Came home late last night to find my 2 complementary copies of this quarter’s Sewanee Review sitting in my dingy tile-bound lobby. There they were, shrink-wrapped, perfect. I took them inside. And had quite a moment with myself. Just looking them over. Reveling in it, wondering at it, just looking at it, over and over, wondering at the fact that they pulled me out from the pack and excerpted me on the back with a couple others … Just basically re-reading what I wrote. And reveling in my moment. I won’t revel for long, believe me, too much work to be done, but I’m reveling now. It’s hard-won. It really is.
My favorite part comes at the bottom of all the pages my essay is on:
© 2006 Sheila O’Malley
Absolutely glorious. I am so very proud of you – that sounds patronizing somehow, but it’s true. You have earned it, sweet girl.
I am just busting for you. Going out to get my copy tomorrow.
OMG!!! That moment has got to be one of the finest in the world. I am emerald with envy. :)
You so deserve it and I am bursting with pride for you!!!
Huzzah! Bravissima! Huzzissimah!
Sorry, out of words now. But great job!
Never doubted this for a moment … It’s simply wonderful.
as liza sings, “it’ [wa]s just a matter of time…”
Today in History: January 28, 1939
William Butler Yeats died. And, of course, Yeats makes me think of my father. My first published piece in The Sewanee Review was about the Yeats-dad continuum. From memory now! And when I hear this poem, in my head…
Happy (belated) birthday, William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats was born yesterday, in 1865. Yeats is a great poet and all that, but I grew up pretty much “over” him because he was kind of omnipresent in our household. We were made to memorize his…