- I read the rejection letter. They all sound the same, using the exact same words– “I hope you find the right home for your writing. Good luck.” Whatevs.
- I feel bad. Frustrated. And sorry for myself. Poor me. Then… I feel proud. Sure, I got rejected, but I still put my stuff out there. I still gave it a shot. You can’t win if you don’t play.
- I take a breath. I try to remember to keep doing that, over and over.
- I say to the rejection letter: “Screw you. You don’t know what you’re missing. And you won’t make me give up, either.”
- I place the rejection letter on a stack of other rejections. When the stack gets to be
8 12 1520 inches high, I know I’ve suffered enough.
- I sit down and write some more. And some more. And a little more on top of that. No one can stop me, no one. It’s my pleasure. It’s my pain. It’s mine.
- I silently rehearse what I’m going to say to the Academy or Hollywood Foreign Press should I ever be called up to accept an award. It could happen; when is does, I’ll be ready.
- I write some more. I keep a note pad by the toilet so no time is idle.
- I remember that it doesn’t matter if I never sell anything. I still have to write, for my own survival. It’s an addiction, like coffee. Or heroin. For me, it’s more like coffee. But a little like heroin, too.
- Repeat until dead.
How do YOU deal with rejection?