On Rejection.

(Part 1).

I saw a Twitter post the other day and it read: 

“I’m a talented writer, but am rarely published. Am never solicited. My book has been rejected by nearly every publisher I know of. When I do publish, no more than 10-15 people read my work. With each rejection, my art brings me less joy. Legit question: Why continue writing?”

We’ve all been here. The artist/creative/talent straddling two worlds: pursue the passion or submit to the failing. I’ve questioned myself and my talents many times, because I’ve not received that loud and resounding validation. The one that declares: you my dear, have arrived.

Because I can do all the work, only for an external critic to send back a resounding No. We regret to inform you...

Rejection has a way. It lingers; stops time--causes me to question the validity of my thoughts, the strength of my words and the beauty of my emotions as I struggle to get them down on paper. Rejection opposes every word of kindness; negates all previous praise. Begs the question: have I been fooling myself this whole time? 

If no one reads my work, listens to my words, hears my song, admires my creation, am I really as talented as I believe myself to be?

But the truth of our talents and the size of our audience is not in direct correlation. 

I keep writing because I can see beyond myself, past this moment, this “not today”, to the audience of one— who is the only one in need of recognition. I write for her and I allow myself this expression, for it is the healing my body needs. To stop writing is death. 

I write to hold the joy of creation and the encouragement of rejection. For intertwined is both my growth and my glory.