A year ago everything I sent out as a submission was golden, snapped up immediately. Journals I withdrew simultaneous submissions from responded with expressions of dismay that they had not gotten back to me in time. Dream journals contacted me and asked to see poems. And I said to myself, "Remember this time, keep it in your heart for the dry spells which are surely coming."
And now is that dry spell. One of them. One of many. Of the many that typify my publishing experience. Nobody wants my work now. Much like before.
And I'm okay with that. I will keep writing. Because I do it for the work. Not for the publication.
(But I admit it--that one golden publishing time last year--that was fun.)