Why is it that rejection seems to hurt, no matter where it's coming from?
I woke up to an email starting with the notorious "I am sorry.... we are notoriously hard to get into... not the right match... we do hope..." It's not that I haven't been turned down before. I did get rejected from the Paris Review a lifetime back, but at least I didn't get to hold the miserable piece of letter, which was fortunately addressed to my Advanced Fiction Professor. I didn't get to read it wither and got a distilled, and I'm sure much nicer version of what was in it (I'm pretty sure they didn's say I should never give up and just work on that same story a few more times, especially the dialogue, it seems flat, but I have a future as a writer, no doubt about that. Yeah, I'm pretty sure my Professor added all that). The thing is, I haven't written much since then. It was the Paris Review. Serious business.
It seems it took me years to get over it, or that's my excuse for being lazy and working on every other aspect of my life in the past few years, except for writing.
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