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It's odd, after so many rejections, how one unexpectedly can be that last straw, the one that hurts. In those moments, instead of "ain't nothing but a thing," I find myself saying, "Oh, no!"I feel the full brunt of rejection, of not being wanted, again. I feel the submerged pain of that childhood chock-full of such moments. Wasn't this what writing was protecting me from?
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Of course, this too shall pass—and within hours sometimes I'll be writing again, sending things out. These moments, though, confound me. Today is one of those days, a day I feel like I've lost something in the process, a day writing feels as if it is a work of uncreation. It feels as if all has been for naught. As if my faithfulness has been, all along, foolishness. Rats!
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