Subscription

There is a magazine that I've subscribed to for many years.  When I see it in my mailbox, waiting for me when I come home, it fills me with both joy and dread.

I love this magazine because it helps me remember that there are so many other people out there, just like me, struggling to write a decent short story.  But also, I hate this magazine because it helps me remember that there are so many other people out there, just like me, struggling to write a decent short story.

I love this magazine because it lists so many opportunities, so many contests, so many programs, so many conferences, so many literary magazines, so many retreats for writers just like me.  But also, I hate this magazine because it lists so many opportunities, so many contests, so many programs, so many conferences, so many literary magazines, so many retreats for writers just like me.

I love this magazine because it is so encouraging.  And so you can imagine, I hate this magazine because it is so encouraging.

I used to read it cover to cover and carry it around with me in my purse because my love was so strong and my hate, an obscured seed of doubt.  But recently, I notice, even new issues sit on the counter untouched for days and get buried under stacks of newspapers and hats and friends' casserole dishes, because the hate has grown unruly and the love, just a faint memory far back on the tongue.