sd gross
07-01-2008, 04:46 PM
REJECTION II
I would like to thank all those kind (or curious) enough to take the time and energy to peruse my earlier "Rejection" post. And my heartfelt gratitude goes out especially to those who responded in writing - with thoughtfulness, compassion, wisdom, and occasionally, with banality and a modicum of schadenfreude. The".410, all loaded with lead" again sits in the glove box of my friend Bobby's Buick 6, where it's programmed to explode in the face of whomever steals his car.
Perseverance furthers (if it doesn't kill you first), and with all the encouragement I got, I continued to badger editors with what I believed to be significant little gems I've been forced to unload, in order to make room for more strings of specious syntax.
And then, (who knows what created the fissure?), one day I managed to punch a hole in the impenetrable Levee of Rejection, and the replies began to seep through. A modest trickle at first, tiny candles bending their waif-like sparks against a hurricane of indifference, but their flickering fragility clung to life. The envelopes in my P.O. box began to grow noticeably chubbier, laden with suggestions, words of encouragement, positive signs such as spelling my name correctly on hand-addressed envelopes. The flow increased, the replies grew more courteous, the odd waiver would float ghost-like in the air above my head begging to be captured and dutifully signed. Hints of compensation, thin echoes of - I hate to say it - eagerness, verbal back-thumpings admonishing me to 'not hold back', to allow the juices of creativity to flow freely.
The rift in my imagined levee continued to broaden, until I found (smugly, I'll admit) with some regularity that the Postmaster was leaving little yellow cards in my box advising me I had "excessive mail" - too much to squeeze into my box! Admittedly, I would have preferred they call it "excess" mail, rather than deigning to judge the increased volume "excessive". Can you see the difference?
One morning I approached the Post Office feeling as cocky as I'd generally permit myself to feel, when I received a request - more like a demand - and discovered my joy was tainted with annoyance. As my sphere of acceptance grew, I began to feel less and less excited - too much candy can (and will) upset your digestive system.
I began to feel more and more like the owner of a strip joint who finds he can't get an erection anymore. The Thrill was gone. Before long, as Captain of my Destiny, I willed my little ship to tack off in a new direction. I found myself resistant to complying with the mounting flood of requests.
At first, I'd politely explain I was drained, exhausted, overdone, almost burned out. It wasn't that I couldn't come up with new material - I just no longer felt I needed to. Self-satisfaction at having turned it all around, seemed reward enough. But then the editors grew more and more persistent - and much more personal. It wasn't a matter of "Glory" I'd explain, and Fame had always felt self-deprecating and too burdensome to schlep around with all my other 'baggage'. It didn't add to the quality of my life - it clogged my visceral being, slowed me down, clouded my spirit in a murky, unwholesome fog. Increasingly, I'd resent being compelled to reply to these people. Saying "no" is never fun - and like a malignancy it seemed redolent with decay, and made me too sharply aware of my own literary limitations and Mortality.
So I went to the dog-eared cabinet wherein lived years of Rejection notices I hadn't allowed myself to toss out, and I began to send random notes back to people who had, in the past rejected me. Impersonal, contrite, dehumanizing, ugly little rejection slips. It didn't matter from whence they came - they all had the same dissonant tone - they all said the same thing: "Fuck off Buddy - we can't be bothered".
Sending them back gave me much satisfaction. But the request for material has steadily increased. And now, one publisher would like to take all my rejection slips and make them the focus of a new book!
Sometimes, I feel, no matter how candid you are with people, you just can't win.:evg:
I would like to thank all those kind (or curious) enough to take the time and energy to peruse my earlier "Rejection" post. And my heartfelt gratitude goes out especially to those who responded in writing - with thoughtfulness, compassion, wisdom, and occasionally, with banality and a modicum of schadenfreude. The".410, all loaded with lead" again sits in the glove box of my friend Bobby's Buick 6, where it's programmed to explode in the face of whomever steals his car.
Perseverance furthers (if it doesn't kill you first), and with all the encouragement I got, I continued to badger editors with what I believed to be significant little gems I've been forced to unload, in order to make room for more strings of specious syntax.
And then, (who knows what created the fissure?), one day I managed to punch a hole in the impenetrable Levee of Rejection, and the replies began to seep through. A modest trickle at first, tiny candles bending their waif-like sparks against a hurricane of indifference, but their flickering fragility clung to life. The envelopes in my P.O. box began to grow noticeably chubbier, laden with suggestions, words of encouragement, positive signs such as spelling my name correctly on hand-addressed envelopes. The flow increased, the replies grew more courteous, the odd waiver would float ghost-like in the air above my head begging to be captured and dutifully signed. Hints of compensation, thin echoes of - I hate to say it - eagerness, verbal back-thumpings admonishing me to 'not hold back', to allow the juices of creativity to flow freely.
The rift in my imagined levee continued to broaden, until I found (smugly, I'll admit) with some regularity that the Postmaster was leaving little yellow cards in my box advising me I had "excessive mail" - too much to squeeze into my box! Admittedly, I would have preferred they call it "excess" mail, rather than deigning to judge the increased volume "excessive". Can you see the difference?
One morning I approached the Post Office feeling as cocky as I'd generally permit myself to feel, when I received a request - more like a demand - and discovered my joy was tainted with annoyance. As my sphere of acceptance grew, I began to feel less and less excited - too much candy can (and will) upset your digestive system.
I began to feel more and more like the owner of a strip joint who finds he can't get an erection anymore. The Thrill was gone. Before long, as Captain of my Destiny, I willed my little ship to tack off in a new direction. I found myself resistant to complying with the mounting flood of requests.
At first, I'd politely explain I was drained, exhausted, overdone, almost burned out. It wasn't that I couldn't come up with new material - I just no longer felt I needed to. Self-satisfaction at having turned it all around, seemed reward enough. But then the editors grew more and more persistent - and much more personal. It wasn't a matter of "Glory" I'd explain, and Fame had always felt self-deprecating and too burdensome to schlep around with all my other 'baggage'. It didn't add to the quality of my life - it clogged my visceral being, slowed me down, clouded my spirit in a murky, unwholesome fog. Increasingly, I'd resent being compelled to reply to these people. Saying "no" is never fun - and like a malignancy it seemed redolent with decay, and made me too sharply aware of my own literary limitations and Mortality.
So I went to the dog-eared cabinet wherein lived years of Rejection notices I hadn't allowed myself to toss out, and I began to send random notes back to people who had, in the past rejected me. Impersonal, contrite, dehumanizing, ugly little rejection slips. It didn't matter from whence they came - they all had the same dissonant tone - they all said the same thing: "Fuck off Buddy - we can't be bothered".
Sending them back gave me much satisfaction. But the request for material has steadily increased. And now, one publisher would like to take all my rejection slips and make them the focus of a new book!
Sometimes, I feel, no matter how candid you are with people, you just can't win.:evg: