The year doesn't feel as if it has gotten off to a rip-roaring start. The Arctic chill that froze much of the northern half of North America sent me huddling indoors. Two rejections to paper proposals have arrived in my inbox in the past three days. Despite my very best intentions to be on top of my game with writing and teaching, I'm already behind with work. And, to top it all off, the bank account coffers are nearly at zero, and there's still a full week before payday.
So how do I feel?
Better for just writing it out.
There's something joyful about the relationship of honest anonymity that a writer enjoys with the page. The relationship -- like all relationships -- has its ups and downs, moments of love and moments of pain. But the page is like a momentary salve. It's almost like a form of communion with a holy spirit.
As I wrote out my woes, the page reminded me of my joys. The biting cold and thick layer of snow help ensure that the soil will get a good soaking this spring when the temperatures warm and the snow melts into water that seeps into the earth. And they do offer a good excuse to enjoy one of the more relaxing aspects of winter: toasting one's toes before a fire. Although I feel that I am behind on my work, I know that my sensation is more of a symptom of a work life that requires supreme multi-tasking and that at least I'm pushing my way through the tasks. Even if I am cash-poor at the moment, I am comfortable knowing that all of the bills have been paid and that there's enough food in the house and enough gas in the car to make it to payday. And with it is a realization that this might be the perfect weekend to use the $15 discount card at the local fish shop that my husband and I received as a holiday gift. I'm already getting excited about the three meals that $15 of fish could prepare: steamed clams with pasta; mussel stew; and a lovely steamed porgy, a baked sea bass, some fried ling cod.
As for the rejections, a new realization emerges. Many writers have pointed out that rejections are a sign of success, even if they don't always connote success at first gasp. The rejections indicate that work is being submitted and that ideas are being put out into the world for testing and feedback, instead of remaining fearfully confined within the covers of a notebook or tucked into a Microsoft Word folder.
I saw the first of the two rejections in my inbox late Monday night. With that rejection came a note suggesting that the piece might be more suitable for a different journal, one that the editor specifically named. I didn't agree with that assessment and went to sleep feeling fairly down. When I woke up, the first words that I put down in my morning pages were about the rejection. Even as I was writing the words, ideas for a new approach started to fly at me fast. I thought of two other journals to which I could submit the paper. I also realized that while I didn't think the journal that the editor suggested would be a good fit for this particular piece, I already had submitted a proposal on a related topic to an academic conference with which the journal was affiliated. So, once again, ideas are in circulation and conversations are emerging.
It strikes me, however, that even if the relationship of honest anonymity is one that I know about, it is one I tend to neglect. Rather than turning to the page as soon as the rejection came in, I spent hours feeling moody and sorrowful, wondering if I were cut out to be a writer, second guessing my ability to meld serious scholarship with pleasant prose. Yet, the moodiness snapped as soon as I wrote it out. Why didn't I just write it out first?
A simple answer is that I didn't think to do so. A more complicated one is that the page, symbolically, is in this relationship, too, and needed perhaps some time to respond. Dejection then becomes less of a "bad mood kind of thing" and more of a way of processing thoughts. It is perhaps a way of unwinding before a night's rest. Writing the words is like the next morning -- a new day, a fresh start.
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