No old friend, continue picking my dreams out from between your fangs. I’ll wait here. written by Maggie Maize, illustrated by Krista Miller
I
t’s an age-old tale — rejection. You you’ll get a callback.” You peep a post titled thought you were adequately prepared; “Your breakthrough is coming. Hang in there.” you lost your share of school play roles, Close the tab. Slap that laptop shut. sports competitions and raffles. Your adults warned you that the beast would look through Perhaps inspirational posts feel like a slap your window at some point. Well, some point because we’re in the middle of a pandemic has arrived. that’s weighing on your life. Or maybe because you want everybody to be more vulnerable … Yeah, yeah, talking about early-stage career It’s also possible you’re just preoccupied with failure is as unpleasant as listening to a co- how you’re going to rearrange your website worker’s dream from last night. That’s why for the fifth day in a row, even though nothing you’re sharing, because it’s always different new has been published. when it’s your dream, right? Starting out, a couple of nos seem inevitable. It’s easy to stand behind the well-worn “third time’s the charm.” But months and a dozen nos later, you plan your backup moves and wonder if you’re playing right into the wolf’s trap. Your only defense against him is the smell of the stress sweat that leaves you randomly aglow.
You’ve dragged blankets into your workspace, and it’s looking more like a nest every day. Keep sittin’ there like a brightly dressed yet broody chicken, and stare at your submission spreadsheet, which is splattered with red. Throw the beast bits, short pieces. Watch him slurp down shorts, devour description. Hopefully, he’ll fill up before getting a whiff of your favorites. But we’ll get back to him in a bit. For now, you’re on LinkedIn, checking if that newsroom internship you applied to last month is still “actively recruiting.” They are. Good, that’s code for “there’s still hope
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SQUARE 95 • SPRING 2021
Don’t worry, the wolf will behave. He understands that you have to try to make something before he can feast on it.
It’s OK to laugh at yourself. No one will hear. Well, maybe your adults in the next room will, but they’ll only rush in and ask what’s wrong. While they’re lurking in the doorway, show them how you brush your hair now — only in the front, like all your friends with Zoom jobs do. The comparison to other people who found success should convince them you’re back to normal. Face it, rejection has changed you. There’s no point suppressing those stress dreams
where you’re maskless in a crowd, late for work, sharing butterfly kisses with the wolf, or your favorite: pleading your dad to stop watching Fox News. Your brain plays tricks on you while you’re awake, too. It tries to change the “word of the day” email blast into an acceptance note from The New Yorker. And just this morning, you were making headway on a piece about the grime building up on your computer keys when things got weird. You took your childhood ophthalmologist’s advice for the first time and stared at the wall for a good 20 seconds. Any reason for a break, right? The twenty seconds turned into a 20-minute conversation with yourself about if you should paint the wall that red color that plagues your spreadsheet. Snap out of it. No, close Duolingo. You’ve already mastered how to say, “My, what a lovely den you have” in five languages. Just put the phone down! Doomscrolling wedding announcements won’t get you anywhere, either. Try spicing up your routine. Take a step back from reading about COVID parties, convening megachurches, overflowing ICUs, people dying alone and mass graves. Carry your old typewriter outside. Don’t worry, the wolf will behave. He understands that you have to try to make something before he can feast on it. The clunky machine makes you feel like a real writer, and its weight on your lap is comforting. But the fresh air excites your phalanges, and they forsake “home row” and begin pecking
