Yesterday I got my first-ever rejection for a magazine submission. I’ve been writing as a journalist for years, but I haven’t shared much of my personal writing with anyone, and I’ve never submitted it for publication. This year, I resolved to finally change that.
As I jokingly tell my husband, “You caint ketch fish if you don’t put out a line.” (Hokey accent optional.)
This blog is one of the things I’m doing to try to keep my writing wheels in motion. I also resolved to submit things and to be focused primarily on the goal of getting them submitted. Acceptance is something I can’t really control, so I patted myself on the back for sending the essays in, and then I hoped for the best.
When I was in college, living in the dorm, the seniors in the business program all lived on one floor. As graduation neared, they sent off job applications, and then posted their rejection letters on their doors. The goal was, of course, to get a job, but they made a game out of getting lots of applications out there. The more rejection letters, the more chances that they would land that one plum job.
So, while the rejection I got yesterday – a short, simple “We didn’t have room for these” stung a bit, I’m celebrating my first rejection.
It’s a step in the right direction.