Since my last post, I turned 40, had one job interview, submitted a couple essays, and collected a few rejection letters. Not too bad as far as a month of progress goes.
In the writing world, the word "rejection" isn't always a bad thing. To me, it means that I am making some kind of progress. When the editor of a big-name publication takes a few seconds to send me a note (no matter how vague) to tell me my piece wasn't a good fit for the publication it means I tried. And just as I was taught when I was little, I will try and try again.
Rejection letters often sound like break-up talks. Every time I read one, I swear I hear, "It's not you, it's me. I need some time. Maybe you're better off with someone else who can appreciate all your wonderful qualities. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors."
Lately, I've been focusing on essay writing. I'm still very intent on landing my first fiction byline, but for now, I'm following my writing cravings.
I was looking through my "Fiction stories in the works" folder on my desktop. It contains 105 files. In my Non-fiction folder, I have 47. Can you imagine if I were to finish all of those stories? Imagine the tsunami of work I could flood the industry with. Oh, the thought. It's mighty invigorating.
On that note, I better get back to it.
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