Last night we took the entry forms to the village show. Julia duly handed them in, chatted to the organiser and handed over the 75p in entry fees. It is a vey modest village show. I did think of entering some chutney and some produce, but, as usual, didn’t get round to it. In any case, as our vegetable plot consists of a few pots and troughs, I don’t think we will threaten the traditional winners from the Allotments.

Bird studies for the acrylic section at the show

However, I feel our efforts to fit in would be better if directed to other areas, as the art and photography sections are dominated by a select few.  They are, without doubt, deserving winners, but you can’t help thinking that village shows, like e everything else these days, are not places for fun, amateurs and creations that speak of enthusiasm rather than technique.

On the other hand, thinking about the upcoming show a few months ago did give me inspiration for a haiku and, according to an email that arrived last night, this landed me a rare thing (in my world at least) – a spot in Frogpond, the journal of the Haiku Society of America. I find it so hard to get in that I am on the point of giving up. However, when the editor tells you that there were 3,000 submissions and an acceptance rate of 7% it all seems worthwhile.

To counterbalance that I’ve had my fastest ever rejection. The three haibun I submitted to a magazine this morning were back with me by the afternoon. It seems that they have had a lot of submissions already (it’s the second day of the submission window so that’s a worry if the competition is that strong) and they are returning mine because they don’t fit the “dominant styles and themes” of the issue. They are, however, “high-quality, publishable haibun” and the editor goes on to suggest that they might suggest someone else. They actually gave me the name of an editor and a magazine, but he already has his own selection from me, also sent this morning.

Christmas baubles- made with turned wood but then augmented by acrylic paint marbling – they will eventually have loops through the top

It’s an old antique market trick. Someone offers you a load of tat and you tell them it’s not your sort of stuff, but that X down the row loves that sort of thing.

I’m not that bothered, I’m used to rejection, but I am bothered by the manner of the rejection and am afraid that a new or sensitive writer might be put off for life by that sort of disregard for the effort they put in, and we need new poets.

The title? Well I had a three word alliterative title lined up, the third “B” describing the wording of the rejection, but I decided to be mature and not use it.