This last week, I got the news I’ve been waiting for — my whole life, maybe.
“Congratulations! Your essay has been accepted for publication. We love your writing!”
Those last four words did a lot to erase some doubt that has been lurking around, trying to creep in and set up residence.
Here’s what’s funny: that essay had already been rejected — twice. And, the same day, I got two other rejections. Actually, “funny” doesn’t quite cover it.
But here’s the thing. Who am I writing for? Just who am I trying to please? One letter I received went something like this: “A fun read, but not the best fit.” Sometimes, as an author, it’s not my writing that is the problem — it is the match between what I’m trying to do, and what the editor is trying to do, at that one moment in time.
I’m in Kansas City now, visiting sisters on both sides — mine, and my husband’s. Both are dealing with feelings of unacceptance. So, here I sit, in Missouri (Kansas? Missouri? What is wrong with this city? One state isn’t good enough for you?), giving hugs to sisters who need it, sisters who need to hear, “Congratulations! You’ve been accepted! I love you!”
It pays to remember that, for every rejection we get, a more important acceptance is sitting there, waiting. Let’s all remember: Just who are we doing this for? Who are we trying to please?