Life is about ideas bursting forward.
Creativity being called out from the depths of despairity to bring light to life. About possibility. Sometimes this creative power catches like a fire and burns through our souls and like an hot ember flies away until it can burn itself deeply into someone else's heart. And it continues until a forest fire is raging, ravaging and destroying anything in its path just so we can absorb its terrifying power and beauty.
Other times, the flame barely flickers before it blows itself out.
Rejection is part of a writers life.
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You accept the rejection, in a weird way it almost serves as a badge of honor. Getting a rejection letter makes you feel part of the club, part of a small world, it makes you feel like you are so close to becoming who you think you really are.
I cannot speak for every writer but for me rejection challenges me. It mocks me. It forces me to keep going, to write more, to proofread twice, to ignore mundane words and cliched storylines. It fuels me when I want to stop.
But, it sucks too.
I know rejection is not personal, but it feels personal and for a person that trusts her feelings, it gets hard to ignore them.
What is worse is when your writing finally gets accepted, when someone validates your writing then for unforseen circumstances you are informed that your writing will not be published because the project was canceled.
Which that happens.
But it sucks.
I had a hard time bringing myself to tell people that I would not be published after all, that it did not work out. I felt so foolish. I felt like I had somehow deceived them or worse, myself, in believing I was someone worth reading when in reality I was not.
Moments, like being almost published then not, make me want to stop writing at times. Take a moment to reevaluate if me devoting a lot of my spare time to scribbling, typing and staying up late to get in a few good edits and rewrites in are worth it. I wonder if challenges like NaNoWriMo is worth it and if I should continue.
I wonder if there is anything valuable in my writing or if getting published is ever going to happen. Maybe it is like a slapstick comedy where one person leaves the room as the other walks in and they are searching for one another and it continues for a while then they finally collide when they are about to give up.
Maybe I just haven't found my collision yet.
I am one of those late bloomers, one of the shy ones, one of the silly ones who looked at her talent and said, but someone else is better.
It took me a long time to realize there will always be someone better. But that does not discount or discredit any value or worth that I have of my own. That does not mean any idea, poem, story or art I create is worthless. It does not matter if someone is published, awarded, adored or distinguished-that is for their art not mine. If we have the itch to create, to put some of our soul, a little of our ingenuity, a lot of our time, into this world, into our art we have no time to compare ourself to others.
We only have time to respond to that itch, to subdue it by scratching it with writing our hearts out, singing our souls away, drawing until our fingers hurt, because that is what you deserve. That is what your art deserves.
You may think that you bring your art to life with your talents, but the reality is, it brings you to life. It creates and calms the demons that rage inside our souls. It brings a piece of ourselves out to be examined thoroughly and if we do not like it, we are forced to change it. We must strive for our form of perfection, even in its clumsy appearances. We must accept the challenge that the art that burns inside us throws down, we must reach down, deep down pick it up and give it all we have.
Or we are frauds. We are fakes if we deny ourselves the time to create. If we turn our backs on art, we simply will amble through life feeling unfufilled and continually searching for something to fill the hole.
When we have the ability to create art that would happily fill holes the size of the Grand Canyon.
I cannot worry about what happened and what can or will not happen. I have to focus on writing, and listening to that little voice that tells me to keep going, to keep creating. I need to say goodbye to that girl who was too afraid to put herself out there and embrace the woman who uses rejection as fuel and sees ill-timed projects as an unknown blessing.
I don't know if it will get me anywhere, if I will ever be published but I damn well know it will never happen if I give up.