I wonder who created the form letter for rejection slips. Whoever did it was a master at saying very little and also very much.
In the last two days, I have received two such rejection letters: one for a piece of fiction, and another for an academic paper. Both letters were supremely diplomatic, along the lines of: "We regret that your submission does not meet our needs at this time."
They may be saying, "This is a piece of crap; why did you waste our time?" or the submission may actually not fit a theme they are preparing: the writer has no way to know.
Time constraints make it impossible for editors to respond personally to each submission. But it would be nice to know the reason behind the rejection.
I'm starting to realize that a lot of things in life are like that. It would be great to know why I didn't get into grad school, why the internships I applied for a few years ago didn't pan out, and why everything bad or frustrating in the world continues to happen.
Last night, I watched the cable premier of Million Dollar Baby, an incredibly depressing film that implicitly asks the same question. *SPOILER WARNING*
The film's protagonist, a thirty-year-old female boxer rises out of poverty and a life as a career waitress and fights to become a champion. At the height of her career, as she approaches victory in the championship match, a cruel trick by her opponent leaves her paralyzed from the neck down.
As she gradually loses hope, the audience asks, along with her and her old trainer, why? Our expectations are shattered. Movies like Remember the Titans, Cinderella Man, Seabiscuit, and every other copycat sports movie since has prepared us to expect the unlikely victor--the comeback kid--the cheer-despite-yourself ending.
Million Dollar Baby plays up that expectation, and then at the climax, hits the viewers with a surprise left hook and leaves us wondering, why? Why did it have to end that way? Did it have to end that way?
Although it is frustrating to some, I appreciate the fact that Million Dollar Baby does not provide easy answers or consolation. I like a happy ending as much as anyone, but 'happily ever after' has more meaning if not every story ends that way.
In my personal life, I'm also discovering just how much I can learn from each inexplicable disappointment. I'm a stubborn person. If someone tells me: "This is what you're doing wrong," my first inclination is to argue. If someone just says "no," as the rejection letter does, I have to figure it out for myself.
It's like reading back over a paper that was given a poor grade without comment and trying to find what you did wrong. Half of the time, I can find more areas to improve than the professor may have seen in the first place.
Being disappointed without reasons is one of the most unpleasant feelings in the world. But after the pain dulls, and you take a step back to reevaluate, it can be a valuable learning experience.
AFTER the pain dims. And heaven help anyone who tries to tell me that as an answer instead of letting me discover it for myself.
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