Yesterday I received the best rejection to date. On the printed post card Conjunctions sends for rejection was the handwritten note, "A pleasure to read."
I sent them the "The Card Game." (After sending them "Portugal," which they also rejected.)
I will send another submission to Conjunctions today.
Last week I finished the sixth chapter of Bought and Sold and began work on two nonfiction pieces I will submit for review (one went out on Wednesday, the next I hope to have finished by Monday). I also posted more of the novel Urban Nizhóní.
A pleasure to read.
Even the smallest affirmation is monumental.
Recently I've lost some readers; their absence is profound and painful. Writing with no comments is more than challenging, it's unsustainable. I trust the journals and agents to read my work. They are professionals; it is their job. I understand they need to print stacks of rejection slips. The addition of a handwritten note is a gracious gesture that makes a day, a week, even a month more than tolerable—providing nourishment for the ailment of writing without feedback.
A few months ago an interviewer asked Joan if she kept a diary. She replied, she has never written for herself. She writes to be read.