Rejection-reschmection...

Paper your walls with them. Hoard them in a big envelope. I do. I have one in front of me right now from the New Yorker (no less) that has a hand scrawled "Sorry to disappoint and thanks." And one from Poetry (no less) on which some kind rejecting reader softened the blow by singling out one of the poems and underlining like this: "We appreciate your kindness in offering this work and your interest in Poetry."



Both are dated 1995. From the first round of submissions I sent out after moving to New York. From that same group I got a hand-written letter from J. D. McClatchy--I was sure he had me mixed up with somebody else. I am so (wincingly) amused by these now, that I pull them out to read them every once in a while. I post a rotating gallery above my desk.



None of those poems was ever published. By the way.



Having been on both ends of such editorial exchanges (as have Jordan & Dan), there's no way to make giving or receiving rejection painless.



However, and I can't explain this, forcing myself to revel in rejection makes me feel better. I know when I send a form rejection from SSP or from LIT, I certainly don't have a bad opinion of the intended recipient. Sometimes I even like the work. Jus' how it goes. But I still have to remind myself of this all the time.



And then there are the days you get the GOOD news. Hooray!



Why is it comforting to know other people doubt themselves like this too? For this solace, gentleman, I thank you.



May I quote (or paraphrase) Harry Mathews again, since Jordan has so soothingly quoted Kenneth Koch? We shouldn't write for satisfaction, because we won't find it. We should write for pleasure. And the pleasure is in the act of writing, not the acclaim we get for it.



When that surprising, so right line appears on the page and you momentarily wonder where it came from and then shake your head and realize you wrote it. That's it.



Yeah. Still.