I never check my mail, but the other day, my friend convinced me to take the five extra minutes to descend to the depths of Beebe Hall to see how many graded quizzes had been bestowed upon me.
I wasn’t disappointed in my expectation of returned literature quizzes. However, I didn’t expect the envelope from an unfamiliar address, bearing my address written in my own handwriting.
I was a bit confused for a moment. Perhaps I was sending mail to myself from the future!
But then I realized it was probably the result of a publication submission I had made in Magazine and Feature Writing last semester.
I didn’t get my hopes up, because I didn’t feel good about really anything I wrote for that class. When I ripped open the envelope, I found the first page of my manuscript accompanied by a message from the magazine editors.
My article had been rejected.
“I knew it!” I laughed, almost triumphant.
I smiled at my rejection letter, happy to have at least received a reply. The editor’s letter mentioned they don’t respond to everyone’s submissions, increasing my appreciation for the yellow slip of paper.
Even though my work didn’t make it into the specific magazine I had pitched to, they had acknowledged me, however slightly–which made me feel like a writer. A legitimate writer, who still doesn’t like freelance, but who might try my hand at it again. A writer, who is currently editing the 492-page manuscript of her debut novel.
I was rejected, but maybe I really do have a chance.
[In other news, my only excuse for my absence is: "How does time pass so quickly?" I can't believe the semester is already almost over. So much is happening, with even more to come. Sorry about that. I'll be working to remedy my noncommittal blogging habits.]