Freedom....
"Freedom isn't what you do with what's been done to you, it's when you take BACK what's been taken from you!" Never before has such a quote spoken volumes to me than this. Why you ask?, well, as you may well know , for years I was an aspiring poet and writer and always yearned for sharing my work with others. Most have received it well, some more so than others. That fact has gotten me in trouble a few times, but I digress as that's not the nature of this post. There was once a well known site that my friends have been known to frequent and share their pieces with others in hopes of getting them critiqued, and most of all shared with a wider audience than their smaller circles.
This site had been known for holding nationwide poetry "contests" where a panel of would be judges "critiqued" your work on a scale and determined whether or not it was worthy of being "published" in an anthological collection of select poets all over the country. Along with such an incentive there were also the opportunities to eventually win cash prizes for your work, and be recognized by your peers as a bonafide published author. Sounds great right?? Just wait...
After a few weeks of debating whether or not I was "good enough" to be up for consideration, and after slight prodding from a few friends, I decided to give it a shot. "What's the worst that could happen?", I thought to myself . After choosing what I thought to be my best piece at the time, I anxiously danced around the submit button with my mouse. Carefully making sure that any errors in spelling and punctuation were fixed and polished. Polished as well as my then Sophomoric High School education would allow anyway. I submitted the piece to be judged. Expecting nothing to come of it, short of a few (not so) constructive reviews -this was after all, the internet.
After a few weeks of checking, I'd long since forgotten about it. That was until one day, my mom handed me an envelope addressed to me from the website, with a typed "proof" of the words I'd sent in about a month prior with an acceptance letter. It goes without saying that I, along with my mom were elated that I seemingly was of a small group of thousands and thousands of submissions to be selected to be enshrined in this collective of poets. This was also around the timeframe that I was featured among the group of authors at my school to be selected for our annual literary magazine for the school. So in that month, I was being featured in two separate publications, and wil have gotten WAY more exposure than I ever expected (or wanted) for what I considered to be a hobby.
We were given the option to purchase a copy of the national book for a price of 60 dollars. A fee of which my mom happily paid without question. It was to be something i was going to have that I could cherish for the rest of my life. In her mind, it was a small price to pay to see the smile on my face that hadn't been there since I was a child.
Fast forward about 5 years, after our house was broken into and various valuable possessions of mine were stolen, including my class ring, cap and gown and numerous other irreplaceable high school items. We decided it wasn't safe to return to the apartment since I had already moved out by this point and my mom was by herself. I'd long since stopped writing poetry and moved onto other facets in my life, but the desire to one day publish my own book of my poetry was always in my mind. I often came across the files of written material on various hard drives I've had, with no direction of what to do with them.
That was until last week. During a discussion with a friend of mine who I've just recently gotten to know outside of a group chat that we frequent on Friday nights. We'd spent some time talking about varios writing projects and the desire to have them published. It wasn't until then, that I really looked at my material in a different, less critical light. I'd began revising and editing pieces to make them more poise, and to better reflect the emotion I had been trying to get across. During this process, I was reminded of the website of which i first had works published.
I typed in the address to this particular site, only to find out the site itself was completely different and no where near what it used to be. After doing a numerous amount of google searches, my heart began to sink more with each click of various scam reports and various other negative reviews. Turns out, the once crowning achievement of my youth, the one thing that I had to say I was a legitimately published writer, was nothing more than a complete fallacy! I had essentially lined the pockets of these faceless names along with countless others before and after me. These people sold us our dreams, and we bought in. You heartless bastards will likely never see or read this, much less even care that I'm posting this, but as quickly as I was to thank you with hard earned money years ago, I now condemn the very existence you've had in my life. May your site rot in the immense depths of whatever hell it was spawned from.
As much as i hate you, you nameless faceless monsters, I thank you. If it wasn't for your letter, I might have stopped writing. Much longer than when i actually hung up my pen from that aspect of my life. I can now say that in a few short months, I will be a legitimate published writer, not because of you, in spite of you! This is the declaration of MY FREEDOM!
This site had been known for holding nationwide poetry "contests" where a panel of would be judges "critiqued" your work on a scale and determined whether or not it was worthy of being "published" in an anthological collection of select poets all over the country. Along with such an incentive there were also the opportunities to eventually win cash prizes for your work, and be recognized by your peers as a bonafide published author. Sounds great right?? Just wait...
After a few weeks of debating whether or not I was "good enough" to be up for consideration, and after slight prodding from a few friends, I decided to give it a shot. "What's the worst that could happen?", I thought to myself . After choosing what I thought to be my best piece at the time, I anxiously danced around the submit button with my mouse. Carefully making sure that any errors in spelling and punctuation were fixed and polished. Polished as well as my then Sophomoric High School education would allow anyway. I submitted the piece to be judged. Expecting nothing to come of it, short of a few (not so) constructive reviews -this was after all, the internet.
After a few weeks of checking, I'd long since forgotten about it. That was until one day, my mom handed me an envelope addressed to me from the website, with a typed "proof" of the words I'd sent in about a month prior with an acceptance letter. It goes without saying that I, along with my mom were elated that I seemingly was of a small group of thousands and thousands of submissions to be selected to be enshrined in this collective of poets. This was also around the timeframe that I was featured among the group of authors at my school to be selected for our annual literary magazine for the school. So in that month, I was being featured in two separate publications, and wil have gotten WAY more exposure than I ever expected (or wanted) for what I considered to be a hobby.
We were given the option to purchase a copy of the national book for a price of 60 dollars. A fee of which my mom happily paid without question. It was to be something i was going to have that I could cherish for the rest of my life. In her mind, it was a small price to pay to see the smile on my face that hadn't been there since I was a child.
Fast forward about 5 years, after our house was broken into and various valuable possessions of mine were stolen, including my class ring, cap and gown and numerous other irreplaceable high school items. We decided it wasn't safe to return to the apartment since I had already moved out by this point and my mom was by herself. I'd long since stopped writing poetry and moved onto other facets in my life, but the desire to one day publish my own book of my poetry was always in my mind. I often came across the files of written material on various hard drives I've had, with no direction of what to do with them.
That was until last week. During a discussion with a friend of mine who I've just recently gotten to know outside of a group chat that we frequent on Friday nights. We'd spent some time talking about varios writing projects and the desire to have them published. It wasn't until then, that I really looked at my material in a different, less critical light. I'd began revising and editing pieces to make them more poise, and to better reflect the emotion I had been trying to get across. During this process, I was reminded of the website of which i first had works published.
I typed in the address to this particular site, only to find out the site itself was completely different and no where near what it used to be. After doing a numerous amount of google searches, my heart began to sink more with each click of various scam reports and various other negative reviews. Turns out, the once crowning achievement of my youth, the one thing that I had to say I was a legitimately published writer, was nothing more than a complete fallacy! I had essentially lined the pockets of these faceless names along with countless others before and after me. These people sold us our dreams, and we bought in. You heartless bastards will likely never see or read this, much less even care that I'm posting this, but as quickly as I was to thank you with hard earned money years ago, I now condemn the very existence you've had in my life. May your site rot in the immense depths of whatever hell it was spawned from.
As much as i hate you, you nameless faceless monsters, I thank you. If it wasn't for your letter, I might have stopped writing. Much longer than when i actually hung up my pen from that aspect of my life. I can now say that in a few short months, I will be a legitimate published writer, not because of you, in spite of you! This is the declaration of MY FREEDOM!