I got another rejection letter the other day. Had it arrived in the standard sort of envelope I'm accustomed to, I wouldn't have bothered to open it. Blahblahthankyouforyoursubmissionblahblah, etc. But they tricked me. This time the letter came sandwiched within a book so I was thrown off by its packaging. It turns out, the book, ___ Press's latest collection of short fiction and prose, was their "best issue yet!" and its writers -- all like, 1100 of them -- were specially selected from "over 1200 entries!"
Really? You thought that a free copy of the book I didn't get into would be a good consolation prize? That's like showing a fat kid a box of doughnuts and then eating every single one right in front of him. Nice call.
And yet, I can't be bitter forever. For starters, ___ Press, you live in San Jose. Also, I re-gifted your book.
I went to The Moth Grand Slam tonight. I am so incredibly impressed by the amount of guts it takes to get up and tell a story in front of a couple of hundred people. I felt kinda like a dick afterwards even commenting on which stories I liked and didn't. It's so easy to sit in the audience and critique. Much harder is to tell your story, waiting to get judged, in front of several hundred strangers. Anyway, hats off to the participants. (Plus, a friend of mine was one of them and I have a special new appreciation for people who willingly throw their name into *that* hat.)