Skip to main content


sub·mit  (səb-mĭt′)
v. sub·mit·ted, sub·mit·ting, sub·mits
1. To yield or surrender (oneself) to the will or authority of another.
2. To subject to a condition or process: submit a tissue sample to testing.
3. To present (something) to the consideration or judgment of another: We submitted our ideas to our supervisor. See Synonyms at propose.
4. To offer as a proposition or contention: I submit that the terms are entirely unreasonable.
1. To accept or give in to the authority, power, or will of another. See Synonyms at yield.
2. To allow oneself to be subjected to something: submit to an interview; submit to drug testing.
It's a scary thing to do, to submit. It means allowing yourself to be vulnerable.

Today I've allowed myself to be vulnerable three times. I tried to procrasta-edit, but at some point I new I would have to put my babies out there, submit them to scrutiny and criticism, and quite possibly rejection.

The arbiter of my vulnerability
It is a necessary evil if I want anyone, other than my mum and my beleaguered friends, to read my work. I know there are writers out there who write for themselves, who claim they don't need to be published or have others sanction their work. Bully for them, eh?

Me, I need to know others have read my stories. I write to entertain, and though I receive a lot of feedback (one of the positives of doing a writing degree at any level is that someone is forced to read your work and comment on it, and oh, the pleasure of having people tell you they were moved by what you wrote!), I LOVE feedback.

When submitting to journal and book editors, a writer almost never gets feedback, so submitting offers no reward in that regard, but maybe, just maybe, they will like something I wrote and publish it and let my babies out into the world, and maybe one day, someone will tell me they were moved by my babies.

Also, I am going to tackle poetry again this week. I have a love-hate relationship with poetry. I have had a couple of poems published and I have been told my poetry isn't hideous, but I have yet to write a poem I didn't cringe at. My nemesis is cliche, and cliche and I have danced a long dance, and now my feet are sore and I want to be rid of my tiresome partner in crimes against poetry.


Popular posts from this blog

The symbolism of elephants...

Just recently I've been seeing and noticing elephants everywhere!

A few weeks ago I saw the Samsung Elephant Ad, and watching that led me to watching a video with an elephant painting (seriously, you have to watch it to believe it!).

Then last night the boys told me they were having a free dress day at school to raise money for 'Mali the Elephant' - who turned out to be a paper maché statue which the children will paint and then show around the council before it comes back to the school to stand outside the performing arts room.

Then this morning I followed a link from Twitter to Toushka Lee's blog and read this post about an elephant orphanage in Sri Lanka.

This morning the Grumpy Old Man did another driving test and unfortunately didn't pass. We've booked his next test and are looking forward to that now. About ten minutes before he walked in the door I saw this poster on Facebook...

At the time, I didn't know if the Grumpy Old Man had been successful or …

Alone... And Stuff...

Do you ever just need to be alone?

As the boys are growing up, we have more times when the house is quiet. The youngest will be asleep. One will be reading, one will be playing on his computer with headphones on, one will be painting and there is stillness.

Sometimes, even that is not enough.

Sometimes I crave being alone, with no possibility of someone suddenly realising they have to tell me something important or ask me a question or even just crash about in the kitchen.

Sometimes I crave S P A C E, lots and lots of space, being able to walk from room to room without encountering another soul.

This is how I felt when I woke up this morning, so instead of getting ready for work, I decided to stay home. Get up, but not go anywhere, no hear the sound of my own voice, or anyone else's.

I think this might just be part of getting older. After a lifetime of chasing after other people and trying not to be alone, my mind and body is full of thoughts, experiences, feelings, and busy-ness …

12 Things Happy People Do Differently - a self-reflection...

A few days ago a Facebook friend posted the above poster on her wall. I believe she got these points from this blog which she enjoys reading, and the bloggers on the Marc and Angel Hack Life blog derived their discussion of these points from this book, available on Amazon - you're welcome! I have to admit, I haven't read the blog or the book I've just mentioned but wanted my readers to have access to the sources of the poster for their own reflective purposes.
The New Year will be upon us in but a few days and I thought this a great opportunity to do a little personal assessment on how I'm playing the happy game. I'm often not very happy at all - I don't need to be happy all the time, let me just say that up front - I personally believe that life is a balancing act and those who seek euphoria often will also often feel desolation because in all things there must be balance. The great riches of the few on this planet come at the personal cost of the many as is …