One would imagine that misfit children would have a misfit hole in their lives where the misfit toy could belong, but in the land of media saturation how many children will choose a low tech bird fish over a new gadget? Wii will assimilate. Wii want more. <grin> . Okay– I know there are plenty of folks who’d choose a bird fish over a gadget any day. And this delights me to no end and keeps me from floundering in the sinkhole of despair. To be fair, I’d like to try playing Wii tennis some time at someone’s house. You ask your mum and I’ll ask my mum and then they can talk to each other.   <grin> 

I was thinking about the misfit toys because I just received notice that a grant application for a writing project was rejected. It’s a blow, both financially and psychologically, but it’s also part of the entire writing experience. Being a writer means also being able to hear and deal with professional rejection over and over again. For years and years! The trick is not to let these rejections reach your core self. Rejection of your short story, or poem or play or novel is not a rejection of your person. Your writing is not an extension of your self. (If it is, you’ve put yourself in a terribly vulnerable place…. Mind, I’m not certain how it works for non-fiction writers who place their experiences on the page for the world to see– but I suspect in the crafting of this narrative a kind of division occurs. Non-fiction writer, I’d love to year your take on this!)

Following a rejection moment (I mean writing-wise) I allow myself three days of sulking/sorrow/resentment/etc, max. But THAT’S IT. And, ultimately, even in the face of numerous rejections, if you believe in the project and it feels right, in your gut, this excitement and passion and conviction, no matter what careens and crashes around you, this project must be seen to fruition. It’s calling you. You must follow. The project itself becomes something separate from ego. A growing thing, a beautiful monster…. Yahhhhhh. Rawwwk awwwwn! 

Follow that feeling. Believe it. 

Of course it’s not all Rocky Balboa theme song…. There are Eeyore days and Piglet nights. But there you go. Deal or no deal. No one is forcing you (me) to write. <fierce grin>

End note: Partook of the last of the Raisinwich cookies with my daughter. We had it with lemon tea. Cranberry red in a pale green teacup. A perfect way to close the day. Three days not required. (~__~)