Last night I received a rejection notice. This makes the third in the past couple of weeks. One would think this would bum me out, but it really hasn’t. Perhaps my skin has grown thicker. Of course, I’m disappointed. I’m just not devastated.
Being rejected means you have work out there for consideration.
And this, in a nutshell, is why I’m not all that broken up about being rejected. I’ve talked before about how hard it is for me to actually get anything meaningful down on the page. Some of that is my fault, and some of it isn’t, but no matter whose fault it is, the words don’t get written and that’s what matters. Rejection means that I got the words down. I’ve gone over it, polished it up. I put in the time to figure out where I should send it and then I sent it there. That’s huge.
I still have a couple of things circulating. Maybe they’ll get picked up. Maybe they won’t be. The trick is to keep on writing. Maybe I need to find a more suitable publication. Maybe I need to rework the piece. Maybe I need to sit on it for awhile and work on something else.
A colleague once likened writing to winning the lottery. You can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket. Your writing is your ticket. How many do you have?