Is there anything sadder than receiving an encouraging rejection, only to send more work and receive a form rejection? Yes, and it is the state of our country. Thank you for giving me a second chance, West Branch. Sorry I messed it up.
Okey-Panky said my story made their final round, but they had to say no.
This was from a series of stories that were a little closer to regular life than I normally write. It's interesting to see what the response is! I don't know if it's a style I'll stick with, but it was something that felt necessary for a while.
Today is Thanksgiving and I'm thankful to have received my rejection from Hedgebrook. 1,779 applications for 40 spots - it's hard to feel bad about not getting that. They said that while I didn't advance to the final round this year, my application resonated with readers. That seems like a tiered rejection? Dunno. In any case, I am full of turkey and already in my pajamas at 8pm and working on a story, so all is well in the world.
The Kenyon Review rejected the story I sent them and Crazyhorse sent an encouraging note.
I feel like there has been an uptick in encouraging notes lately, which has me wondering if my stories have improved or if they're the same but people pay attention to some of the stuff in my bio now. What if they're worse? Here are the feelings of self-doubt that never go away, served up with honesty.
I do, however, have a story in the new issue of New South available for order here. It's about being spooked in the South and alligators and boo hags and ex-boyfriends. I especially love the story by Lindsey Drager also in the issue. So much to admire. So grateful to be included.
G.C. Waldrep sent me some thoughts on the story I submitted to West Branch and I'm absolutely grateful. They didn't want it, but the suggestions are so incredibly helpful.
Both The Southern Review and A Public Space continue to encourage me to send more work along with their rejections. I feel satisfied by this.
Please just let this election be over though. It's causing me to hate everything.
You know what? I'd never submitted a story to The New Yorker. In June, I did, and yesterday I got a rejection. It said the manuscript wasn't right for them "in spite of its evident merit," and I feel like that's a higher tier of rejection than the standard, so I AM 1000% HAPPY ABOUT THAT. I finally submitted work to their slush pile and it wasn't totally buried. I honestly thought it had been rejected without a response because it had been over the 3-month time limit they state on the website, but I loved getting that official rejection. Especially because I remember being a college sophomore who was ENAMORED with a senior who was so discouraged because he'd sent his story to The New Yorker and they'd rejected it, and I THINK I GAVE HIM SYMPATHY. What. That dude kissed me when he had a girlfriend and was "teaching himself Arabic," though I never saw a single piece of evidence of it and still I followed him around like a puppy dog.
Perspective. High-five to my 19-year-old self for sticking with writing and ditching bad news.
The same story - this is the long one that will probably be impossible to place - was also rejected by the Southern Humanities Review. Two in one day! I feel triumphant? No joke.
The Georgia review rejected the story I sent them.
Hayden's Ferry Review encouraged me to send more work.
Fraud syndrome is running rampant this week. The semester is eating me alive.
AGNI didn't want the story I sent them, but it's a long beast of a thing, so I know it'll be hard to place.
The Idaho Review and Black Warrior Review do not want the stories I sent them and Bob Dylan has a Nobel Prize in Literature.