Sandra Gail Lambert

Two rejection weekend

Journal editors everywhere must have spent the weekend catching up on their backlog.  They work hard, each and every one of them, and I appreciate all their efforts.  So, thanks for the many wishes that I have luck placing the piece elsewhere. 

And, all weekend I've been procrastinating.  In the few hours that I was actually working, the writing was ineffectual.  I tried putting in a little hint of what was to come, realized my hint had the size and grace of a bulldozer, and then went and watched ET with a million commercials instead of redoing it.

And, now I'm whining.  If I still had periods, I'd think I was premenstrual.  Well, I'm going to post this and then I'll either get back to work or go clean the toaster oven.   

 

Rejection, again

Yes, another one in a long line of those "we like your work, not this piece, please send more" rejections.  I know these are "good" rejections that are supposed to buoy spirits and reaffirm purpose, but they are wearing me down.  I just want to take that e-mail, crumble it into a ball, and throw it across the room while yelling/whining "why can't you just accept something."

Okay, back to writing. 

   

Rejection, finally

Dang, I sure am tired of the rejections.  I know, I was complaining about not getting any.  What was I thinking?  At least my poppy mallows are blooming.

So, I wallowed for two days.  Then I thought, "hah, you're not getting rid of me" and prepared another submission.  And I've finished the upcoming conference critiques.  And I've prepared and timed my selections for the nightly readings.  And tomorrow I take my van in for a tune-up. 

And I've also actually written a bit on the new chapter.  It's strange.  My character dies of the Spanish Flu, and I have my first bout of the flu in over thirty years.  At least I now have some relevant body experience to work with as I write - like the way sound burrs in your ears when you get a high fever.          

Rejection drought

Not in my mailbox out by the road or waiting for me on my yahoo account - not a single rejection in weeks. It makes me nervous not to be rejected.  They're being saved up, I can feel it.  It's like those ants.  The ones that crawl up your arm and lurk until they all bite at once.

I've been reading the manuscripts for the upcoming Below Sea Level conference, making margin notes, and writing a critique summary for each one.  I have to manifest my most arrogant writer self to carry this off.  I mean, if I think about it, who am I to be say things like "redo the opening paragraph?" 

In the meantime, I'm post-flu enough to start writing again.  It won't do to not be writing when the ants bite. 

Rejection: The Sequel

You know how, when you've been messing in the yard, little black ants will quietly crawl up your arm and then, in response to some secret signal, bite all at once? 

Today was a three rejection day.  Well, four really.  One place rejected me twice.  So, just to make sure this sort of thing can keep happening, I've spent until late getting more submissions ready.  Sheesh.   

Rejection

Rejection has prodded this web site into existence.

 

Yes, I made the short list for this year's Best Lesbian Erotica.  After checking my e-mail every hour of every day for a month – I wish this was more of an exaggeration than it is – the "sorry, but..." message arrived.  I allowed myself a period of wallowing that included a trip to Lane Bryant, a word by word analysis of the rejection letter, extended whining to other writer friends (Civilians just can't listen long enough.), and the stereotyped, yet nonetheless effective, trek to the local ice cream parlor.

            

Now I'm back in the saddle, which for me means propped up in bed with the computer and yellow pad alternating places on my lap.  Post wallowing, I have committed to a thousand words a day on the new book (5000 in five days – yippee to me).  I have also signed up for the Typepad free trial.   When that next acceptance comes, I need to have a web link ready to paste into my bio.