Handling Rejection: Advice for the New Writer

          When I first started writing, rejection was a weight in my stomach that never went away. Even today, it's still there, and with each story I send out, the weight grows stronger. But that's not what writing's about, I tell myself.
          Yes, rejection is a natural part of the writing process. Some stories work with some magazines, and other stories need to be placed somewhere else--that's how the business works. However, we write because we have a story to tell, something that someone out there must know. For myself, it's the common struggle that minorities face every day as they work towards equality or a higher form of understanding. To others, it might be an action filled, horrifying tale of what happened during vacation. Now, in what part of these is there rejection?
             It's crazy, but being a writer is all about, you guessed it, writing. Publishing is only a gold coin that adds flavor to our passion, so if one magazine doesn't accept our story, we can look at the story for what it is, maybe revise it a bit more, then move to the next magazine and see where it goes--that's it.
          Writers carry such a burden with rejection, however, because it's their work--their children. To see our offspring be rejected is hard, and it does hurt. Writers need to remember, however, they are not being rejected as a person.
          In Catch! A Fishmongers Guide to Greatness, Cyndi Crother and the World Famous Pike Place Fish crew discuss that when working, they carry a short motto that allows them to remember everything's not as bad as it seems. Their phrase is "it's all over here," meaning that whatever negative ideas that are thought are not from others, but from ourselves (16). When I first started writing, I felt that I would never get published. At the time, I felt that in order to be a writer, I needed to be published. Writing stories became difficult because I would want them perfect, and the pieces eventually just ended up in my laptop's recycle bin. However, once I let go that editors and publishers were out to destroy my work and mood, writing and submitting became easier.
          And that's the most important thing: submitting and being rejected is easy. When someone asks if we would like a glass of water, and we say no, the other person hopefully is not hurt by our rejection. The same thing applies here, but editors feel that our work is not fit for their magazine. Well, what do we do after a rejection, then?
          Send to another magazine and keep writing.
         It takes courage to continue to send out stories, poems, and novels with the idea rejection could be there, but rejection is not a way to destroy us. Publishers and editors want our stories; they want someone to hear what we have to say. As writers, our job is to enjoy our passion and see who else possibly would like to tell our story.
          It's been a year since my first story was accepted, and for twelve months I received a large amount of rejections. Instead of letting them burden me, I printed the first rejection I received and posted it on the wall, telling myself that it's just a piece of paper ("It's all over here"). As authors, our job is to tell a story, and someone out there wants to hear it. It might take time to find that person, but when we do find them, it's the best feeling ever.
          Until then, we just keep writing.

Redmond, Seattle, and the Haunted Saloon

          For the past few years, vacation has been something hard to come by. School, work, and hobbies always came in the way. Thankfully, I had one week before the next intercession of my school begins and I return to work, so I took it upon myself to schedule a trip up northwest to Washington, a place that has always interested me due to its culture, history, and weather. Heading up there, I didn't know what to expect.

Washington's known for its sprawling forest scenery and wet weather.

          I stayed in a small apartment in a city near Seattle, called Redmond, known for Microsoft which is located near the highway. Waking up was an experience as the sounds of the trickling stream and pond behind my friend's cozy home eased me, and sleeping was orchestrated by toads and owls. The trip was spent here mostly, my friend and I watching horror movies and documentaries, but when we had the chance, we took the bus and headed towards Seattle.
         

A small distance from the apartment, this brook was a calm getaway for reading.

     The main focus within Seattle was to experience the culture and history of Washington. I grew up hearing about a city within the north built on the creativity and hard work of those who braved the constant rain. One major landmark of this would be the Pikes Place Farmers Market, and it was just amazing. For roughly a mile, vendors with a history of thirty plus years shouted, hooted, and welcomed passing tourists and shoppers into their stores of fresh fish, cheap books, and indie artwork.

Pikes Place Farmers Market

          The day went by fast, and eventually, my friend and I grew hungry but were low on money. Thanks to Yelp!, a local place was suggested and we made our way to Seattle's Merchant's Cafe and Saloon. It was said and written to be the oldest cafe and saloon within Seattle, something my friend said I had to experience even if she had never been there, and I ordered the grilled cheese with bacon and fresh fries; however, that was not the only thing that came with the meal: the location is haunted.
          Yelp! comments stated that the ghosts were active on occasion, and immediately, I asked the host if the place truly was haunted. He stated, yes, it was, and things tend to happen on ocurrance. I took a shot and asked if I could investigate, and he instructed for me to head to the basement, where the restrooms are located, and to "do [my] thing." As soon as dinner ended, I was on my way with camera in hand--I wish I had my recorder, however.
          The basement was illuminated more than I had anticipated, holding both a lounge and the restroom, but no one was down there at the time. Within stepping down the steps, the atmosphere felt heavier than upstairs. It wasn't negative, but it was noticeably different. I began to snap photos as my friend sat hirself (excuse the pronoun; she's agender, a division of the transgender community, and looked over the room, taking it in. After several shots, I captured orbs, supposed forms of energy that are manifested by spirits, but I knew that it was a poker game with such things. After spending a while downstairs, I said thank you and left.
          Back home, I've looked back on the trip. Yes, I've gathered several stories that I wish to write, and I was able to pick up many trinkets and wet clothing along the way. It was sad leaving my friend of 7 years behind when I had just met her in person at the start of the week, but I hope to return or drag hir down to southern California another time.
          I've looked through the photos of the Merchant's Saloon, and not much has stood out to me as far as what was captured, but I did find one photo that stood out to me. The world is full of skeptics, and orbs do have a tendency to get confused with dust and water particles, and even insects, but this orb out of all of the photos takes on an illumination of its own, and to compare, I've pasted a photo with dust below, followed by the orb. View it in an analytical perspective as you will--these photos have not been modified in any form, shape, or manner other than uploading into this post.

On the top right against the bricks, this can be argued as dust due to the translucent center and bright ring; also, it is in a dusty area of the basement against bricks.

In contrast, up against the ceiling is an orb that seems to be illuminated on its own brighter than usual; compare to the photo above.

Writing Tutoring and the Future

          As a writing tutor, I get an experience of both being a student and a teacher. It's an odd mix as I have never thought of myself as a teacher, but I've been told by students that's how we--meaning tutors--are seen as. That's not the reason I tutor, however. For me, tutoring is a way to keep myself busy and talking and thinking about writing. Some would argue that's like doing homework every day, but I find it play-time.
          This semester was different for me as I actually had a professor mentor over me while I tutored in her classroom. It was a new form of work I have never been given, and it brought many challenges along the way. But I ultimately learned a lot, such as how to handle the different types of learners further, how much planning goes into a lesson, how flexible a professor/instructor must be with the tasks at hand and how the students digest it, and how many ways writing can be looked at. Not only did this help me as a tutor, but this affected me in my writing.
          The structures and tones I witnessed opened my eyes, and the stories some students told me gave me a further glance into human nature and the conflicts that can occur. One student, an older woman, told me large stories of her day-to-day concerns and accomplishments; then she proceeded to discuss how if something happens on a small scale, it can affect her and the day in its entirety. Story wise, this gave me the opportunity to apply ideas on character direction in impossible, stressful situations.  Even in non-stressful situation, a character could react horribly, putting them into a new conflict (though, the student I speak of never did such a thing, I must add). The position didn't just affect my fiction, but it changed how I viewed my own future and direction.
          Two years ago, I would have never thought of becoming a professor in anything, but I fin myself thinking towards the idea every day. Being payed to help others and push them to a new level with writing, something I'm passionate for, sounds amazing even there are those who are obviously less passionate. Furthermore, my own studies have revealed that I'm heavily interested in focusing on female literature and feminist arguments even more so than I had thought before. I plan to see a counselor next week and announce my major in English, so I'm excited, but as the semester wraps up, My plan is to dive heavily in fiction.
          As a student, it's difficult to find free time that works with class, work, and fiction writing. The same can be argued for anything: being a professor, parent, business-person, police-officer, etc. But these next few months will allow me to tackle my writing skills at the same level I had previously, and I will be able to read as many books as I want to assist. The students laughed when I stated I would be writing all summer, but they didn't realize how much this is a passion for me. That, or maybe my thriller stories are really starting to affect me.