Last month, I repeatedly talked about how I wanted to submit a short story to a journal or anthology. Well, I dragged my feet about it, but I submitted on April 30th, not too many hours before the deadline for my goal.
I ended up submitting my short story, Watching You, to The Dark magazine of horror and dark fantasy. I read a few of their stories, and I thought mine was appropriate for the magazine. That being said, a lot (but not all!) of their recent stuff had a Hispanic flavor, but I thought I had a chance. The Dark was a higher level journal than the one I had originally identified for the story to go to, and I thought perhaps I should aim high then try somewhere else later if it failed.
What was more?
It has a reply time of a single day. That would give me enough time to look the story over again and submit it to the anthology I had first identified without breaking simultaneous submission rules.
So I have my first rejection letter! And I only seriously wanted to die for like 6 hours after I got it! I’m not feeling very good right now, and I’m not sure if I even want to make the goal to submit another short story this month.
I’m seriously wondering if I’m cut out for this. I know it’s just one rejection, and people are going to tell me things like “Oh, you have to do this if you want to be a writer,” but… well, that stuff makes me wonder if I want to be a writer. Get used to wanting to die? Get used to feeling like a worthless sack of poop that isn’t good at their passion? I don’t like that! It can’t be about that!
I don’t talk about it much on the blog because I don’t think people want to hear me whine about how I’m a f*cking lunatic, but I do have pretty crippling mental issues. If you’ve ever wondered why I’m such a butthole on Twitter, it’s because I’m usually depressed, and not just a little depressed. I am seeing professional help, but it’s a really rough time to live in my head. That submission and rejection didn’t help. I might actually be too depressed to handle this.
Right now, my goals are to not quit, to eventually eat again (self-punishment garbage that I know from an intellectual standpoint is stupid, but from an emotional standpoint I can’t get over), and to do some reading. Maybe soon I’ll be able to submit something new (or even submit the same story to a different journal), but right now I’ve got to repair the ol’ cylinders.