I've been a bit under the weather of late. Fighting both a stomach virus and some long-running fatigue. I haven't been, as I usually am, bursting with energy. Perhaps the world is too much with me. Maybe I'm worried about my wife who has been afflicted with a bit of hearing loss. Or maybe the actual prospect of Newt Gingrich as president has so frightened me that I've crawled under a metaphorical rock.
But yesterday, I had a good day.
I was rejected three times.
Once, a short story I had written was turned down from a prestigious small press. That was followed by two other exogenous rejections.
Rejection, no matter how used to it you are, no matter how 'long the shot,' no matter how
trivial is never easy to take. It's no fun.
However, there is something reassuringly life-affirming about it.
It means you have tried something.
It means you put your ass out there.
It means you're challenging yourself.
That's only my point of view, of course.
You can reject it.