Hope's rebirth, maybe

[eimarra]

Ellsea recently posted on her blog about Rejection: the death of hope. I replied over there, saying in part:

I always find it hardest when I really believe in a story and think that it has a shot. For example, the first year I submitted to the PARSEC short story contest (on a whim, almost, not expecting much), I got third place. When I didn’t even place the next two years, it hurt. (And really hurt when a friend won, though I was happy for her, too.) Now I’m waiting for the results of this year’s contest . . .

Today, of course, I got the results. Two stories submitted, neither of them placed. Again.

I only got the details for one of the stories; it didn't even make the short list. I seem to be getting worse at this instead of better. I already know what next year's theme is going to be ("The Color of Silence"), but right now, I don't know if I'll even bother trying. Whether I'm getting worse or the competition's getting better doesn't really matter, does it? What matters is that this particular brick wall is winning, and I just pulled my head away with a pulped-in section of skull and blood leaking out.

Now, having vented, I reconsider. Scalzi's one of the judges for next year. He liked "Rise of Kencha"; he had it short-listed for the issue of Subterranean he guest-edited, even though he eventually decided against it. Maybe I have a shot if I can get past the screeners. I've always said I don't do the rejecting of my stories; that's the editors' job. Not writing and not submitting -- those aren't my jobs.

Probably later this week, I'll look at "Family Man" with the feedback I got and do another edit pass on it, using some of the things I've picked up from reading Fire In Fiction by Maass. Then out the door it goes again. Because my job is to write and submit.

Comments

[slobbit.livejournal.com]

Hmm. You know, I wonder if I'm better off that I stepped away from the wall before I was bloody.

Sometimes . . . it's like a puissance wall, and it teases me.

Sometimes . . . most-times, it's unleapable, unscalable, unassailable.

*offers a pillow*

[eimarra]

Thanks.

What keeps me going is knowing that not only have others made it through the walls, but I have in other times and places. I had three stories that saw print last year. Of course, they were all written and submitted the year before, but that's immaterial. But I know I can write stories people think are worth buying.

Still very frustrating.

*takes pillow*

[doc-lemming.livejournal.com]

See, my only sales were from before the brain tumor. So in my darker moments I speculate that they took my creativity and excellence out with the tumor....

But hope springs eternal...it's just that despair sits on it sometimes.

[eimarra]

Ouch! Hugs, and good luck with more sales.

At times, I wonder if I suffered some minor brain disfunction when I had my accident. Not related to my writing, since that's all post-accident, but I was a couple of hours at least before they matched my blood type and gave me anything. I wound up with, I think, 9 units of blood during the course of the operation when I finally got in for an operation. So I ponder oxygen deprivation and personality changes and whether anyone would tell me if they noticed something.

What I come back to is that if there was damage, it doesn't matter. I am who I am now, and have to live with me and do the best I can.

I'm sure your creativity and excellence are still there. You may just have to poke a little deeper and find new routes to them. The brain is an amazingly flexible organ.

Rejection sucks

[ellsea.wordpress.com (from livejournal.com)]

Ouch! Sorry to hear neither story placed: I think you're right - it is harder when you think you've got a good match rather than the 'hit and hope' method - it's a double whammy when you're proved wrong.

Have a bandage for the head, and I guess we have to wear our wounds with pride & find the courage, defiance or sheer cussedness to keep on at it until something sticks :)

Re: Rejection sucks

[eimarra]

Thanks. I suppose I can cope with having a few word wounds. I live with my physical ones. Sheer cussedness I have in spades. :-D