Swirling head

A picture of a writer rejected:

I am coming down to the sad, quiet weeping of the the reality of being rejected as a writer, the sadness swirling inside the soul inside the place where the pleasant solar plexus should radiate the joy of life. Oscillating the choppy waters of feeling bad and how to better respond, but I don’t. My would-be books are on the backburner now–I will not touch them–they are not good enough as the rejection has shown. No, not at all. I will not do them. In the head space, a nagging thought about to interrupt the comfortability of giving up. I shouldn’t submit again, but maybe I will. Ha. I don’t feel like it…

In months if not weeks, maybe days, I will be back, when the moment arises.

Sent it, anyway

I think a couple of pieces of mine that were rejected two months ago weren’t that strong anyway. A rejection confirmed my sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t quite right about the submission. As I was about to submit the pieces, they weren’t as good as they should have been. So, why did I submit the pieces? Simply because one tries to see the pieces find a publisher, so one submits, one hopes, one tries in the end, no matter what it may sound like. In the moment, it’s good enough.

Submit everything or only the best?

Rejection seldom takes a writer well, but taking it on the chin can be enlightening. Personally, I would like to see all of my articles etc. published. But this is unrealistic. One, my article may be inappropriate for the readers although on its own merits stands. Two, not everything of mine should be published. Why? Simply because some of my pieces may be better than the others. So, when something is rejected, it’s not as good as the other pieces.

Week in

This week: The beginning of the week started with a rejection slip. Enough said, but it started the week with a bang. Then, it got quiet because I’m in a phase of writing that is quietly pondering. So while I blog a film review, a poem here or there, other things are on my radar that I’m silently working on slowly but surely. The quiet voice of the “muse” as they call inspiration stirs in the sounds of silence.

The last word on it

Yesterday I wanted to try something different, in terms of submitting to a publisher, who has accepted two, but also rejected quite a few other submissions of mine. But I recalled today that the publisher had told me a little while ago that they wanted submissions based on the harder passages. Only those passages. Let me keep on going with that then…