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Once 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 during which 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 evening and I pictured an empty room, however folks stored pouring in till all of the seats had been crammed. 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 youngsters.
Then the rejections began coming. They weren’t all rejections. Simply the bulk. I accepted the rejections as a strategy to construct a thicker pores and skin. I’d at all times been advised 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 cover. Till this yr, when it cracked.
I wrote a bit titled “Measuring Sanity.” A few of my mates learn it and gave it rave critiques. Not simply because they’re my mates. These are folks I belief to be sincere 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 acquired rejected, however the editors of this explicit journal have a observe 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. In addition they invited me to resubmit the piece if I needed to revise it based mostly on the editorial board’s notes.
It’s an extended 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 believed made sense and revised it in accordance with my very own type and artistic internal voice.
I resubmitted it a few month in the past. Yesterday “Measuring Sanity” was rejected once more and I acquired an similar 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 circumstances because the very first piece I submitted to them in 2015, titled “Eight Months After a Suicide Try,” was accepted and I haven’t been in a position to 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. A part of it is determined by what the notes say. I would strive submitting it elsewhere and see what occurs.
Usually 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 strive. And it doesn’t really feel good. If I don’t strive once more, I’ll really feel as if I’m giving up, but when I do strive once more and get rejected I’ll really feel as if I got here off as determined.
I’ve a call to make. However first I wish to see their notes.
Thanks for studying. Andrea
Supply: © Andrea Rosenhaft