Thank you for your consideration
On why a good pot of risotto should mean more than a rejection streak
One night last week, while listening to Jessica Simpson radio, my daughter dancing like an adorable maniac behind me, I scooped a finished bite of risotto into my mouth and said, “Oh, that’s damn good.” For the four days before this moment, I had been whisking my daughter to the potty, cleaning poop off the floor, and coaching her not to catch her pee in her hands before letting it fall into the toilet. Potty training is no joke, and what’s worse is that I welcomed the distraction after a period of manic submitting—queries! essays! pitches! oh my!—followed by, well…a whole lot of silence.
Don’t feel sorry for me. Really. Like I said to my Lunch Break group recently:
To say you want to write without rejection is like saying you want to be a boxer but not get punched in the face.
Lots of rejection, or in this case, ghosting, means I have lots of material and that I’ve made it to the finish line of major projects. It means I’m working, putting myself out there, and getting closer to my goals. Still, no matter how thick your skin or level of familiarity with the words, “unfortunately we have decided to pass,” rejection still stings, just like I imagine getting punched in the face does.
But then, my daughter had an accident free day, and I made risotto without a recipe for maybe the first time in my life. I threw in some decrepit shitake mushrooms from the produce drawer, the char-grilled leftover asparagus from the night before, and a fistful of peppery arugula. I had no wine, so I used the juice from half a lemon, broth, and a bit of miso to deglaze. Jojo gobbled it up, asking for more with a bite already in her mouth. Literally licked the plate clean—which we belly laughed at together—then pinched a toasted pine nut off her tray like she had found the last bit of treasure. Next in the throwback queue was Hilary Duff’s “Why Not?,” Jojo’s undies were dry, and life was good.
As a writer, I love cooking, and if you’re a writer, I suggest you start. Or follow some other hobby you are good at until you’re damn good.
At the end of the day, after crickets from different gatekeepers at different corners of my ambitions, knowing I can nail something is of utmost importance to me. The last week has been more about receiving then submitting, and as the final leaves spin from their limbs I’m drawing closer to the cocooning/producing stage of my process.
Stalling my submission frenzy and approaching the newness of my neighborhood with my full attention gave me an unexpected gift of gratitude for the editors and agents who I recently approached with an offering. The world is hard, and to even open your inbox to a hopeful stranger is a rare kindness. We are all just receiving as much as we can, and I like to think we all might need a bit more processing time than usual. To have any consideration to give is a gift of precious energy.
In the end I spent more time outside than online this month. I thanked the hawks on their migration trip through New York for considering me, the new neighbors I’ve met, the training potty, and my Le Creuset. All of those considerations are necessary, too, and their acceptances can be at least as nourishing as an editor’s.
If I only looked at my writing acceptances this month I’d see failure, but considering it all, I’m back in black, baby. And I think we should consider it all, when rejection weighs. When writing is your life, everything in life is practice for writing. We must learn to roll with the punches, and find compassion for who’s on the other end of the proverbial fist.
News:
We’re adding a second online writing session to The Nest’s perks! While our Tuesday Lunch Break offers a prompt, writing time, and opportunity to connect with Fledgling friends, this additional session will serve as a less structured supplement. As imagined by the current Nest crew, these sessions will be a space to pick up threads from Lunch Break, revise, work on ongoing projects, and finish work. We’ll start by setting intentions, write together for 40 minutes, and share out at the end about our progress.
Help us choose a time for the new Fledgling Writing Hour by filling out this quick form.
To join us for Tuesday’s Lunch Break (12-1 pm EST, online) and the supplementary weekly session that will kick off in November simply become a paid subscriber. At only $200 a year, each session costs you less than $2. If accountability and camaraderie have been lacking in your writing life, THIS is your sign.
Prompts:
Turn your phone on airplane mode. Choose a prompt. Write to it for 10 minutes. If you want to keep going, keep going. If you like what you write, reply it back to me and maybe see it in the newsletter next month...
Take advantage of the belly of fall and go on a short walk, paying attention to what’s changing—temperature, light, color, even the way people behave around you. Write about a transition using those observations as metaphors.
In the spirit of the seasons, divide your life so far into four parts. Perhaps choose a theme to focus on: seasons of play, seasons of work, seasons of grief. Challenge yourself to write just a few sentences in the style of prose poetry to represent each of them. In this way you might create a flash memoir.
And lastly, something to read:
a poem by me about rejection, autumn, and cocooning
Letter of Resignation
I think I’ll make this tree my new religion
Witness green groan
yellow yearn
brown
From office window
Call it “work”
I think I’ll alm-throw NOs
From email to glass
Watch letters race
Like raindrops over pane
I think I’ll make an altar to my tree
Above dog’s favored rug
Threaded with his needle soft hairs
Light through leaves
Shimmers folds of his coat
Sea glitter on wave
A real term for sunlight on ocean
See?
The tree proves
Anything is possible
I think I’ll head outside
Hold a meeting with the nodding shadows
Ask the bees to take the minutes
Wait for every branch to undress
Instead of your reply
A NO slipped from sill to soil
Joins me in the driveway
If I stick-sketch the O’s portrait in the dirt,
Sit inside its circle for awhile
Would that count as arrival, promotion, ascent?
To say a job is not a denomination
Is to ignore a comorbidity
Or just a fact
If life mixed with limb is a discomfort
Could this splintered off N be a seed?
An unfolding gate?
I think I’ll let the breeze worry it open