That’s my refrigerator, that’s my refrigerator magnet, and the other thing is a rejection letter from the Alaska Quarterly Review, that’s held to my refrigerator by my Cuban magnet…
…And then the Cuban that I asked for when my co-worker went to Cuba fell to the floor and broke. Damn Cuban magnet (no offense), but I really wanted a real one and all I got was a plastic one so badly made that it kept falling off the refrigerator, finally breaking in half after I put this stupid rejection ‘note’ (not even a letter—so much for that career as a writer) on my refrigerator as a reminder for something. Rejection, who needs it. Rejection takes a toll on a man, especially after years of it, relentless stinging failure, the body blow kind, from some hulking giant breathing the sour smell of it down your neck while he’s pounding ham sized fists into your sides.
Wow, that’s not bad, oh but I already used it, in some story that’s bound for the rejection pile, the slush pile as they call it—then the dreaded email. Well AQR needs to stop wasting paper, and get with the ‘tens’ and communicate rejection via email, like everyone else does. Email rejection doesn’t sting as much does it? But a note, that someone wrote by hand now that stings (ah, shut up you big baby). I’m joking, it doesn’t matter, everyone needs to delude him or herself now and again. That’s what makes life fun!
It’s too late for me to be a rock star or an astronaut, now that would really be delusional, but I’ll keep plugging away, better than watching some dim witted TV show, or wasting time on Facebook with the 2,000 humans I know, and wouldn’t know if they stood up in my soup that I call friends. Talk about delusional.
(disclaimer: AQR is a great magazine, and I’m just having some fun. Please don’t put me on some list that you editors keep! The Facebook thing, I really do mean…)