I have received a rejection on the four poems that I sent to The New Yorker. This was not a surprise really.
My immediate thought was, "Ah, well. Se la vie." I'm rather proud of the poems I sent in. I like them quite a lot, but that doesn't mean their suited for that market. Besides, if nothing else, I've learned in the process of writing them, and maybe in a while I'll have a new set of poems that will be even better. That's what that writing process is all about.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't at least a wee bit disappointed. But honestly, it was fun just sending something out to such a prestigious market, knowing that while it floated on the slush pile, I could hold on to that small spark of hope. :)
ETA: I forgot to mention that I already have another market lined up for these poems. So certainly, hope is alive an well.
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