R is for... The Rialto

So I’ve done something I never thought I would - I’ve submitted my poetry to a well-respected poetry magazine to be considered and very likely rejected. It’s a magazine I love, too - hearing back from them with a negative is going to be like your Mum telling you that new haircut really doesn’t suit you. But the important thing for me here is that I’ve done it, and the achievement for me feels twofold.
First of all, the writing itself. I’ve worked hard at this, harder than I ever imagined I would in my childhood when I read so much and dreamed one day of writing poems and stories just like them. I’ve completed courses, attended Saturday workshops and used precious funds and holiday time to further my skills. I work at it on weekends and evenings when other people are with loved ones or out having adventures. Don’t get me wrong, I do it because I love it and I have no regrets about the choices I’ve made. I can feel the improvement in my writing over the past three or four years and there is little joy greater to me than finally cracking the format of a villanelle, or finding that perfect epithet to describe a character. It’s why we all do this, I think - the terror of the blank page goes hand in hand with the joy of one filled exactly as it should be.
Secondly, you probably can’t imagine the upswing in confidence it has taken me to do this. I never thought I’d consider myself good enough to submit to a well-respected magazine, and it’s a testament to my hard work and also my friends for getting me to this level. I remember years ago on my Skyros holiday when I was having a general meltdown on a beautiful Greek island, I tried to explain to my group of similarly lost souls that I never felt good enough. And the lady leading the group said the most amazing thing to me - “Good enough for what, Zoe?” It’s not really a question I could answer, but it’s something worth considering if you have similar doubts. If you’re holding yourself to some intangible and most probably mythical standard, chances are you’re never going to achieve anything you’re happy with. Confidence in my writing also comes into play when considering what to put into the public arena, should it get that far. Of the five poems I submitted, four are about other (real) people. Some of them know they’ve been written about and some of them don’t. One of them is long dead, so we won’t waste time worrying about him. To take the risk that these might go public means I have to stand by my writing in an absolute way and that comes down to confidence that I’ve written with kindness and a certainty that comes from my own perspective, spoken in my own voice. That is all I can ever ask of myself.
So, wish my poems luck on their way to The Rialto. They may end up coming right back, but at least they - and I - have taken a first few faltering steps out of my head and into the world.