Don't Call Us...

Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of rejection. Not since losing the 4th grade spelling bee on the word “tongue” have I felt so…inadequate. I worked on some submissions for these random online freelance writing things this weekend. Yeah, because writing a blog every night just isn’t enough, apparently. I guess I just like the whole “school-y” aspect of it. You know? Writing for a grade or something. That’s probably why I’m not taking the rejections so seriously. I don’t need to work on more writing, but I just kind of want to. I already love writing a blog, and I love that very awesome, yet pseudo-uncomfortable, high when someone I hardly know is like “Oh my God! I love your blog!” It’s kind of like someone reading your diary and being like “Hey, I read it and I liked it. Your shortcomings and unnatural love for making yourself sound like an idiot are really pleasurable to read.” So, I guess that’s why I’m trying to get me some more of that.

Okay, so my first few submissions didn’t go well. For the first one, I got some picture prompt. I was supposed to look at the picture, and write like 100 words about it. My humor doesn’t translate well in that short of space. So, the picture was of a girls fingers hanging on to the sides of a rowboat. I thought it would be positively hilarious to write a quick story about a girl who had to pee in the lake. I submitted it, crossed my arms and sat back to enjoy the acclaim. Unfortunately, after rereading it a couple minutes later, I realized that instead of being funny, it came off gross. Perverted almost. I laughed all over again when I read the “Thanks but not thanks” email from them, because I couldn’t help but imagine some dude reading that and being like “Uh, is this chick serious?”

Then a couple automated rejections later, I found a place that I really thought I had a chance at. I pasted in one of my blog posts under “Writing Samples“, and then really let my hair down in the “Experience” section. I wrote about my college degree in English, my focus on writing, and then ended it with a mockingly elaborate recollection of writing a poem about my grandma in 4th grade, which was chosen to be read in front of the whole school. It seemed super funny at the time. Perfect. You know? Like WHO would write about something from 4th grade under Experience in Writing? No one! Because 1) That’s not actual experience, and 2) it’s NOT ACTUAL EXPERIENCE. So I spent the next 5 blissful minutes laughing at myself, thinking of how funny I think I am, when I got a response from the organization. Apparently, in the time it took me to pat myself on the back, they had read it and been like “Good lord no. Send this person a rejection letter a.s.a.p.” So that rejection was a little hurtful. A little. I found the immediacy of the rejection and vague explanation of my insufficient writing experience a little funny, though.

So I started a new label in my Gmail for all the letters I get from people who don‘t quite appreciate my potty humor and need to sell myself short: “FAN” LETTERS. It’s just a titch less pathetic than “REJECTIONS”. And despite the fact that I’ve been using that label more frequently than I’d like to lately, it’s kind of comforting. It’s like I’m back in school, and I’ve spent like 5 minutes studying for an exam. I mean, do I really expect NOT to get an F? Silly rabbit. Plus, this all fits very nicely into my plan of being a struggling writer. Yup. Ever since like 5th grade, I’ve had a very specific life goal. Struggling Writer. Not an actual writer, or a successful writer. Nope, I wanted the very romantic version. The late nights writing, the jotting down overly emotional thoughts on scraps of paper and then lighting them on fire, the laughing crying over a typewriter - yes, a typewriter - and the constant rejection letters. It’s all a part of the dream, people.

I really like that I’m not at the totally BITTER phase of this writing process (yet). You know, the hurling the computer across the room after getting another “Thanks but no thanks” email. The cursing of names, the screaming at the injustice of a world that doesn’t appreciate my style yet. That part is all so cliché, and very UNromantic. Sheesh, it’s not like I’m Van Gogh or something. I write about how much I hate Angelina Jolie and what I really think about vanity plates. Not exactly Macbeth, folks.

Oh well, the Fan Letter folder is far from full. And until I get more rejections than spam and J.Crew newsletters, I’ll count myself lucky to have no fear of rejection. After that, though, watch out for flying laptops.