It’s not that it hurts so horribly, getting a rejection, or a “decline,” which I think is a bit softer, but it does sting a tiny bit. I appreciate the kindness of the letters I have received so far, and there have been only three, so it’s not like I am racking up tons of “NO”s just yet, but I know it’s coming. I will inevitably have a huge email folder overflowing with gentle rejections. Hopefully those will be semi-balanced by a handful of “YES”s. I believe they will. Eventually. The doors are not closed to me forever. And there are many doors from which to choose.

Finding the right fit for my writing is one of the most difficult parts of this process. There are so. many. journals. Some have been around for decades, others are new and eager to discover new authors. I have no vanity about where I am published. I’m happy to try whatever feels right. While it would be nice to have a “recognizable name” on my list of credits, that is not why I am doing this. And that is something I need to remember. It’s easy to get caught up in the process of submitting, revising, submitting, revising, submitting. It’s easy to focus on where I should plant my flag. It’s easy to read short stories by others who are published and say, yes that is something like me. Or no, that is nothing like me. Or, how in the hell did that get published? Or, how can I ever write that well? I sometimes have to remind myself that I am doing this–the writing part–because I love it. It makes me feel whole. It is not helpful to compare my writing to that of anyone else’s. And most of the time I am good at pushing those thoughts out of my head, but they are sneaky. A writer will produce a particularly gorgeous sentence or paragraph and I think, damn, I wish I’d written that. Could I have written that? No, of course not. It did not come from my brain. What are the odds of the exact same sentence, phrase, or paragraph coming from more than one person’s brain? I mean okay, if it’s something like, “I ate dinner,” or “Life is hard,” then sure. But if it’s something like, “The nose on that man reminds me of a ski slope I crashed on a few years ago,” or “It’s best to check your vegetables halfway through roasting to make sure you’re not turning them into shriveled bits of carbon,” it’s unlikely anyone else would write those exact same words in that exact same order. I don’t know the odds. I’m not a statistician. I studied theater and anthropology. The point is, we each have our own voice. Part of this process is not only finding that voice, but embracing it. Loving it. Finding comfort and challenge and inspiration in it.

I keep writing a new short story every week, more or less, so I don’t have a lot of time for more revisions and more submissions, but that’s okay. I don’t want to get too caught up in that aspect of being a writer. It’s important, of course, and it is a goal, but it’s not what drives me. I suppose it’s different for everyone, but for me the most important part is just doing it–every day, even if I feel distracted or frustrated or if Shuri cat is crawling all over me and I have to type with one hand. It’s worth it.