I Regret to Inform You

I just received a short story rejection from a literary magazine that I adore. This is the third story they have rejected and at this point, I’m determined more than dejected—which wasn’t always the case. Three years ago this would crush me. Rejection is a hard thing to get used to, at least, it was for me. (I’m rather sensitive and fairly uptight.) A core event in my career was when I changed what rejection meant to me; I was able to change it from something that gnawed at my confidence in my writing into something I did for my writing.
When you think about it, rejection is something quite simple, but it easily holds magnitudes. Rejection is part of it. We need it. Writing isn’t about easy, or shortcuts. So why would readying the project for the world be any different? Writing is a labor of love, a result of obsessive behavior. I love it, and it is absolutely me. I wouldn’t choose another profession, not in a million years—well, actually, professional coffee drinking is something I’d like to explore—but, some days it doesn’t come easy.
This a big year for me. This is the year that I transition from being a part-time writer to a full-time writer. It has been quite a journey so far, and honestly, I’m still in the thick of it at the moment. Something I release I’m lucky for. I find it is important to be aware of the phase we are in because everything is just that. A phase, a fleeting period of time, a memory in the making.
I have been scribbling down made up stories since the third grade. That was a big year in my life. My mom had attempted to commit suicide for the first time, and my father detached from reality, kind of forever—that was, at least, a markable point at the start of his decline. But in reality, the true cause probably far outdates me. It was also the year that I read Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson. That was the very first time a book left me breathless. I knew that I wanted to make people feel that way with stories I made up. So, that was me, the girl that knew exactly what she wanted to do before age nine. This was, of course, a bittersweet pebble thrown in my life pretty early on.
School was was difficult for me, well that is every other subject than English classes.
Somehow knowing that I wanted to experience life and write about it made doing time in my dysfunctional housed both easier and impossible. I started reading more and writing more after that point. It was a way to escape my reality. It worked, it got me through till I was ready to leave. Joining characters on their journey, helped give me strength and hope, whether it was reading about them or creating them.
Now, that is all behind me, and I have a healthy family of my own. Writing became my career and no longer a tool or a hobby (Even though it’s still sometimes are those things.) I’ve learned to develop a different relationship with my writing. I would sell it short if I said my writing is less personal to me now, that’s not it all, but my expectations of what each piece means. Keeping my readers in mind helps me separate what I write for me and what I write for others. I found it important to keep both going.

2 thoughts on “I Regret to Inform You

  1. Jayme, I’m enjoying your writing. I too have been writing since I was younger, but I did not have the crazy, mixed up whirlwind of a childhood you described. Writing happens to be a wonderful outlet and it is fantastic that you figured that out at such an early age. Best to you and future publishing contracts.
    T L Henry

    Liked by 1 person

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