A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-Five-Hundred-And-Eighty-Eight

I received another rejection today.  Recently, I sent out a bunch of new submissions and this is probably the first of those that I have a reply from.  It always gets me down, which I suppose is natural.  I know other writers who have different attitudes towards things than I do, and it is probably healthier for them, but the truth is that I am never going to be able to accept it.  Really, I don't know what else to say about it other than to admit that I want to have some real success in my writing career, and not in another decade or two.  I feel terrible even admitting to that desire, as if it makes me selfish or stupid or both, or, perhaps, something worse than that which I can't quite name, but it is how I feel.  I invested in becoming a writer because I was persuaded to believe it would be a path for me in my life where I would have real support and actual opportunities.  If that was all a lie, it is not alright, and I am not going to pretend that it isn't the truth of things from my perspective.

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