A piece of mine was published Monday at the Upper Room, after I submitted it two years ago. Well worth the wait, to see it up, and the reaction.


The mail came, it was not the usual day. It was actually a parcel from the courier. The receiver knew what it was. A journal he was published in. Satisfied, he went into his room, and was thankful for good publishers as these, who reliably send him the publication his work was in. He thanked them under his breath, opened up the parcel, and read the journal, frantically searching for his article. There it was and as he read it sounded good, but a little embarrassed and proud at the same that his work was in the magazine. He put the magazine down and continued with his evening. There were more things to do, but he cherished the moment with the magazine.

Reality and fantasy

Just say one wanted to write something for a monthly, with sixteen pages in between it’s covers. Well, sixteen is not much, I must say. Where would someone come in there, if one wanted something published every month, as a freelancer and not a staff writer?

Purpose is to write

Sometimes the only purpose I write about something is simply to write. I enjoy writing and I want to write. I don’t worry about the financial compensation (if any for that matter). I don’t worry about anything more than writing something that I can be proud of when it’s published. The only satisfaction is in the process of writing and the fact it got published so others can read it. It’s all quite lovely, really; and devoid of particular agendas.