First Grade Feelings

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

I did get in to Yaddo, but I think it's good to ponder that truism in any case.

Ha ha. No, I didn't get in. I knew as soon as I held the envelope in my hand, with their return address, that it was a rejection. I'm a bit psychic that way.

I was stung, but not really surprised. Yaddo's a very prestigious place, very competitive. I kept telling myself that as I threw the letter and envelope toward the garbage-area of my kitchen. (Mail isn't very aerodynamic. It's annoying considering how much of it I fire at the garbage.)

I haven't written a word since getting this letter. Not just because of this rejection. But it has played a part.

But how lame would it be if I bagged my work because of some star-studded artist colony? Shouldn't I struggle on with my story about a mixed-up woman who dreams of affecting public policy?

But what if they were like, Oh not this again. Not this boring theme of the mixed-up woman, the leftist hopes squashed, the unhappy relationship -- that sounds boring even as I type it out.

Other people probably had much more inventive plots and better prose styles.

I feel like I did in first grade when I heard someone had a party and I wasn't invited. But then I'd go home and my mother would comfort me and I'd have grape juice and Fritos. I'd go lie on my bed with all my stuffed animals. Who cared about their stupid party?