There’s only one way to find out. 

I tend to experience a macabre sense of the perverse when I watch those people who audition for The Voice or American/Australian Idol thinking they’re so much more talented than they really are. 

And sometimes, when I post my writing on my blog, I fear that I might be one of those people in the world of poetry. It’s obvious that I like what I have written, or I wouldn’t post it. But does it leave my friends cringing and thinking, “Oh man. She’s at it again!”?

Most of the people I know are nicer than me, and would most likely never admit that to me. So how can I find out if my work is good enough to be published properly – on paper, in ink, rather than just on my own blog, or if that is a completely vain and unrealistic dream? 

The only way is to ask someone who knows. 

So, tonight I bit the bullet and submitted one of my poems for publication in a quarterly poetry journal. 
I’m both excited and terrified. 

I hope they like it.

I hope I picked the right one.

Oh Lord, I hope I’m not making an idiot of myself. 

But if I don’t try, I’ll never know. Nothing was ever achieved by chickening out. 

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