It's a little after 9am. I'm submitting work this morning to journals. Which also means I am reading journals. Mainly from this list by Afton Wilky. I can't help but read them when I start looking up how to submit, if I can submit, the dance required for submission. It's a morning of submission.

From the Lana Turner: "we are employed as “professional” poets and believe that our very institutional affiliations make us uniquely qualified to recognize and condemn institutionalization."  - Joshua Clover and Juliana Spahr in an open letter, attempting to be president of the Poetry Foundation

It's 9:30am and I still haven't found journals that want submissions. Bomb doesn't. Seems like ActionYes, doesn't. Pank doesn't right now either. Nobody wants submissions. 

I remembered someone who personally asked me for a submission. So I sent some poems.

Then I checked Fence again. Nope, not taking submissions. It's 10:11am. It's been more than an hour. One submission made. Hmmm.

Trickhouse? Not open for submissions, but they are open for receiving submissions, sort of: "if you would like to send us work for consideration, please feel free to send it to . . . and we will hold onto it until we do open submissions (please be aware that unless we are officially taking submissions, we may not be able to respond)." So tricky these Trickhouse folk. I submitted to them. It's 10:40am.

Hmmm. More? Got lost in Trickhouse for a while. Loving Jen Bervin's work. And Bhanu Kapil's. And Akilah Oliver's.

Ok, now it is 12:10pm. I just submitted some other work to the Chicago Review. I'm done. About three hours and three submissions made. Intense.