It's not you, it's me

This is my first rejection letter. Oh, don't get me wrong -- I've been rejected before, just not in this way.



A couple of months ago I submitted a story to The Sun. They didn't want it. At first I was a little bit bummed. I mean, jesus, inmates get published in The Sun. PTA moms who get drunk at cul-de-sac parties and use it as an excuse to make out with their neighbors get published in The Sun.

My awesome friend Scarlett sent me this piece of perspective:

"...you know when you walk into a cupcake shop and you're like... yes, today i want a vanilla cupcake with peanut butter filling and chocolate frosting. that's what i want. you know you want it. sooooo, much to your dismay, the hot-adorable -way-too-young-but-maybe-not-dude behind the counter says ok, but would you like to try our flavor-of-the-day cupcake? it's a carrot cupcake with cream cheese frosting.... and he presents it to you with his buff tan arm covered with some random hot-mess tattoo.... now that carrot cupcake looks damn good. it's fresh, smells amazing, kind of awesome.... but still, you're not really into it today. today you want the vanilla, peanut-butter, chocolate cupcake. that carrot one is frersh, and you KNOW it's gonna be great, amazing even, but for this particular day, you just want your usual. that's like rejection. it's so subjective. it's all so subjective. and sometimes it just depends on the day that person happened to read it."

Anyway, I guess now that I've sat with rejection today, I find something kinda satisfying about it. Almost like a badge of honor. And then tonight like magic, I received a *personal* letter from none other than THE John Grisham. You know, the author.



And look! This one from Blue Shield!



Life is good.