Vocal Victorious

There are way too many rules. And options. And places and ways to submit the latest attempt at literature. At least there are for me.

My mind totally boggles when faced with the cornucopia of possibilities or communities, not to mention the sheer number of stories some people manage to submit in a day. I wonder if they do anything else by day and/or by night besides writing. I certainly fall short of manage to produce even half the amount these people do on a regular daily basis.

I get great first sentences in my head, phrases and words I can encapsulate in a poetic way. Or, there are the spark of enlightenment moments when a spectacular opening sentence sets my heart racing with endless possibilities for creativity. By the time I actually get around to doing anything about them…other than the first sentence or poetic phrasing, I’ve either forgotten why I thought it so great or haven’t a clue as to where I intended to go with it. I’m sure I can boast a wholly startling number of these one or two word or one sentence wonders. I’ve thought of stringing them all together in hopes that, united, in a series they’ll accede to my desire to actually sound like clever writing. It may come to that.

Were it not for Mr. Google’s never-ending supply of synonyms for things that aren’t quite the right word, I doubt I’d finish a single piece. Words consistently escape me, and generally show no sign of capture. In such moments of self-loathing (and proof of encroaching old age), I hold out as long as I can, before taking a dive into the Internet and its wide and helpful display of all the other words that are more like the one I needed, than the one I’d actually thought I needed.

Ideas hit me in odd places, and at odd times, none of them particularly creative in aspect. I like words that I can never remember. If I remember any of them, I’ll include them within this written piece. (I’ll use an asterisk to make them REALLY obviously the words I’ve remembered.)

On those rare days when the literary sluices are flowing, I feel as light as air. Everything is good in the universe and there are nothing but blue skies on the horizon, or whatever turn of phrases would work there. I feel great pride of accomplishment because, hey, I’ve actually accomplished something.

I may destroy my bladder, such is my determination to stick with whatever it is I’m trying to finish. Sheer defiance or determination insist I hang on until the very end. It’s actually a fairly impressive feat, but it can always not end well. Sometimes I just use way too many similar words for the same thing in hopes that one of them will make the case. More often I don’t. Why? I refer you above to the part about how I words escape me.

Challenges. Now they are my personal challenge. Of all the Challenges I have entered, at least two I’ve submitted my work to the wrong communities, so disqualified. I learned that lesson. One somehow was mislabeled an Exclusive story and, since I have no paid subscribers, I honestly don’t believe I did such a thing. No matter. Disqualified. Two I planned to enter, and wrote each within a day of the Challenge’s being announced. I didn’t, however, want to send them in too early lest the early bird may only catch worms and not pride of place. So I left them to send at a more reasonable, mid-contest point for consideration. I’ll bet you can guess what happened to those exquisitely-crafted renderings. If you guessed, I forgot all about them and the Challenges for which I’d written them, you’re correct. I didn’t even get a chance to be disqualified for those.

I’ve now written, I think, four farewells to Vocal, when disappointment and frustration led me to determine I’d never write again. I think I submitted one (and wish I hadn’t), and the other three are languishing in wait for the next time I decide it’s to be my swan song.

But I live to fight, and forget, and agonize another day. Always another day.

*

I didn’t remember any of the words. (See above.)