This is a post I never published from spring 2017, yet is particularly poignant after a slew of another type of rejections recently…
I’ve been meaning to write something about rejection for a while. The thing is, I find this topic hard to talk about sometimes. At this point in my writing career (stupidly early on, I must admit), I have been rejected more times than I can count. While there seems to be quite a list developing on the writing page of this website, it took a lot of “no’s”to get there. Even thought there have been more no’s than yeses and you’d think I would be used to rejection at this point, I’m not. It still stings.
The past few weeks I have felt like that soda can, crushed over and over again by the shoe of rejection.
This afternoon, as a matter of fact, I was slogging around the house wallowing in the uncertainty that many of my most recent no’s have gotten me. The last few no’s have hurt. I’d like to be more writerly and use a word like stung which has a nicer ring to it here, but the reality is that they hurt. It didn’t feel like I was stung by a bee, it felt like I was hit by bus. No, like I was hit by a train. Grad school rejections completely and totally crush you. On my way to school today I saw a man picking up garbage on the side of the street. He carefully put stray papers and candy bar wrappers in his bag, but when he came to a soda can deposited in the yellowing grass by the sidewalk, he placed it firmly on the cement before crushing it under his foot. The past few weeks I have felt like that soda can, crushed over and over again by the shoe of rejection (that doesn’t quite sound right, but you get the point).
Last Friday, I was rejected not once, not twice, but three times by different literary magazines and for different creative pieces. Three times in one day. I set my own record. The week before that I didn’t get into Minnesota State University, and a few weeks before that I didn’t get into Colorado State University. Then, during a horrendous bout of the stomach flu, I was accepted to Memorial University but with no funding making it virtually impossible for me to attend. A bittersweet acceptance, I guess we can call that one.
I don’t mean to throw myself a nice little pity party. I mean to let you know that I am all too familiar with rejection. It seems like in life in general, I have been rejected more than I have been accepted (this is probably an exaggeration, but I am going to roll with it).
I’m not giving up.
Despite the immense amount of crushing rejection I’ve been faced with the past few weeks, I’m not giving up. After that terrible soda can metaphor, maybe I should, but I’m not. Writing is what I want to do. Rejection is part of the deal. It’s a pretty crummy, soul sucking package deal that I’ve got, but it takes rejections like these to slowly build up that writing page. It takes bad news to know how great an acceptance is when it comes. It takes a heck of a lot of no’s to get a yes, but when that yes finally shows up it’s really, really worth it.
So yes, I was in tears this afternoon wondering if I’m good enough to every get a real yes. I can’t answer that question for myself (I think I’m great, I’m a little biased), but I can keep going. I can keep trying until I get a yes – hopefully one after the other. In a year, my goal is to be swimming in yeses. For now, though, I’ll take that piece I just got a no on and submit it somewhere new, all the while crossing my fingers for that next grad school notification.