The sun will come out, tomorrow…

Whether it’s a rejected fellowship or grant application, a book award submission that fails to make the short list, a bad review or critique, or a short-of-the-mark submission to a journal, contest, agent, or publisher, writers deal with rejection every day …and at various stages of their careers. You’ve got to put it into perspective, of course, or you won’t be able to do this at all. But, yes, it hurts. We try to step out from under the crushing weight of the disappointment, the nagging reminder that …you are not (yet) worthy, not yet good enough. Memories of past breakthroughs won’t stand a chance in the shadow of this hulking mass of defeat and self-doubt. And at such times, the only blessing is that often just as the writing happens in solitude, the kick in the guts does as well. Nobody knows; well unless recommendations were requested in which case your humiliation is at least semi-public. Wallowing in isolation is a decidedly mixed blessing though. Because it means that there’s no one there to tell you that you are worthy, are good enough, will get up and move on from this. You have to be your own cheerleader and sometimes your arms are so tired, your spirit so sapped, you can’t even lift your pom poms.

Some days, you just have to let yourself feel it; the disappointment, the let down, the pain. But *humming Annie* tomorrow you’ve got to get up…and take flight.