I have lots of ridiculous fantasies of success as a writer. Maybe everyone does. You need something to combat the near constant stream of rejections. Once, I received seven rejections in one day, and they hit every category I’d ever submitted for: full-length poetry manuscript, picture book manuscript, regular poetry journal submission, and a single-poem contest submission. It was like the best worse bingo card. Remember in A Christmas Story when the Bumpus’ hounds devour the roast turkey, and Ralphie’s dad says, “That’s it. We are going out to eat.” My husband’s reaction was something similar, but more like, “We are going out to drink.” But the Sunday before last, I told my him, “You know, it’s the last year I’m eligible for Best New Poets, and I really want to be in that publication. Wouldn’t it be so super awesome if they emailed me, like, tonight and told me I was in? That’d be, like, the best birthday present ever.”
And then they did.