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  • Writer's pictureerinkirsh

The Losing Game: Writing Rejection 17/100


Hello and Happy Saturday Night to you my friends. I hope you are all out dancing, gallivanting, going for walks, falling in love, or whatever it is people do on Saturday nights. I am currently doing none of those things. I'm couch ridden with an obnoxious cold and haven't left my house at all except to drag myself to the corner store for a red gatorade. In the throes of casual sickness, I blew my whole day bingeing a television show I'm barely invested in. I also blew my nose through three rolls of toilet paper because buying kleenex separately seems weird to me. It's been a super weird day full of facial fluids, regrets, and an unfortunate incident featuring my cat and a very cute mouse that has unbeknownst to me been living in my apartment. On days where I do nothing but move between my bed and my couch, I get lost in a haze of ennui that comes from not having contributed meaningfully to my own life. Of course, on days when I'm busy I have long internal monologues griping about how much I'd rather be doing nothing. But lately I've been coming down with these shitty colds/other mild illnesses a lot and spend a lot of time facing the haze. To ensure this day isn't a total write-off, I thought I'd share a rejection, because sharing the rejection and talking about the work of being a writer feels like the most valuable thing I do. This rejection comes from a contest I was shortlisted in, but did not win or place in. If I got a formal notification that I didn't win, I can't find it in my inbox or my relatively thin stack of paper rejections. And reminder: that happens sometimes! If you just don't hear back about contests/see an announcement of a winner on twitter and that's how you figure out that you didn't win, please don't be discouraged. Journal editors are so, so, busy and so, so underpaid. It's not a commentary on the value of your work, though I know writers are sensitive angel-headed hipsters, so it can feel that way. The good news is that you're not alone and it isn't personal. Here's proof:




Okay. Hope all of your Saturday night is one of the greats. Since I can't be there to do it myself, embarrass yourselves in public for me. (I have found dancing on the bus to be an effective method of doing this.) Until next time, - E.B. Kirsh

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