The First Time, Again

There is, I’m told, a natural progression to dating. If a girl doesn’t like you on the first date, it’s over. A second date is a hopeful sign and, barring unforeseen circumstances, a third date is likely.

Don’t take my word for it. I was never a proficient dater, and the girl I married was one I never dated. My first girlfriend entangled me in a tragic relationship that strung over two years and came to define my senior year in college.

No, this isn’t a dating advice column—you wouldn’t want to read one by me! It’s a metaphor. You see, I used to think getting published was like dating. Once you found an editor who “got” what you were doing, you’d be able to move forward. Progress.

I think of H. P. Lovecraft, who is now being taught at universities, and how he really only found one magazine that liked his work. I thought maybe I’d found that magazine in Danse Macabre, but then they started to be less-than-enthusiastic about my work.

It takes a lot of courage for me to submit something to a publisher. I’m growing a thicker skin, but rejection still hurts. I remember senior year all too well. I’ve published in maybe six free journals, and my work has been nominated for three awards. And I thought I was dating a new publisher.

Dali’s LoveChild liked my work. It was nominated for an award. My second piece was accepted without comment. I wasn’t thinking of my first tragic affair—I was looking forward. Then I submitted a piece of which I was particularly proud, only to receive a nameless pinhead letter.

The same thing had happened with Jersey Devil Press a few years back. You see, I’ve been looking for an editor who wants to continue the relationship. I never was very good at dating. I’m shy and understated and willing to do with very little. Girls don’t like that.

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K. Marvin Bruce

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