I wonder how many people have written something only to have it rejected? I wonder how many people gave up writing because of rejection. There is no telling how many authors would have made a difference, if only they had not given up on trying.
Think about the rejection. Sometimes it comes in the form of just that, a form letter. At least someone took the time to stick the paper in the envelope and send it with the returned manuscript. It makes you wonder if anyone really took the manuscript out of the envelope and read it. The form letter beats not getting anything. The lonely returned manuscript that was slipped from one envelope to another deserves something, don't you think?
My all time favorite "heart crusher" is the rubber stamp on the outside of the envelope. Someone paid a few dollars to have that stamp made and then they pay someone to stamp the envelopes. It makes me wonder how many ink pads they went through before I got my stamp? I don't know about everyone, but that is so cold. We expect kinder handling. It just does not have to be this way. Well, in my world, it does not have to be that way. To be honest, the day that I got a manuscript returned with the rubber stamp in "red" ink of all things, it did hurt like heck. I was upset. It also upset me that everyone who handled that return envelope knew that I had gotten the "rejection stamp." My postman knew and he knows about everything that comes to my home. Actually, it made my face turn red. I think. I just felt the heat.
I just wish someone in the publishing field for those places would stop for a minute and think, "This is someone's heart." "This is someone's soul." To me writers labor from the heart. They reach down inside and bring those words out. They want to be heard. They want someone to listen. Maybe all their lives they have been trying to get someone to listen. It is a wish, a desire, it is something that matters.
I remember sitting in a classroom one day. I had that student. You know, the one that makes you wonder why you decided to be a teacher. You wish you could thump the kid on the side of the head and say, "What were you thinking?" Then, out of the blue that special thing happens. It all gets clear and you have this "idea" hit you right between the eyes, almost.
"This is someone's child. He goes home, hopefully, to someone who loves him and thinks he is special. This is a child. He is the "apple" of someone's eye and YOU WANT TO DO WHAT TO HIM?"
Then, I am reminded of that simple phrase, uttered by an author, "A person is a person, no matter how small." No matter who we are. No matter how small our world in the sceam of things, we are who we are. Here us roar. Let us stand up and cheer. We are authors. We write. We live to write. We would have to stop breathing in order to do anything else. It is in us. Just give us a chance. Believe in us and we will amaze you.
Give us that chance.
We are someone's child, too.
Think about the rejection. Sometimes it comes in the form of just that, a form letter. At least someone took the time to stick the paper in the envelope and send it with the returned manuscript. It makes you wonder if anyone really took the manuscript out of the envelope and read it. The form letter beats not getting anything. The lonely returned manuscript that was slipped from one envelope to another deserves something, don't you think?
My all time favorite "heart crusher" is the rubber stamp on the outside of the envelope. Someone paid a few dollars to have that stamp made and then they pay someone to stamp the envelopes. It makes me wonder how many ink pads they went through before I got my stamp? I don't know about everyone, but that is so cold. We expect kinder handling. It just does not have to be this way. Well, in my world, it does not have to be that way. To be honest, the day that I got a manuscript returned with the rubber stamp in "red" ink of all things, it did hurt like heck. I was upset. It also upset me that everyone who handled that return envelope knew that I had gotten the "rejection stamp." My postman knew and he knows about everything that comes to my home. Actually, it made my face turn red. I think. I just felt the heat.
I just wish someone in the publishing field for those places would stop for a minute and think, "This is someone's heart." "This is someone's soul." To me writers labor from the heart. They reach down inside and bring those words out. They want to be heard. They want someone to listen. Maybe all their lives they have been trying to get someone to listen. It is a wish, a desire, it is something that matters.
I remember sitting in a classroom one day. I had that student. You know, the one that makes you wonder why you decided to be a teacher. You wish you could thump the kid on the side of the head and say, "What were you thinking?" Then, out of the blue that special thing happens. It all gets clear and you have this "idea" hit you right between the eyes, almost.
"This is someone's child. He goes home, hopefully, to someone who loves him and thinks he is special. This is a child. He is the "apple" of someone's eye and YOU WANT TO DO WHAT TO HIM?"
Then, I am reminded of that simple phrase, uttered by an author, "A person is a person, no matter how small." No matter who we are. No matter how small our world in the sceam of things, we are who we are. Here us roar. Let us stand up and cheer. We are authors. We write. We live to write. We would have to stop breathing in order to do anything else. It is in us. Just give us a chance. Believe in us and we will amaze you.
Give us that chance.
We are someone's child, too.