I was working on my novel when I decided to use the simplest form of procrastination and check my Email. One Email from my Alma mater flashed as new. I checked the box next to it and pressed my finger down on the mouse button to delete it. But something stopped me.
It had been over ten years since I graduated and I learned that Email from my college fell into three categories. The most prevalent one being a request for a donation. I have yet to donate money to my college. I am still paying off student loans, so you can guess what I mutter to myself when one of these Emails arrives in my inbox. The second type of Email is usually a message from the President. Not President Obama, but the president of my college. Honestly, I just don’t care. I couldn’t even tell you the name of the president of my college when I actually attended. The third Email only comes once a year and it is pictures from Homecoming weekend. In my early twenties I did sort through these pictures and see if I knew anyone. But now, the faces are all unfamiliar and I start feeling old.
Call it an act of God or dumb luck, but I stopped myself from clicking the delete button. Instead I opened the Email and read the entire message. It explained that the college was starting an Alumni Arts Review Magazine. They wanted submissions from alumni for their inaugural issue. They needed either photographs, paintings, short-stories, poems, or non-fiction essays.
I couldn’t believe that the same time I had returned to writing, my college was reaching out for writing submissions. Although I was working on a novel, I figured one extra project would be good. I decided I would submit a short-story. The deadline for all submissions was in one month. They didn’t give much notice, but I felt ready for the challenge.
After I received this magical Email I racked my brain about what I would write about. My head was so invested in my novel that I found it hard to create an entirely new story world. Then it hit me. I wrote several stories in the past that I never finished. I ransacked my closet looking for old CD-ROM‘s that housed stories I had transferred from old floppy disks. Two hours later and a floor covered with all kinds of discs from the past two decades, I found it.
I loaded the disc and prayed the files would still open. Each one opened, but they were a mess. I navigated through strange symbols and other bizarre formatting nightmares to get to the meat of my chosen story. I was able to read the middle of it and remember the plot. I spent another couple of days thinking about how I would end the story and incorporate the art magazine’s theme of turning points into the story.
My short-story, MY FIRST ROSE, was about a teenager’s first love and I convinced myself that falling in love was a turning point. Once I sat down to write the story, the words flowed, and I wrote it in one-sitting. The maximum length the magazine allowed for short stories was 6000 words. Mine was 24 pages long and about 5,900 words. I knew I wrote a long story, but overall I was happy with it. I submitted the story to my college with a cover letter that said “how excited I was to re-engage with my college”.
I mentioned to a few people I submitted a short-story to my college’s magazine and explained to them it was a dry run for me, before I submitted to any real magazines that paid for submissions. I even joked that I wanted to test if my college would reject me.
A couple of people thought I was nuts and of course the college would take all submissions. I tried to explain to them that they didn’t understand my college and that it is an elitist private liberal arts college that takes itself very seriously. I even questioned my own motives. Did I submit my short-story to them because I knew it was an easy way to get published or was I just taking baby steps with my writing and using this opportunity as a way to get my feet wet? As some time passed I started to believe what my friends and family believed. That my college would publish MY FIRST ROSE.
One month after I submitted my short-story, I received a generic Email that thanked me for my submission. A couple of weeks later I opened another Email that explained due to lack of submissions, they extended the deadline out another month. Did this mean there wasn’t much competition and I had a chance? Or did it mean what they had received was unprintable and they were begging for any additional material?
And then, I received a third Email. My inclination was to sit down at my computer and read the Email when I had time. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I peered down at my tiny iPhone screen and opened the message. As soon as I saw there was only one paragraph I knew. I didn’t even need to read it. I transported myself back to the age of 17 when I collected the mail and could guess which colleges accepted me and which ones did not, based on the size of the envelopes. If I had a regular business sized envelope I was screwed. But a 9 X 11 white envelope had meant I was accepted. If the larger envelope was quite heavy, then I might have even earned an academic scholarship. I wondered if high school students now get their acceptance letters via Email and if one paragraph equals bad and three or more means good?
My heart sank, but I read the paragraph just to make sure I was correct. It was a simple form letter that thanked me for my submission. They even mentioned that they were overwhelmed by submissions (fishy) and that it made the selection process very difficult. Finally, they said my story was not chosen. They encouraged me to submit again in the future. And then, they had the gall to ask if I wanted to buy a copy of the magazine.
Any grand delusions I had about getting published deflated like a red balloon at a children’s birthday party. Even though my writing teacher and other experts in the industry had all said rejection is part of the game and don’t take it personally, it still felt personal. I am prepared to face hundreds of rejections when I send my novel out. So why did one rejection over a short-story sting so much? Because it was the first one.
I felt sorry for myself for five minutes. Then I questioned if I should even be writing at all. I thought who am I kidding? My stuff is crap. And then I sat down at my computer, opened up a copy of the short-story I submitted and read it. By the time I got to page 24 my mood shifted. I no longer felt down or questioned my abilities. I thought, hey this story is decent. I shut down my computer and remembered the most important thing. Once rejected I was free to submit my story anywhere I wanted.
A few months have passed and I still have not submitted MY FIRST ROSE to another publication. I’m not afraid to. I am letting it rest and have decided that my story would make an excellent novel. I had a vague idea of what I wanted to write for my second novel, but hadn’t developed a concrete plot. Because of my college’s call for submissions and my subsequent desire to resurrect an old story, I now have a plot. I also got a few laughs when I was able to confirm to my friends that my college did reject me.
Once my first novel is published, I’ll be sure to update my college with the news. One can only dream!
FILM AND TV MANIA 