those bastards

So. That story I submitted last week, The Wastelander? Yeah, rejected. I seriously considered neglecting to mention its failure here, because somehow putting the rejection into words (beyond the ones I received in my inbox this morning) make the whole YOUR STORY BELONGS IN THE ICYTEETH OF HEL so much worse (and so much colder). Also, I can make myself out to be much a better writer than I actually am by never talking about failure. But in the same regard, I become less of a real writer, less of a human writer.

As someone who plays with words, there are a lot of things to lie about. I lie with great passion. Lying is fun! But I won’t lie about failure.

Rejection is a way of life for writers (unless you’re some kind of god/dess). If you aren’t getting rejected, then you aren’t a writer because you obviously aren’t writing anything –and you need written things to be rejected (by a publisher–this does not preclude rejection-by-love-interest).

So, I guess I’ve decided to take rejection as a good sign, or at least a sign of productivity. If I’m getting rejections, then at the very least I know I’m writing and releasing my creatures to do their worst upon the world.

For every rejection send out five pieces more.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.