I have found joy in the smallest things: tiny dogs carried by their owners, smooth rocks, how you can pretend to be a dragon when it’s cold and your breath visible. It’s childish. I’m childish. That part of me, the part that still tries the new flavor of chips or chocolate, is what has kept me going as a writer.
I don’t submit as much as I use to. I don’t write as much either. But there are enough small joys in the literary world (and big ones if you know where to look) that keep me going.
This week has been filled with joys in my world. Chloe Clark wrote a blog post over at Ploughshares on “poetry after disaster,” and was kind enough to include one of my poems. Gulf Stream Lit and Two Sylvias Press both nominated me for a Pushcart Prize. And one of the powerhouses of literary citizenship, Mr. Bear (and Georgia Bellas), did a feature of my work paired with some music by Leonard Cohen on the literary podcast, Mr. Bear’s Violet Hour Saloon. I don’t know whether to consider these small joys or large ones. But they are joys, and I’m thankful for them. This much I know.