Other Women Who Have Rejected Me

Now that I think about it, my life has actually been one long series of rejections. Setting out to write in my early twenties, I should have taken out an ad:

Wanted: various women of editorial and publishing authority willing to dominate and humble young, aspiring male writer by whipping him into submission. Looks not important. Should have resume to match the whip and chains and a willingness to state in twenty-five words or less why you are rejecting the author's work. Lord willing, you'll call today and become dungeon mistress to this idealistic young whippersnapper with a dream.

Let me tell you, I would have had takers.

Over the years I've been rejected by three male literary agents, but the most painful (and no, it wasn't a good painful, not a thumb-rack or clothespin painful!) was when Ms. M---- informed me in 2002 that, after two years, she was "letting me go" because I wasn't her type of writer and my prospects seemed limited.

Heck, I wish she would have told me how she felt much sooner. I could have informed her that my wife knew about my limited prospects way back in 1977 when my zits were in full bloom and I informed my high school classmates that I wanted to be a chiropractor with a thriving business in Farmersburg. Not even Sally S----, the class bimbo, would associate with me after that. I was the only guy who respected her for her mind in those days, and we often talked by the water fountain about literary classics and molecular physics.

No, rejection is rough on a guy like me. Especially since I put so much of myself into my work (as you can tell from this blog) and I actually think my words were meant to be read.

After thirty years of rejection, I'm just glad my wife still reads the tiny slips of paper I tape to the front of the refrigerator: We need milk! What the heck happened to the skim milk? Why haven't you read my last two notes about the freakin' milk?

She is, indeed, my first reader, my critic, my soul mate. Now, if only I could talk her into becoming my dungeon mistress, also. Believe me, sweetheart, I would feel right at home!