Last year I wrote an article about how composing poetry can help you improve your prose -- even if you never become a published poet or anything you write ever makes it out of your Word files or beyond the covers of your spiral-bound notebook. I called it "Verse-atility" and queried Stephen Mooser, editor of the SCBWI Bulletin, to see if he might be interested in publishing it. He was. After cutting the article down and revising it half a dozen times, I finally subbed it to him before I left for Chautauqua last July. He accepted it and my little article finally made it into the most recent May/June issue of the SCBWI Bulletin.
I haven't received my hard copy in the mail yet, but I can't wait! I know it's such a small thing but it's been many years since I've had anything published in a format I can hold in my hands. Why? Well, there was my job and then those busy years of raising our children, of shepherding them through soccer games, music lessons, track meets and homework sessions. Too many disruptions and excuses not to pursue my love of the written word. In fact, I don't think I've had anything truly "published" since my college days. I've had some poems published in ezines and online, but nothing in actual print form. Now I feel as though I've crossed some sort of bridge into the world of legitimacy. The last time I remember feeling this way when I turned 13 and finally became a true blue teenager. While cyberspace is an exciting frontier, it's one in flux, a format that's constantly evolving and changing. Websites spring up overnight and just as suddenly, they vanish. And when they vanish, you wonder sometimes if they even existed. Was it all just a dream?
There's something validating and reassuring about seeing something you wrote printed on paper - printed in a format you can actually hold, fold over and read as you ride the train into work or sip your morning cup of tea. My dad started out as a newspaper man - a journalist for a newspaper in England called The Manchester Guardian (now called simply The Guardian). At one time he subscribed to five different newspapers. Books, too, were such an integral part of my life that I had a hard time imagining life without them. For me, getting into "hard copy" is the ultimate litmus test, a sign that yes, what I wrote was important enough to print on something that will linger longer than a few nanoseconds of cyberspace time. I may embrace technology, but cherish the old fashioned world of the printed word.
