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When I began writing in 2007, the very first piece I submitted was accepted to an anthology with a name for submissions for illness-themed items. Not solely was it accepted, however on the writing middle the place I took the memoir class wherein I crafted the piece, two of the instructors had their essays accepted as effectively. So, the writing middle determined to carry a studying. It was a snowy February night time and I pictured an empty room, however individuals saved pouring in till all of the seats have been stuffed. After I examine my anorexia, I used to be surrounded by ladies from the viewers wanting to inform me about their very own consuming issues or that of their kids.
Then the rejections began coming. They weren’t all rejections. Just the bulk. I accepted the rejections as a solution to construct a thicker pores and skin. I’d all the time been informed I used to be too delicate, that my tears got here too simply, that I cowered within the face of confrontation.
Fifteen years later, my pores and skin is as thick as an elephant’s conceal. Until this yr, when it cracked.
I wrote a chunk titled “Measuring Sanity.” Some of my associates learn it and gave it rave opinions. Not simply because they’re my associates. These are individuals I belief to be trustworthy with me about my writing. I submitted my “Measuring Sanity” to a revered literary journal the place the theme is sickness and therapeutic (not the identical one as in 2007). The piece received rejected, however the editors of this specific journal have a follow the place if the vote was shut, they lengthen the courtesy of offering the notes made by their editorial board about it, as soon as they end their manufacturing. They additionally invited me to resubmit the piece if I wished to revise it based mostly on the editorial board’s notes.
It’s a protracted wait as they solely publish twice a yr — within the Spring and the Fall. I labored diligently on revising “Measuring Sanity.” I didn’t revise it blindly, taking all their options. I took what I assumed made sense and revised it in response to my very own fashion and artistic internal voice.
I resubmitted it a couple of month in the past. Yesterday “Measuring Sanity” was rejected once more and I received an an identical e-mail, extending me the courtesy of offering the notes made by their editorial board about it, as soon as they end their manufacturing.
It wouldn’t be so irritating, however that is a kind of one-hit-wonder instances because the very first piece I submitted to them in 2015, titled “Eight Months After a Suicide Attempt,” was accepted and I haven’t been capable of crack the code since.
I haven’t made up my thoughts if I’m going to revise and resubmit “Measuring Sanity” but a 3rd time. Part of it is determined by what the notes say. I’d attempt submitting it elsewhere and see what occurs.
Typically I can take the rejection of my work in stride. The rejections of this one piece are attending to me. I’m taking them personally and I’m beginning to really feel as if I can’t get this proper, no matter how onerous I attempt. And it doesn’t really feel good. If I don’t attempt once more, I’ll really feel as if I’m giving up, but when I do attempt once more and get rejected I’ll really feel as if I got here off as determined.
I’ve a choice to make. But first I wish to see their notes.
Thanks for studying. Andrea
Source: © Andrea Rosenhaft