So I made another shortlist. This time it's Arc Poetry Magazine's 11th annual Poem of the Year Contest. But I didn't just make the shortlist; I actually made the editor's choice category. Or is it the editors' choice? I've seen it written both ways for this contest. Either way, I made it into the top 50 poems of over 1100, and that's the best I've done to date. It makes me feel rather special, as Arc is a major Canadian journal. It's also a bit mind-blowing. I know that my poetry has improved over the past year, since I've been taking it more seriously, but to receive notice within the space of one week that I'm going to be published for the first as well as the second time? It's incredible. On one hand I feel so privileged, and on the other hand, there's this evil sneaking suspicion that maybe journals have lowered their standards to let me in. It's strange to have so little confidence; I'm not accustomed to this. I don't usually second-guess myself so much. Is a poet's life filled with ever-growing doubt? I think I'm willing to find out.
In other news, I saw a beautiful worm this morning. Just one, leisurely inching its way across the sidewalk. It was a soothing pinkbrown but neither fat nor skinny. Just a perfect little worm out for a morning slither. I liked that worm. It won't last long, as it was slithering away from the grass and protected spaces.
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