Imbolc \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Hare Moon<\/p>\n
Deucalion and Pyrrha have come to a mossy, ruined temple, a pale image of its former, undrowned self. \u00a0They bend down and offer prayers to Themis, a goddess of prophecy and justice. \u00a0They are the only two people left after the flood. “We two are a crowd,” Deucalion says to Pyrrha.<\/p>\n
This was in the afternoon’s section of Ovid and it rang a bell with me as I submitted my manuscripts. \u00a0The dominant word being submit. \u00a0The process of submitting a manuscript definitely has an offering quality to it, a sacrifice to whatever powers lie outside the study, those demi-gods who rule on the fate of creative work.<\/p>\n
This is not a feeling I like very much, because there is always the possibility, as there was for Deucalion and Pyrrha, that the offering will not be accepted. \u00a0In fact, I’ve already received one, “Not for me.” \u00a0That’s after sending seven submissions out before lunch.<\/p>\n
E-mail makes submission easier. \u00a0And rejection, too. Yes, it stung. Just a bit, but it’s there. Not a bee sting, not that much, but a quick injection of rejection. \u00a0This is normal. \u00a0No sacrifice, no rejection. \u00a0No sacrifice, no acceptance. \u00a0The awful dialectic all creative people face. Perhaps this has been the root of religious sentiments from the very beginning.<\/p>\n
In paleolithic times art must have had sacred power, the capacity to call up the animals for the hunt or incite the slaying of enemies, the rising of the sun. \u00a0What, then, if the artist was not good enough? \u00a0What if the art would not work the magic? \u00a0Or, what if the tribe or clan believed it wouldn’t? \u00a0What then artist, poet, singer?<\/p>\n
The stakes feel the same now. \u00a0At least to me.<\/p>\n
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Imbolc \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Hare Moon Deucalion and Pyrrha have come to a mossy, ruined temple, a pale image of its former, undrowned self. \u00a0They bend … Continue reading Submission<\/span>