Blah, blah, blah

I am having a little snit here over rejections and black holes. I do understand rejections slips. I've sure seen plenty of them. I don't weep and wail over "Good luck with your writing." I update my spreadsheet, rethink the venues, and keep going. What I don't like is the big black hole where a submission sinks and never resurfaces. Of course, that is the nature of black holes, to suck in energy and never give it back. But when people--editors--invite me to send them work, then fail to respond after months and months, I get testy. Yes, I contacted said editor. She protested that she was busy and would get to it. Well, she didn't. So now I have to be the bad guy and tell her I'm done, we're breaking up, don't call me ever again, because I want those poems to be read, not to sit in her in-box till they yellow and crumble. It's the Rodney Dangerfield syndrome, and like Nixon, I won't be kicked around. I am not a crock. Or crook, either way. And now you know what I think about that, I'm taking the rest of the day off and going out with my camera. Well, after I send out a short story to another editor. Oh, this is stupid stuff, Father William! I fell down the writer's rabbit hole, and I'm not climbing out. All these mixed citations and cliches are making me queasy. More later when I'm civil.