I submitted my third article to an editor on Sunday. My wife, Becky, read it and thought it was just okay. So when Monday came and went without a response, I worried that the editor agreed with her.
I hate waiting. I spent a lot of yesterday checking my email every 20 minutes or so. I get so unproductive – it’s silly. To use Becky’s phrase, when I get a bee in my bonnet, there’s no getting rid of it. I know the smart thing is to just get on with life and write something else, but for some reason, I find that really hard. Oh well…
I recently came across this poem, A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
I’m not really into poetry, mainly because I often just don’t get it. I really like this one though. Apparently, it’s (South Africa’s president) Thabo Mbeki’s favourite. I know I’m blowing things a little out of proportion, but waiting to find out the fate of that article, the poem grew in meaning for me.