A winter bird

There’s a new entry on Lumisilla mailla, the blog I write with my friend Susanna. I’m really enjoying making this blog with her. It feels like the cardboard “mailboxes” my childhood best friend and I kept on our front porches, and we’d write notes to each other and run across the street and pop them in. Even though Susanna and I talk regularly, there’s something especially sweet about writing a blog together, this transatlantic collaboration.


I submitted two stories last week, something I hadn’t done since August (August!). I casually mentioned to my husband when I could expect to get my rejections, and that prompted a discussion between us about expectations. Where he thought I was being pessimistic, I thought I was being realistic. After crowdsourcing some opinions on Twitter, I decided that there is a faint line between realism and pessimism and, while I was not being actively pessimistic, I could stand to nudge my writing hopes up slightly higher than they normally go.

Also, one of the stories I submitted was my favourite one from my time with my Humber mentor. I finished work on it two months ago and have been hiding from the world, apparently. It seems I’m pretty protective of my favourites.


8 thoughts on “A winter bird”

  1. That is a very fine line! I know that I tend to spend my time walking that line with my photography. I think so long as you hold a bit of hope it is not pessimism. Your reaction to the acceptance or rejection is a better judge of which sign of the line you are on.

  2. It’s such a joy for me too! Your text was so lovely now, I’m still in the morning mood after reading it.

    It’s a fine line indeed! I imagined you wrapping your precious story in a package with a pretty bow and keeping it on the top shelf in the closet. I know how the creations can sometimes become so close that you never want to let go.

    Your honesty is amazing.

    1. Glad you liked it, kaunis ystäväni! Your pictures are always lovely too.

      I’m more nervous now to hear about my story than I was to send it! Eek!

  3. So much of the story is in what we do to share the story.

    When I was in the 9th grade, we learned about repeating fractions. At least I think that’s what they were called. You could have 2.33333333… with the 3 repeating forever. Forever! My teacher told us that there were an infinite number of numbers between any two “regular” numbers. So, between 2 and 3 there were countless, literally, numbers. A universe of numbers.

    When I think of writing and submitting and sharing and publishing, I think of this. The story we share is concrete, a moment in time, a few measures of meter and key. But the work we take to get there, the unspoken thought, the submissions, the printing, the worry that each word is not perfect – these are parts of the infinite, and somehow they bind out experience together.

    I know that you will Make It Big, honey. You have a gift, and it echoes in everything you write.

    1. Wow, what a fantastic, inspiring comment. Thank you! I will remember this next time I’m feeling aksdjf;waiofoiejf about writing.

      And thank you for your kind words as well!

  4. Yay, it’s such a wonderful act of faith (and what sometimes seems like an almost inhuman effort) to send out a story. I hope your favourite finds a home soon!

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