.  It's probably because they're too busy sorting through all the applications they're inundated with because of the high unemployment rate, but I still feel like there are standards of common courtesy.

Oh, well.  There's not much I can do about it except keep sending out work and hoping that someone will send some acceptances instead.  :)

Thanksgiving for writers '09

I sent out another submission yesterday.  I picked up the journal in question last time I was at the library, and I found some really great stuff in it, which makes me despair because I'm not nearly that good, but it also makes me excited at the chance to try to be published alongside those great writers. 

I think I'm going to try to get another submission or two out on Thanksgiving since I have the day off.  I'll need a break from resumes and job applications.  Maybe I'll read one of my rainy day books, too.  It's supposed to snow, so I'll be watching for that, too.

What are your Thanksgiving plans?

The scattershot method of submissions

I have decided to approach publishing the way I approached financial aid for college: send out everything you can, and you'll have to win sometimes.  I just wish I had as much energy now as I did then.  Well, we shall see how this goes.  No more excuses.

Something like a hope song

I'm trying to pull together something like an essay for The Other Journal's Economy and Hope Issue.  Usually when I see themed issues, it frustrates me because I have nothing to say on the themes, but I've been doing a lot of thinking about hope and struggling with the economy for the last several years, so if I don't have something to say about it by now, I haven't been paying attention.

It's exhilarating to be working towards a tight deadline like this.  There's a very real fear that I won't be able to pull together something new that's polished enough to submit, but I'm trying anyway, partly because I have a lot of poetry I could send if this new essay doesn't pan out.  (Hope lends itself well to all forms of poetry. :)

I've become preoccupied with what we mean when we say the word hope in our culture, especially during that last election.  Two quotes have stuck with me through much of my writing about hope.

"Hope is only as strong as the object of that hope."

" . . . and hope does not disappoint."

Hope is not a vague thing that rhymes with dream or wish.  It is solid, anchored to something or someone.  That anchor chain sometimes nearly strangles us.  Hope is not tame; it can be dangerous and must be attached to something strong enough to keep storms from dragging us away or battering us to pieces.  Sometimes I think there's a reason it was in Pandora's box with all the evils in the world:  maybe it's a necessary evil? 

Without my Hope, I wouldn't care about beauty or meaning or art or communication.  I want to send in something that conveys at least some of what I want to say about the terribly splendid thing that is hope.

What does hope mean to you?  How do you use it in conversation, and what does that reveal about what it means to you?  Do you say hope when you mean something else?  (I sure do, but I'm working on that . . .)