Yesterday evening, in the middle of cooking dinner and downloading with the gentleman about our days, I checked my email on my phone. The first email in the list was a rejection letter from a publication I’d submitted to earlier in the week.

I started to read, expecting a summary dismissal. But it wasn’t a form letter. It was a personal rejection. It was brief but encouraging, complimentary and forward looking. And I was so happy. I mean, of course, I would have been far happier had they wanted the pieces, but I understood why they hadn’t wanted them.

In some ways, I’m glad for the rejection — the chance to build my ongoing relationship with it and process it in a mentally healthy way. I hesitate to submit because I don’t know what a lot of rejection feels like — and I’m frightened. So I’ve resolved to work on shorter pieces for awhile, to keep this exercise going. The future is exciting…