It’s hard to believe in yourself and your work when you are constantly being rejected. This week I received two rejections. Not a big deal in the scheme of things, someone I follow on twitter got four in twenty-four hours, but it still can bring your writing world to a grinding halt. I am about fifty fifty on my reaction to rejections. I either take it as a kick in the ass and get more shit submitted or a kick in the stomach and wallow in self-pity.

Always during this, I am constantly wondering if what I am writing is interesting to anyone at all. I have some great readers, people I trust, so unless they are totally lying to me, my work has some value.

And yet, I can’t help thinking that with each rejection something must be wrong with me.

Intellectually, I know that every magazine, editor, reader, whatnot has a goal for every issue and I know that maybe my work doesn’t/didn’t fit that goal or vision. I can understand that but it doesn’t make the rejection any more palatable.

I guess this is basically a woe is me blog post today but it’s what I was thinking about after receiving another rejection this morning.

Ultimately, a writer has to wonder…is my work boring?