I woke this morning with that feeling you sometimes have that in just about 7 seconds the universe is going to come unraveled and someone's going to have to pay for all the excess we enjoyed in the 1980s. I hate that feeling and the reason I hate it is because I missed out on much of the fun provided by that decade of RAD.
I got out of bed and hurried downstairs for a cup of Jah's mercy. I walked to the cupboard, opened the door, and stood staring at the coffee selection.
"What's wrong," said Ms. Wonder. "You look like..."
"I look like what?"
"Nothing," she said.
I thought her style to be a bit harsh considering the subject matter and I thought about telling her so but, hoping to keep the spotlight on me, I decided to let it go.
"You know that I'm still downsizing," I said. "Trying to fit 20 years in Durham into 5 months in Brunswick."
"Or something like that," she said.
"So last night when rummaging through the next box in line, I found that unfinished collection."
"You mean that collection of story ideas?"
"You know what I mean," I said. "I need fresh material for the blog and fresh material is just what I don't have a lot of these days. I blame COVID."
I waited for her to respond but she seemed distracted by Sagi who was surfing the countertops.
I had an idea that seemed promising but it wasn't really something that happened to me and as you well know, The Circular Journey demands large doses of truth, and by that I mean, my actual life.
"What's your idea?" she said.
"Well, all aspiring authors must face a barrage of rejections. At least that's the prevailing thought in writing circles. Steven King tells a story about spiking his rejection letters on a nail driven into his office wall."
"But we didn't get a lot of rejection letters," she said.
"Right," I said, "but my idea is that a writer decides to give all the rejections a positive twist."
I didn't reply. I just gave her a look that was meant to say, Go easy, Wonder. These are slippery slopes.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "You don't really look like...." She swallowed big. "Never mind."
This may be a good time to explain that when I began writing for periodicals, I received rejection letters, just as everyone else getting started. It was painful, of course. You work hard on a story and are so proud of it when you submit it, thinking that it will win awards and make your name familiar to all. But then the rejection notice comes and you're deflated. It's all you can do to stay away from alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, and chocolate candy.
But one day, by accident really, I realized that I'd received rejection letters from the major newspapers in twelve of the original thirteen states. Getting one more rejection from that last state would make a complete collection. It would allow me to put a positive spin on something that's normally disappointing, hurtful, and an obstacle to overcome.
The newspaper to target was obvious--the Atlanta Constitution. I wasted no time in choosing a subject that would be of little interest to the newspaper's subscribers and consequently of no interest to the editors. I submitted a piece on kayaking the Intracoastal Waterway out of McClellanville, South Carolina. The piece had been popular with the readers in Myrtle Beach but would interest few people living in Atlanta.
I sent the piece off in the mail and waited expectantly for the rejection. To my dismay, the piece was not only published in the Sunday travel section but the editor received several letters from subscribers declaring how much they enjoyed reading it. She asked me to submit more like it.
It was a big disappointment, of course, but the editor's specific request gave me the inside track I needed to win a rejection. All I had to do was write something so different, something totally unlike that little adventure piece, that it would be rejected out-of-hand.
I wrote about the two little churches in the North Carolina mountains where Ben Long painted his first public frescoes. I was so certain of a rejection that I started planning the celebration.
Nothing doing. It was published. How I wondered could the editors of such a prestigious newspaper have such lackadaisical standards?
I was getting more than a little concerned. Newspapers were already feeling the bite of a downturn in the general economy and many of them were abandoning regional contributors and printing more free articles from the UPI and AP. Time was running out. But I had one more ace in the hole if that's the term.
Christmas was on its way and that provided an idea that I considered foolproof. No self-respecting editor of any newspaper based in the southern United States would print an article during the holidays with a deviant theme and I had an idea that was deviant as a drug addict.
I wrote a piece on the origins of traditional Christmas customs. I associated the Christmas tree, the custom of gift-giving, and even Santa himself to pre-Christian, pagan Europe. Hallelujah! It's raining rejection notices. Don't you think?
Weeks later a large envelope arrived and I could tell before opening it that it contained my manuscript and the DVD with Ms. Wonder's original photography. It could mean nothing other than standard rejection notice. I called Wonder to join me for sparkling grape juice and celebrate the final piece of the collection. But when we opened the envelope, it contained only the disc. The message was clear enough. The article had been rejected but there was no rejection letter to complete my collection.
I was crushed. After the appropriate period of mourning, I picked myself up, as we Genomes are want to do, and I submitted no more articles to newspapers. From that day forward, I wrote for magazines only. The story is a good reminder of the Fierce Living motto, Life comes hard and fast. Be ready for anything.