Graduations:

It occurs to me that a lot of changes have been happening in my life lately. Some of them are listed below:

1. I am leaving Massachusetts in a month with a degree deeming me the "master" of something.

2. I have three years of teaching experience.

3. I have been receiving some pretty impressive rejection letters.

I would like to concentrate this post on #3.

So, I have received a lot of rejection in my life. I'm not complaining; I think it's good for all parties included: rejection gives those dolling them out a chance to work out their qualms with hurting others' feelings and gives them practice at saying "no" in kind and quick ways. Receiving rejection allows me to work on using it as a way to better myself, my work, and gives my ego a healthy, hard slap in the face.

I've been rejected by women, by universities, by chapbook contests, and by journals of all shapes and sizes. I've been rejected by youth basketball organizations and for grant funding. I've been rejected by Buzz Aldrin.

But let's go back to the lit mags. I've been rejected by the big dogs: The Iowa Review, Lit, The Paris Review, Northwestern Review, Tarpaulin Sky, Ploughshares, Pleadies (twice!), 3rd Bed, Mid-American Review, and Quick Fiction (every month since the beginning of the year!), plus a slew of others. But I've noticed a really pleasant trend with the rejection letters lately: I'm getting better ones! Personalized ones!

When I got rejected from Tarpaulin Sky's chapbook contest the editors wrote a note on the bottom of it stating that they, "really enjoyed my work" and "wished I would continue to submit." Me! They wanted Emily R., specifically and by name, to submit again to their magazine. This is common, a suggestion to "please submit again" as though it is them and not you that is problematic, for lit mags to print in their rejection letters. But the fact that they are hand writing some nice little bit at the end is truly, and without sarcasim, encouraging to me. Previously the letter would be something along the lines of:

Dear Emily,

While we are unable to print your work at this time because we are fresh out of ink and just love your poems minus the large parts we hate, we STRONGLY suggest you consider continual rejection by us in the future.

Love,
Every journal I've submitted work to in the last 3 years

But recently there is this trend of rejection letters with personalized notes at the bottom. Take the one I received yesterday from Mid-American Review. It was typical in its content until I saw the little note at the bottom from their poetry editor which read, "I LOVE the ending of 'Let's Make a Difference, Marie.'" It seems to me that if I wasn't close to getting something accepted, at least closer than I have been in the past with only pre-printed rejections, they wouldn't waste their time telling me that in some way something about some little part of what I wrote tripped their trigger. I just don't envision the poetry editors of major American literary journals hand writing notes to every jackass who thinks they're a poet in America; there's just not enough ink in India for that.

It may seem desperate and sad to write an entire post about rejection from lit journals, as if it is they who determine my writing's worth. Of course they do not. But in the field I presently find myself, where I am post-graduate, I need to continue to publish to have a chance of teaching again in the future. Plus, I am a writer and we have insatiable egos, the kind whose thirst is only quenched by the satisfaction of other people seeing your name in print.

In honor of MAR's compliment and my mention of "fields" in the last paragraph, below you will find my poem, "Let's Make a Difference, Marie."


Let’s Make a Difference, Marie

I read you a poem. You read out loud to me
A letter from the bank. You raise your voice.
My voice was even, disaffected, disinterested,
And held the tone of a read out loud poem.

The cat bites his feet. His feet are garden tools.
I should be cleaning. You are ripping up
The bank letter the way race cars take off.
Later, your nose is on my face; your nose is a

Troubled rose petal. You walk out of the
Room and your nose is with you but your
Cheek is left behind and resting on my
Cheek. You punch holes in papers. You

Stack and I count. We are a team. We are
Together in all of this nose trouble. It smells
in here. Who is the culprit? The cats. The piss

On the tile floor. They should be cleaning
I should be dancing. But I hate dancing
But I like what it represents: freedom, joy,
Carelessness, popularity. I have never been
Popular with those whom I would like to

Be popular. Let’s shoot for that. Let’s be
Popular with highly motivated individuals.
Everyone likes to be the best in their field.
Let’s all purchase different fields.

I hear there’s plenty of room in North
Dakota and I hear there’s a reason there’s
Plenty of room there. We can make it better.
Dance parties. I’ll hate them and call the cops.

ER