The Publishing Process (Characterize Yourself)
I sat at the window once again, waiting for that letter to come in the mail that I definitely wanted to see. I had submitted my first short story to a magazine about a month ago and I was anxiously awaiting their reply. My friends had loved it, my writing circle members had liked it, and my family was behind me 100%. I was positive that I had hit the nail on the head with this one. I saw the mailman pull up in his Bronco and smiled, my stomach clenching with excitement. He waved to me through the glass of the window as he pulled away and I rushed outside and down the sidewalk, smiling widely. It had to be here! This had to be the day.
I pulled the door down to the mailbox that looked like a little barn and gasped as I saw the letter, laying right on top. I squealed and couldn't wait to get inside to open it, so instead I tore it open right there on the side of the road. I unfolded the letter, my eyes darting to the first line of the actual letter and my stomach dropped. My eyes stopped and I sighed. Guess I hadn't hit the nail on the head. My shoulders drooped and I walked lethargically back up to the house.
I met my mom at the door and shook my head. I wasn't devastated, but the rejection letter had definitely taken a chunk out of my confidence. I handed her the letter to read and then walked over to the office supply cabinet in the office and got out a folder. I'd keep the letter. I was one of those people who became more determined when told no or that I wasn't good enough. I had known that writing would be hard, knew that being published would be difficult. I had just expected rejection letters to come from publishers later one when I had finished my novel, not from a stupid magazine for a simple short story.
I pulled the door down to the mailbox that looked like a little barn and gasped as I saw the letter, laying right on top. I squealed and couldn't wait to get inside to open it, so instead I tore it open right there on the side of the road. I unfolded the letter, my eyes darting to the first line of the actual letter and my stomach dropped. My eyes stopped and I sighed. Guess I hadn't hit the nail on the head. My shoulders drooped and I walked lethargically back up to the house.
I met my mom at the door and shook my head. I wasn't devastated, but the rejection letter had definitely taken a chunk out of my confidence. I handed her the letter to read and then walked over to the office supply cabinet in the office and got out a folder. I'd keep the letter. I was one of those people who became more determined when told no or that I wasn't good enough. I had known that writing would be hard, knew that being published would be difficult. I had just expected rejection letters to come from publishers later one when I had finished my novel, not from a stupid magazine for a simple short story.