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Down and Out

So, I sign into my gmail account yesterday to post my piece only to discover a rejection letter in my inbox.  When a journal called Down and Out rejects you, you know your work must suck.



I’d be lying if I said I’d forgotten how many rejection notes I’ve received.  I actually do keep track.  (45 different journals, if anyone’s wondering.)  It’s a practice I recommend.  Not because it’s good to keep depression in your back pocket, but because it’s good to know who likes your work.

For a long time only Danse Macabre seemed to find me worth publishing.  Jersey Devil Press took a couple of my stories, but a change of editor resulted in a stream of rejections.  Even Lovecraft had Weird Tales.

Then suddenly five journals accepted pieces in quick succession.  Since then, nothing.  Feast and famine.  Love and hate.  Life and death.

In this era of internet publications, finding an editor who “gets” you is the best you can hope for.  Although my stories are weird, I put a lot of effort into them.  They’re polished little weirdos.  So weird that places like Down and Out, Hobo Pancakes, and The Burlesque Press Variety Show won’t touch them.  Ouch.

My pugilistic nature has me submit a raft of stories when I receive a rejection.  I have to prove to myself that my work doesn’t suck as much as I think it must.  When I stopped writing, sat back and read, it looked pretty damn good to me.

There are new literary journals popping up every day.  Some are scams, and some will make your work disappear.  Still, that’s the nature of internet fame.  And if you’re hungry for attention like I am, you’re willing to pay the price.


So I filed my rejection and polished up a bunch of stories.  I’m ready to climb into the ring again.  No matter how many times I get knocked over, I’ll never be down and out. 
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