7 minute read
Sweet Rejection *Sweats*
No old friend, continue picking my dreams out from between your fangs. I'll wait here.
Written by Maggie Maize, Illustrated by Krista Miller
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It’s an age-old tale — rejection. You thought you were adequately prepared; you lost your share of school play roles, sports competitions and raffles. Your adults warned you that the beast would look through your window at some point. Well, some point has arrived.
Yeah, yeah, talking about early-stage career failure is as unpleasant as listening to a coworker’s dream from last night. That’s why you’re sharing, because it’s always different 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 you’ll get a callback.” You peep a post titled “Your breakthrough is coming. Hang in there.” Close the tab. Slap that laptop shut.
Perhaps inspirational posts feel like a slap because we’re in the middle of a pandemic that’s weighing on your life. Or maybe because you want everybody to be more vulnerable … It’s also possible you’re just preoccupied with how you’re going to rearrange your website for the fifth day in a row, even though nothing new has been published.
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.
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.
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 the vintage keys. Surely this is a gateway habit. One minute it’s pecking fingers, the next it’s painting the white walls with your spaghetti sauce-stained hands. That thought gets you back on track. Still, Mr. Lefty ring-finger doesn’t take responsibility for his flubs.
“I’d perform better wearing a ring,” Lefty says.
Marriage … you say, “Keep dreaming.” But after a few more blunders — weedeadter, Linkedfin, craigslidt — you track down a lovely promise ring on Etsy. Now put that writing degree to use and craft some vows. Damn it, I promise to get this piece published.
Now try out a new saying. Your catchphrase, “I don’t know what I’m doing,” isn’t helping you transform into the strong main character everyone hopes you’ll be. Give this a go: “My, what shiny teeth you have.” The wolf dissolves into tears. Pity him because that’s your go-to reaction when your family says, “There’s plenty of time to figure it out.” Perhaps “watch, I’ll do it,” will suffice. Of course it doesn’t feel onbrand — your brand is currently depressing.
Ahh … another spam email bearing your favorite words. “These are unprecedented times.” It’s true, but the wolf is living his best life outside your coop, waiting for your next round of chicks to hatch. He whispers that you’d still be jobless and back at home without a pandemic obliterating the market. Your response: “My, what an active imagination you have.”
The clever response goads you to reconnect with your old self. After all, your sixth-grade writing teacher called you an excellent writer. Bless her and how she always overlooked that you spelled writing like “writting.” Blame Lefty. All of the joyful and lopsided words clash with your newfound pessimism.
Come on, rejection can be OK. Sometimes you’re lucky enough to skip a couple of the grieving steps and accept it quickly. Brush the wolf’s fur while you can; braid it if he lets you. Heck, buy the good boy a bed and a round of kibble.
Another plus: you don’t have to update your bio as often because, on paper, you’re the same person as you were at the beginning of the year. And not having a job means people won’t see your new grimace wrinkles or that you started adding exclamation points in your writing to make up for your hollowness.
Yank the string that lights your business mind. Search for the newest “perfect home” for your article and shake off that you thought the last one was, too. Brush off that bitterness in your cover letter. Quick! While the wolf’s full, try to sound charming. Press submit. Remember that the fees make other people’s dreams happen.
Go back to the spreadsheet. Soften the no that’s rounding the bend by picking backup homes. That way, when you’re numb, it’s easier to move forward. What’s this? A sub that said move on if they haven’t responded within six months. Today marks six months and a day. “It’s cool. I can take a hint.” Look over the submission again. What went wrong?
Curses. It was the happy cover letter. How could you have written such smiling prose only 181 days ago? This is how you want to write the next one: “Dear (editor’s name), I’m hoping this piece is up your alley, unlike the other three pubs I tried before you. Please don’t give it a hard pass as well. Thank you for your time.”
Surprise, the sweats are back. You want to prove yourself so badly that you’d help your co-worker interpret their dream. Will that fit on your résumé?
As you become a connoisseur of rejection emails, you appreciate all the ways to say no. There’s the soft let down: “We receive many excellent submissions each reading period, and while yours is one of them, it was not chosen for the upcoming issue. This is not a reflection on your worth as a writer. We hope you keep creating and stay healthy and safe in the coming months.” The basic: “It was a pleasure to read your submission. Unfortunately, we cannot publish your work at this time.” And your absolute favorite: “Thanks for thinking of us for this, but I’m afraid it’s a pass.” That’s the one you’d send; no sense in dragging it out.
JUST IN … another no. One lick from the wolf skins your ego and leaves you shivering. You weren’t expecting this knockback for another two months. The piece jumped from “Received” to “Declined” in Submittable faster than your obsessive checking could catch. Go on, go climb into bed. It’ll be easier to overthink snuggled under your childhood duvet. The other blankets will keep your nest warm while you’re away.
Fall onto Pinterest’s soft lap. Absorb all of the bread, pasta, platform shoes and composting tips. Stop at a quote that’s set over a misty forest line. “If it’s not OK, it’s not the end. — John Lennon.” Close Pinterest.
Melt into the mattress. Remember that this is where Little Red Riding Hood’s wolf ate both her and her grandma. When your wolf compliments your vibrant, sadness-fighting outfit, tell him, “I do this for me, not you.” How’s that for a new saying?
