“What’s your favorite flower?” A. asked me. We were sitting in a movie theater waiting for The Pick-Up Artist to begin. It was our first date.
“Daisies,” I said.
“But those are weeds,” he said. “Don’t you like roses?”
I’d only agreed to this date because a friend talked me into it. And it’d been 7 months since my one date with the assistant manager of the pizza place. “I like daisies–and they’re not weeds.”
After the movie, we walked back to campus. We had to cross a one way street. The road was clear and I stepped off the curb. He yanked me back. “Let me look,” he said. “Okay. It’s safe to cross.”
The next day I ran into him on my way to class. He was bringing me a rose, and I told him I really didn’t want to go out with him again. That was probably why I had no boyfriend. I got irritated about roses and crosswalks.
I say I want to be published, but am I paying attention to the right things? Telling the right stories and editing the right things and… well, I don’t want to do anything to published. Beyond the writing, what do you do to get your work out? What will you settle for–big publishing house, small press, print on demand, vanity press, zine, blog, or a box in the back of your closet?
Plenty of us say we want to be published, but what do we imagine that to mean?