Minimum wage is more than I’ll ever make
for a written page. No matter how hard I work
and persevere, the money just isn’t there to pay
me for staying up all night to type out a morning
glory of a story that’s flowing through my brain.
Is it time to call it a day, when, “Not for me,’
or “Thanks anyway,” is all I hear and when I
do get a, “We’ve accepted your story for publication,”
there’s never a check or cash award. Should I be
happy with that?
I’m not the only one working day and night without
compensation, publication, or recognition. What’s our
condition when we submit our prose and poems over and over
to those who suppose they know if what we write during the days
and nights is good enough to appear this year in print or in an ezine.
While watching the birds go down to drink, I think of what Albert Einstein
said, “Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different
results is insanity,” That concludes that what writers do is lunacy, and it must
be contagious because there’re so many of us that are tired of repeating the required
process of submitting to those folks who think they know!poetry > writing