in-jected, de-tected, in-spected, ne-glected and re-jected
"Writing is so difficult that I often feel that writers, having had their hell on Earth, will escape punishment hereafter."
- Jessamyn West
So, the Washington Post recently sponsored a humor-memoir contest, no doubt the brainchild of humor columnist Gene Weingarten. The prize was publication in the Post and $1,000.
I didn't win.
And I've pretty much gotten over the fact that I didn't win. I felt pretty good about my entry, and confident - quite probably a little overconfident, given the amount of rejection that is built-in to contests like these, and writing in general, and life, when you really think about it.
And sure, it calls into question most of my presumptions about my writing skill, and more generally my purpose in this world, and to some extent even my core beliefs about who I am, not to mention the judgment of authors and comedy professionals I used to respect.
And yes, it's particularly disappointing given how hard I worked - quite probably a little too hard, given the odds and the relative triviality of this silly contest, compared to, say, my 401(k) plan or Libyan unrest - on my entry, taking the time to write and edit three totally different essays even though I knew I could only submit one of them. And I pestered more than a half-dozen friends to give me their feedback, all of it sincerely appreciated but retrospectively rather embarrassing.
After all that, not winning - not even hearing so much as an acknowledgement or rejection letter or even a spare curse word, actually - sucks. But since I don't want all that work to have been for nothing, I'll post those three drafts here over the next few days. My Facebook feed isn’t the Washington Post Magazine or anything, but it seems more likely to still be around in five years.
I won't ask anyone to give me $1,000, but if any of my fellow Washingtonians happen to see Gene Weingarten on the street, you could do me a solid and give him a wedgie for me, and we'll see if he thinks that's funny.
The Entries:
3. Now You’re Cooking
2. Love in the Wings
1. Falling ‘n’ Love
- Jessamyn West
So, the Washington Post recently sponsored a humor-memoir contest, no doubt the brainchild of humor columnist Gene Weingarten. The prize was publication in the Post and $1,000.
I didn't win.
And I've pretty much gotten over the fact that I didn't win. I felt pretty good about my entry, and confident - quite probably a little overconfident, given the amount of rejection that is built-in to contests like these, and writing in general, and life, when you really think about it.
And sure, it calls into question most of my presumptions about my writing skill, and more generally my purpose in this world, and to some extent even my core beliefs about who I am, not to mention the judgment of authors and comedy professionals I used to respect.
And yes, it's particularly disappointing given how hard I worked - quite probably a little too hard, given the odds and the relative triviality of this silly contest, compared to, say, my 401(k) plan or Libyan unrest - on my entry, taking the time to write and edit three totally different essays even though I knew I could only submit one of them. And I pestered more than a half-dozen friends to give me their feedback, all of it sincerely appreciated but retrospectively rather embarrassing.
After all that, not winning - not even hearing so much as an acknowledgement or rejection letter or even a spare curse word, actually - sucks. But since I don't want all that work to have been for nothing, I'll post those three drafts here over the next few days. My Facebook feed isn’t the Washington Post Magazine or anything, but it seems more likely to still be around in five years.
I won't ask anyone to give me $1,000, but if any of my fellow Washingtonians happen to see Gene Weingarten on the street, you could do me a solid and give him a wedgie for me, and we'll see if he thinks that's funny.
The Entries:
3. Now You’re Cooking
2. Love in the Wings
1. Falling ‘n’ Love