A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-One-Hundred-And-Forty-One

The short play event that I was hoping to take part in has been cancelled, and I can't help but feel a bit cheated.  I can't pretend I wouldn't be upset if I had received a typical rejection, but this feels a bit different.  I don't know,, of course, the underlying circumstances that resulted in this decision, and I recognize that my responses isn't necessarily about anything real or rational, that it is my larger fears and concerns manifesting in response to this.  That doesn't change the hurt itself, though, and I do wish that the organizers had made some effort to offer personal responses under the circumstances.  They claimed low submission numbers as a reason for not holding the event, and it would be meaningful to feel they appreciated those submissions enough to provide even a small amount of personal feedback.  In the end, I just feel that I put in the work under false pretenses, and would like to believe it wasn't so fully a waste.  Really, it is all just my general anxiety about feeling stuck and not being certain how to make real progress.  I know many would say I just need to develop a thicker skin, in general, but that isn't really a choice, and I tend to think that my sensitivity serves me in many ways, including as a writer.

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