Washington Square

There are submissions you set your heart on. There are submissions you forget about. There are submission results that just hit at the wrong time. Fortunately, this rejection was none of those.

This was a general submission to The Washington Square Review, and funnily enough, not my first rejection from NYU. A decade ago, when I applied to NYU, I received the medium-sized waitlist envelope. For those unfamiliar with the American college admissions process, the standard envelope foretells rejection whereas the enormous, branded manilla folder brings acceptance. Waitlisting, much like its envelope size, is a liminal space. Fortunately, a couple weeks later my massive, forest-green envelope from Sarah Lawrence arrived to the tune of my mom honking her horn outside the Darien library. One dream lived; the other was in limbo.

Now, in my late 20s, I often miss those days of resounding acceptance and waitlisting, of "you're in, just not completely" being the worst feedback I received. Today, this rejection hasn't soured my mood; rather, it's a sharp reminder of the cost of putting oneself "out there". You can play hooky from work and attend literary agent seminars, or talk yourself up at random book launches all you want. If your writing doesn't fit, it doesn't wait in limbo. There's no stasis when a publication receives 5,000+ submissions. You're the male chick at the free-range farm. Perhaps that analogy is extreme, but I'm not very kind to myself.

I'll allow a moment of despair mostly because of my submission's subject matter: it's a short story fuelled heavily by personal experience with an eating disorder during the COVID-19 lockdowns. This isn't the only journal I've submitted it to, and not the only rejection it's received. However, I feel slighted every time, like they don't consider this topic important enough to publish.

But rationality soon returns and reminds me that it's probably not about the topic; it's the way I tell the story, and that can always be amended. While I don't want to edit this piece too heavily, it may be worth a little re-read.

And now I have a plan, and that's enough to keep me going.

I'd advise fellow writers submit to competitions, fellowships and general submission calls simultaneously. The former two can change your life, or at least your bank account, while the latter are excellent meat for your portfolio. As such, the former two carry a lot more weight whether you're accepted or rejected. It's their prestige that outshines the humble journal submission, but all are equally useful for showing the world what you got. Once you get there.

I'll carry on because I know in my heart this story is good. There are 8 billion people in the world; someone will love a short story.