Never too late

   

    Let's argue about writing.  Let's get angry, say it out loud.
    You who don't think you can write the Great American novel -- move on.  Timid souls are lost in this game.
    When you write a personal ad and say you are a writer because you write articles or ad copy -- I'm not for you, babe.  Move on.
    This is Bukowski land, ghost of F.  Scott Fitzgerald time, Hemingway and Faulkner are shouting in your head.
    You're one in a million, and if you're really good, you're suffering.  Because you aren't famous, rich, fawned over.  Nobody knows you exist except your family, and they don't really believe you're the writer you think you are.  They love you anyway, which isn't enough.

    If you really are almost as good as you think you are, your only chance is to be discovered.
    The only way to be discovered is to send your work out everywhere, always.  In the last two weeks, I've sent 65 short stories and 13 sets of poems to 60 online markets.
    In the next two weeks I'll send out an equal number of short stories and poems to 60 other online markets.
    How about you?  Do those literary magazine editors know you exist?
    In this month, because e-mail is free, I'm saving $180 snail-mail postage.

    George Eliot said: "It's  never too late to become what you might have been."
    It's not too late for me.
    How about you?
   


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