Not Chosen
For those of you who've been wondering (all two of you!), I read the names of the new guest columnists in our newspaper today. My name was not among them. I wasn't even notified of my rejection formally, so I still have that feeling of "the pregnancy test says it's negative, but my period hasn't started yet, so maybe it's wrong," even though I know better.
I have been rejected again. And so I think, well, clearly this is a Sign, and not just a simple stop sign. No, this is a "DO NOT ENTER" sign with red flashing lights. I think I might be heading up the wrong direction on the freeway. Why do I keep getting into the car?
So. Fine. (And if you have no idea what I'm talking about . . . where have you been? Along with two hundred other people, I submitted two sample columnns to the local paper to compete for six guest columnist positions.)
It's really not fine at all, of course, because a dramatic girl like me immediately draws conclusions from rejection, ludicrous conclusions, which make reckless sense to me. For example: the newspaper rejects me, so that means I am a horrible writer. The newspaper rejection also means: I am a failure at everything I attempt. After all, my kids are mouthy, my floor is gritty and my scrapbooks are hopelessly neglected. I'm not rich, famous or thin. And my husband has a cold. All of this is obviously my fault and evidence of my failure as a human being.
Stupid newspaper.
(Yes, I know I'm being ridiculous, but this is a personal journal and I reserve the right to be ridiculous. No need to tell me otherwise. Only the unblinking, reptilian part of my brain is responsible for composing this post. The rational Mel will return tomorrow, unless, of course, she decides to take up recreational vodka drinking.)
I have been rejected again. And so I think, well, clearly this is a Sign, and not just a simple stop sign. No, this is a "DO NOT ENTER" sign with red flashing lights. I think I might be heading up the wrong direction on the freeway. Why do I keep getting into the car?
So. Fine. (And if you have no idea what I'm talking about . . . where have you been? Along with two hundred other people, I submitted two sample columnns to the local paper to compete for six guest columnist positions.)
It's really not fine at all, of course, because a dramatic girl like me immediately draws conclusions from rejection, ludicrous conclusions, which make reckless sense to me. For example: the newspaper rejects me, so that means I am a horrible writer. The newspaper rejection also means: I am a failure at everything I attempt. After all, my kids are mouthy, my floor is gritty and my scrapbooks are hopelessly neglected. I'm not rich, famous or thin. And my husband has a cold. All of this is obviously my fault and evidence of my failure as a human being.
Stupid newspaper.
(Yes, I know I'm being ridiculous, but this is a personal journal and I reserve the right to be ridiculous. No need to tell me otherwise. Only the unblinking, reptilian part of my brain is responsible for composing this post. The rational Mel will return tomorrow, unless, of course, she decides to take up recreational vodka drinking.)
posted by Melodee at Sunday, January 23, 2005
5 Comments:
Aah there's that terribly annoying perfectionist plaguing you again! You need to give her a not so pleasant boot in the derriere, out the door of your motherhood and aspiring authorism. (Hey look I made up a new word!) If it's any consolation to you at all I found myself wishin I had written your post from yeaterday, because it was eloquently written and I believe strikes a chord with more people than said people would care to admit.
I've given up on the idea of selling my work, personally. I find that if I write with the expectation of marketing, I write differently, but when I write for myself... well... somehow much to my surprise, many of the people who simply "drop by" my place laud me for being eloquent. Well it's my turn to dish out some praise.
I keep coming back to your blog because you are elegegant, eloquent, insightful, wise, and down to earth. You have an awesome sense of humor that I'm sure your family adores, even when they don't always show their appreciation, and your care and dedication to the well-being of your family is admirable. Your writing talents my dear, are exceptional. For more ego boosting and honest praise feel free to e-mail me, and I will be happy to list the thousand things I love about your writing.
Any other questions, Miss Perfectionist? ;0)
Stupid Blogger... Did you eat my comment? Grrr....
That sucks. I know you really wanted to write for the newspaper. But don't give up the idea, there will be a perfect publication for you to work on someday!
Stupid newspaper.
That stupid newspaper!!they've lost the chance to read something incredibly well written..Mel you write so well they don kno what they're missing..but i'm glad we bloggers get some "fine reading" out here in your blog!
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