After writing a blog post the other day, I looked at it and thought I would send it to the local newspaper for consideration as a "guest column" or something similar.
It has been some time since I thought of getting something published or found the willingness to try. It was like re-entering a game I hadn't played in a long time. And more, it felt somehow "correct" according to my attributes. Writing a blog does not count in my head as being part of the game, though I suppose it is.
Acceptance or rejection was not so much the point. It was the action that warmed the cockles of some part of my heart. Like it or lump it, writing is something I have spent a lot of time on in my life. It's too late to change horses now.
Yesterday I got a note from the newspaper editor saying he would reread it today and see if he could "find a home" for it. "Thanks for sharing," he wrote, using a word that always makes me cringe. But his words seemed somehow fitting and "correct" as well. It would have been the same if he had said, "this is not for us," but he didn't and I was pleased at the reaction. It was as if some small part of me spoke up, saying, "What the hell did you expect -- it's just what you do."
It was a pleasant feeling. A small matter, a bit of evidence, and informative.