Rejection Slip Blues

“Thank you for your recent submission.

We enjoyed reading it.

“It went quite far in the selection process.

Unfortunately, not far enough.

We must report that

You did not make the final cut.

“We’re sorry [though not much, since]

The number of submissions we receive

Means we don’t have to give a f***.

“We really did enjoy your work –

Just not enough.”

Fifty years on and back to rejection slips. Only now, they're more likely rejection emails – sort of like breaking up by Post-it Note. Much better for the environment, if no better at all for the ego. But then, who really needs an ego anyway?

You'd think it would get easier with practice  - and the wisdom of age - getting rejected. But it doesn't. No matter how glibly you tell yourself: "I don't care what they think"; "Just what I expected"; "I didn't want to be in their magazine anyway," they're lies. All lies. And you're not nearly a good enough liar to fool yourself into believing them.

"Develop a thick skin," they say. How thick they are to suggest it. Would rhinoceros hide be thick enough? Even it can’t bounce the bullets off when the big game hunters – we writers call them EDITORS – come gunning?

I gave you the best words of my life, and you were happy to print them - until someone with better syntax came a along – and, no doubt, younger and cooler too). Don't worry. Now you won't have Nixon - ur, I mean me - to kick around with your edits anymore. No more of my golden sentences for you to butcher with cross out and red pens anymore. I still have my pride - though not much. You've seen to that.

Call me petty if you wish (or, here’s a thesaurus if that’s too trite), but sometimes I Google you to see if you’re even still alive after all these years. And, Ah, ha! Sometimes you're not! DEAD now - and not a moment too soon. See where all your smug editor-speak got you. Your "wish we could offer you hope of a writing career, but ..." (I read between the lines). And what of your "splendid, exciting publication" (I suggest you read between the lines)? Folded long ago. Now don't you wish you'd published me, and had a shot at surviving? Because I'm still here - naughty, naughty, naughty - even though just barely. STILL HERE - WRITING! Not publishing, thank you very much , Editors, but that's so last century anyway. Because I have Facebook and Substack now. Why do I need YOU?!