….spell ’em with a G.
Once upon a time, a lonG lonG time aGo
I spelled rejection correctly. And it made me feel like crap.
Sure, I’d tell myself all the usual
LIES words of wisdom, like:
- Ah well, that’s the way the ball bounces!
She’s just not that into you
- Maybe next time
- At least my voice is out there
If I started now, I could be out of scientist school by the time I’m 400
- One day it’ll be my turn
Or, to sum up: Blahblahblah comfort blahblahblah reason blah.
I was sick of rejections staring at me from my, otherwise, empty, desolate wasteland of an inbox. Once you read them, they really serve no other purpose, just sit there rotting. But at the same time there’s this unwillingness to delete them with the idea they should be kept in some sort of record, chronicling my life as a “playwright”.
But what am I going to do, wallpaper my bedroom with them?
In any case, after about the 50th, something snapped.
THAT DOES IT
I exclaimed to absolutely no one,
I’M GETTING A BLOG!
I asked my drunk friend extensive research on the matter, I decided upon wordpress.
I imagined I was speaking directly with the President of the WordPress Corp. in signing up. His name is Bob and he looks like that:
Intimidating yet approachable.
This is how our conversation went:
Bob: Hello and thank you for choosing WordPress, how may I help you?
Me: Uh yeah, hello, I want to start a blog?
Bob: No, I mean username.
Me: OH. Rejected_Writer, please
Bob: Sorry, all usernames have to be lower case and smashed together so they look like poorly constructed run on sentences.
Me: Oh, of course…rejectedwriter?
Bob: I’m sorry, there is already somebody by that name.
Me: aufher83894%^^* YWH HRRNHWwe
Bob: Please don’t do that with your elbow
This went on for about a half an hour.
I was about to say EXPLETIVE IT, throw my hands in the air and go back to watching dancing dogs on youtube. Nothing was working and Bob was glancing at his watch and sighing.
That’s when the clouds parted and the birds chirped and other signs of an inspirational epiphany happened.
Embrace the rejection. Infuse a piece of myself inside the word.
SPELL IT WITH A G! I exclaimed, knocking a glass of water off Bob’s desk.
No need for the theatrics, Bob said, plugging it in
I’M A PLAYWRIGHT! I shouted
I AM A PLAYWRIGHT AND A WRITER AND NONE OF THESE SILLY LETTERS CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE!
My point is, I wound up teaching myself something in doing that. I felt like Mister FREAKING Rogers.
Not that misspelling a couple of words is so revolutionary; but it’s what kept me from giving up.
And it feels awesome.