This feeling is becoming normal.

Recently, I read a book titled “On Writing” by Stephen King. In it, he spoke of how he kept every rejection letter that he received for his writing. Even further, he kept these letters on a spike that protruded from his wall. Not only did he see those letters of “We’re sorry to inform you…” every day, but they acted as a reminder — as motivation. Frankly, I think it’s time I did the same.

As you may have already guessed by now, I’ve been rejected once more. This time I finally expected something great, though. I expected them to fall in love. I expected to swoon them. Instead, I did nothing of the sort.

The last time I was rejected, I took it so personally, so harshly. I had a great moment of “Why am I even trying? I’m obviously not good enough to even be attempting this gig.” Not this time, though. No, this time I cried. This time I was upset that, yet again, someone just couldn’t get on board — someone couldn’t see what I saw. My art was lost in a publisher’s translation, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I was angry.



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