Okay. I’m finally publicly announcing that The New Yorker smacked down my latest submission. Smacked it DOWN, ya’ll! But hey…you’re not a “real” writer until you get rejected, eh? My first two official rejections….Disney and The New Yorker. I realize that I’m going about things in reverse order. Start small and work up to the Big Dawgs….but that’s not how I roll. I want top shelf rejection.
Here was the official notice:
Dear April A. Trice,
Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your work. We regret that we are unable to carry it in the magazine.
Warmest regards,
The Editors
Ahhh….warmest! Do you think they really read it? How do I know some pimply faced cretin didn’t sneak onto the Editor’s computer and started mass-mailing rejections whilst snickering? Who’s to say?! A bitter employee who can barely write his name…much less a manuscript! Eh.
I figure that if I’m getting rejected, then that means I’m writing. And isn’t that what it’s all about anyway? The process? I’ve already got my next New Yorker submission wrapped up and ready to roll. The squeaky wheel gets the oil….or something like that.
Filed under: Life, Poetry | Tagged: editors, manuscripts, Poetry, the new yorker, writers |
Whimsy 
You’re a woman after my own heart! Go big or stay home, right?! Way to go! It was great to meet you today. We will all have to get together soon.