Two Cents
Excuse me for a second. I should probably stretch a little before I really get started. It's been so long since I actually blogged that I might pull something in the process. As they say, better safe than sorry.
That should do it. Thank you for bearing with me.
I had to buy some postage stamps recently, because I finally decided to submit a story of mine to Downstate Story, a small-time literary magazine based in Peoria. I already had one stamp, donated by my mom, for the self-addressed stamped envelope(SASE) for the magazine's response, but I needed two more for the large envelope in which I would place my manuscript, the cover letter, and the SASE. I decided to ride my bike into Stonington for whatever reason I can't remember (probably gas prices) that afternoon. Town is a little over three miles from my house, a two minute drive or half hour ride.
The sky was slightly cloudy, and a steady, cool breeze flew eastward. It was an easy ride. I got to the post office and bought two stamps from the machine, receiving two 39 cent stamps with the American flag flying on them, and two one cent stamps with the image of the American Kestrel.
I mailed the story off a week and a half ago. I hope it finds its way to Peoria, safe and sound, and it finds its way to the editor of the magazine and finds her well.
I kept the two kestrels. There's nothing else for them to do, so I placed them on the title page of my leather bound notebook and wrote this underneath them: Here's my two cents, the rest is going to cost you extra. I did a little research on the bird. The American Kestrel is the smallest falcon found in North America--about the size of an American Robin. They are found in various enviroments--in the mountains, in the forests, in deserts, in the plains, in the marshes, in the prairies, in the grasslands, and in the cities and suburbs. They hunts whatever small prey it can catch, and usually they perch high above their prey. Enough Discovery Channel material for now, on to the point.
Dreams are very similar to this bird. A dream's prey and prize is to be granted in reality. It perches and waits and bides its time, watching for that chance. They are not born so that they may have their wings clipped and be confined to cages, to live lives of quiet desperation, uselessly hoping for the day that they can spread their wings and take flight. They are born to fly with the clouds in their midst and hunt and persue and chase realization. They can be crushed, they can die, they won't last forever. If you believe in them and in yourself, that belief will be enough to keep them alive, give them shelter from foul weather and predators, and perserve the strength in their wings for them to fly. Next time you think about your dream, free it. Let it out of its cage, let it loose, let it go, let it fly. And as you watch it soar through the sky, you'll feel your heart soar with it.
Along with the story, the letter, and envelope, my hopes and dreams and aspirations are inside that large envelope, now in the hands of the postal service. All I can do now is hope that it finds its way to the hands of the editor, and if possible into her mind and heart as well. I know there is the chance that the story could be trashed sooner than it could be published, because there are many talented writers in this world, all with the same dream as me. I'm not afraid of rejection or failure. I'm persistent, and I won't give up easily on my passion. If I do get published, it will finally prove to myself that I do indeed have talent and my writing is good enough for publication. I imagine it would be a very joyous hour. In fact, I believe they will have a great deal of trouble in bringing me down.
This was long overdue. I apologize for the long wait to the very few people that still read this.
Taking off from here on out,
Sam
Excuse me for a second. I should probably stretch a little before I really get started. It's been so long since I actually blogged that I might pull something in the process. As they say, better safe than sorry.
That should do it. Thank you for bearing with me.
I had to buy some postage stamps recently, because I finally decided to submit a story of mine to Downstate Story, a small-time literary magazine based in Peoria. I already had one stamp, donated by my mom, for the self-addressed stamped envelope(SASE) for the magazine's response, but I needed two more for the large envelope in which I would place my manuscript, the cover letter, and the SASE. I decided to ride my bike into Stonington for whatever reason I can't remember (probably gas prices) that afternoon. Town is a little over three miles from my house, a two minute drive or half hour ride.
The sky was slightly cloudy, and a steady, cool breeze flew eastward. It was an easy ride. I got to the post office and bought two stamps from the machine, receiving two 39 cent stamps with the American flag flying on them, and two one cent stamps with the image of the American Kestrel.
I mailed the story off a week and a half ago. I hope it finds its way to Peoria, safe and sound, and it finds its way to the editor of the magazine and finds her well.
I kept the two kestrels. There's nothing else for them to do, so I placed them on the title page of my leather bound notebook and wrote this underneath them: Here's my two cents, the rest is going to cost you extra. I did a little research on the bird. The American Kestrel is the smallest falcon found in North America--about the size of an American Robin. They are found in various enviroments--in the mountains, in the forests, in deserts, in the plains, in the marshes, in the prairies, in the grasslands, and in the cities and suburbs. They hunts whatever small prey it can catch, and usually they perch high above their prey. Enough Discovery Channel material for now, on to the point.
Dreams are very similar to this bird. A dream's prey and prize is to be granted in reality. It perches and waits and bides its time, watching for that chance. They are not born so that they may have their wings clipped and be confined to cages, to live lives of quiet desperation, uselessly hoping for the day that they can spread their wings and take flight. They are born to fly with the clouds in their midst and hunt and persue and chase realization. They can be crushed, they can die, they won't last forever. If you believe in them and in yourself, that belief will be enough to keep them alive, give them shelter from foul weather and predators, and perserve the strength in their wings for them to fly. Next time you think about your dream, free it. Let it out of its cage, let it loose, let it go, let it fly. And as you watch it soar through the sky, you'll feel your heart soar with it.
Along with the story, the letter, and envelope, my hopes and dreams and aspirations are inside that large envelope, now in the hands of the postal service. All I can do now is hope that it finds its way to the hands of the editor, and if possible into her mind and heart as well. I know there is the chance that the story could be trashed sooner than it could be published, because there are many talented writers in this world, all with the same dream as me. I'm not afraid of rejection or failure. I'm persistent, and I won't give up easily on my passion. If I do get published, it will finally prove to myself that I do indeed have talent and my writing is good enough for publication. I imagine it would be a very joyous hour. In fact, I believe they will have a great deal of trouble in bringing me down.
This was long overdue. I apologize for the long wait to the very few people that still read this.
Taking off from here on out,
Sam
posted by Sam | 10:09 PM
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2 comments
