Another rejection. I wracked up quite a few in the last several months. Yet, I still believe I am doing what I am supposed to be doing—writing.
I am a writer.
Some of those rejections come with feedback, but most do not. So I have no idea what about my writing the editors of this or that publication didn’t like. Or what they liked. I will never know.
I know this – those rejections will not deter me. Not again. Not ever again.
I am a writer.
It’s in My DNA
Since I first learned to read, writing has been what I have wanted to do. I wanted to create worlds like the ones I became immersed in. Those imaginary worlds saved me from abuse. I would escape into books, and I could forget that I lived a horrible life. That brief respite was enough to get me through another day.
But I was deterred, discouraged, some may say too easily, back then. So I turned my back on writing. But no more will I deny what I know to be true about myself.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that I turned to write as an outlet as I explored my past and began to heal from the abuse. But, no, I don’t believe that was a coincidence at all.
There Was Light
Turning to look behind me at the darkness I lived through, I could not help but see the light that helped me through those times, writing. And as I dug into that horrible time of my life, I began to write again.
I am a writer.
With that statement comes a lot of rejection. I could not handle rejection back then. Now I see rejection differently. It is not a rejection of me, though my writing is an extension of myself, but of what that publication wants to put out into the world.
My writing has a place in this world. But, for now, that is here in my blog to be enjoyed by those who follow me. Someday, maybe, it will gain a wider audience. But, until then, here is where it will be.
I Am A Writer
The following is my submission for a microfiction challenge to create a story using 250 words or less. Each writer is randomly assigned a genre, an action, and a word. For this challenge, my genre was drama. The action was adjusting a thermostat, and the word was “scan.”
I made it to the second round of the challenge with this piece.
Sarah’s hand runs along the wall, feeling every bumpy imperfection. Her bare feet slide along the cold linoleum. Why didn’t she wear shoes? She should know better. It is always freezing in this place.
The flickering of a nearby light draws Sarah’s attention to an ornate door at the end of the hall. She doesn’t remember that being there before. Intrigued, she pulls her thin bathrobe around her shoulders, continuing towards the door.
As she gets closer, she sees a thermostat on the wall. Aha! Pausing, she reaches out, pushes the lever to the right, and adjusts the thermostat. Instantly, her body flushes with heat. Finally!
Feeling accomplished, she turns toward the door. Reaching out, she hears a voice, “Sarah! C’mon, don’t give up!”
Stopping, Sarah turns to scan the empty corridor as a blinding white light pierces the shadows. Inhaling sharply, she tries to raise her arms but can’t. Adrenaline-fueled panic grips her thrusting her into awareness.
Her eyes fly open. “There you are! You were gone for a bit, but now you are back,” the police officer exclaims. She smiles weakly, appreciating the kindness. Looking down, she feels the gurney’s straps across her body. Looking for answers, she looks around.
Her gaze settles on a group of bystanders. Snippets of their mutterings reach her ears. “Another fucking addict survives.” “She will only throw it away again tomorrow.” “My taxpayer dollars at work.” “They should’ve let her die.”
Sarah looks away, remembering how she got here.
Rejection is extremely hard to handle. I used to not handle rejection well. I would internalize that rejection, and it would make me so angry. Now, I don’t do that anymore. Therapy has helped me. Therapy is the best place to start healing.
I recommend Online-Therapy.*