it's been some time.

last year, i had a 64% acceptance rate for poems. this year, it's 25%. i didn't submit much, totaling 20 submissions. and even sending those few was a difficult feat. i finished my first full-length manuscript. it was rejected three times. i began working on my second. i questioned whether i am truly a writer. i was awarded a residency at Grin City Collective (and was unable to accept due to financial circumstances). i didn't write as much this year. i mean, i wrote. i had ideas. i scribbled them. i crossed them out. i crumpled up a lot of paper. many nights, i sat in my car by the lake to write and still, nothing. a few lines here and there. i questioned my pre-existing definition of a writer. i cried a lot.

entering 2017, i see many of my peers and loved ones in full bloom. entering 2017, i realize i'm not and don't have to be at the same place in my blooming as others are in theirs. this garden is my own. this garden has been ignored in favor of looking in awe at others' gardens. to see what's growing around me instead of what's growing within me. as 2017 begins, i realize i have seeds. and that it is my time to begin sowing them.