Of mail and rejection

It's official. It came in the mail today: a fat envelope with my name and address on it, in my own handwriting.  Somehow, that made the news inside that much more personal.

"Dear Tess," it began, "thank you for writing to us at Blah Blah Blah. We love to hear from our readers, and we appreciate your insight.
Thank you so much for your article ideas.... " more blah blah blah meant to make me feel better "... but unfortunately your stories do not suit our editorial needs at this time. We wish you every success..." blah blah blah.

I was rejected once before, but that was just for a story I jotted off quickly for an online fiction journal.  This one came from an actual query with pieces I wrote from the part in me that really wants to be recognized as a writer. I addressed the editor of the magazine in question, and did my best to be enticing, charming, and relevant. I included a self-addressed, stamped envelope and mailed off my hopes and dreams.  Hey!  That means I paid to receive that bad news, darn it all!

Anyway.  I mailed off the package some time ago, and since then we have had Christmas and our crazy post-Christmas move, (there was also a mad trip to the Swedish store and the resultant construction of newly purchased Swedish flat-pack torture devices) so I had almost forgotten about the hopes-and-dreams envelope.

While I am a little disappointed to not be accepted by the Blah Blah Blah people, I knew in my heart of hearts that we're not a good match, they and I. I don't know where I belong as a writer, but I do know I'll find it - or be found by it - eventually.  In the meantime, I've taken this one important step which every writer before me has taken: the submission.  And I've got the official rejection letter to prove it.