I don't know what got me to thinking about it. I was still in bed, so maybe it had been a dream. Either way, I was taken back ten years, possibly more, to a time when things were rather different. There was always the mailbox to look forward to. Walking in from the warehouse, I would think, surely there must be some response. Perhaps this would be the night when I might be validated, accepted....

     Back then I would spend countless hours reading periodicals and quarterlies and reviews with an eye on what I should send them in return. Licked countless nasty envelopes and stamps, sent them in the direction of places with names of intrigue like Poetry Motel, Mind In Motion, The Wormwood Review, ONTHEBUS.

     I had it in view to unseat Lyn Lifshin, who was featured in almost every such publication that I ever read, as "Queen of the Small Press." I was confident I could do it, I still looked pretty good in a skirt. And although I wasn't without some success, in the end I ran out of stamps. And time. And patience.

     Besides, there were books to write, some of which are excerpted here. And a whole lot of detours to ensure more of them weren't written, or executed in finer fashion.

     No, I never would have guessed just how crazily things would have changed in so short of time. Nor that I would ever have something like this of my own. You have to think: One couldn't get gratification any more quickly. I mean, I can reach out and try to touch you at will.

     Wait a second, what kind of site is this? Oh yeah, it's mine, Mark Flanigan's. I hope you enjoy it for what it is--a work in progress, not at all unlike myself.