It has happened.
The journal I submitted my work to replied to my email. It wasn't good.
The email itself was sweet and optimistic for the future.
At first glance it looks like a personal email, written only for you. It softens the blow, however it's just a stark, polite email sent to all it's failed writers, I'm sure.
I remember reading it thinking 'OK, well that turned out this way' and I felt indifferent about it.
Then I started really thinking about it.
They didn't want my work.
It got worse.
They don't like me, they accept other work - what's wrong with mine? I'm a failure and this writing thing is never going to work.
It started to get personal and very depressing.
I got angry, vowing I would never submit work into that journal again. Even thinking that I would submit into other journals that would accept my work, and I would be a big success and this journal would be regretting not taking my words of amazingness!!!
I can be a bit melodramatic at times.
Last night to say I was upset was an understatement.
I needed to think back to what my lecturers have been saying. Rejection is apart of the writing world.
Everyone (at some point) will have that letter/email saying that the certain publication doesn't want your work - be it a one page poem, or a thousand page novel.
I needed to have a good cry about it (and a good punch up with the punching bag) and get over it.
Which I think I am now.
But there's still one thing bugging me.
This morning I had a look at the email. I opened the link to take me to my poem. I read the first line and stopped.
I hated it. I felt stupid for submitting it, of course they didn't want it, it sucks! I read more and felt like laughing at it - it's that dumb.
But I'm wrong. It's not a bad poem. Yes, it needs to be polished. Things could be different and made better; that's always the case.
Right now I can't even look at my work. I started writing something in the early (really early) hours of the morning in a blur of tears, which I don't dare read back.
Last night I had an epiphany that I was going to polish this rejected poem up and send it off somewhere else - see what happens there.
It might have to wait though - I need allowed time to grieve.
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