I realized the other day I was down to two pending submissions and fast approaching the “assuming the lack of response is a rejection” dates for both. I’m starting to enjoy the rejection as a catalyst for blogging (something I usually hate but that the industry assures me is essential), so I sent out another submission last night.
What’s sad is that I really like the magazine’s vibe and most of its content. I thought it would be a good fit for the murderous housewife piece, and they publish regularly as opposed to on a quarterly basis, so I figured I had a chance. I paid a nominal fee for the 24-hour turnaround option because I understand the need to cover expenses for hosting fees and such.
The waiting time was a fascinating experience. Despite an initial blood-brain rush of oh my god this could actually lead to something, I knew I was waiting for an air conditioner to fall from the sky and hit me. And hit me it did with a form rejection roughly six hours later.
I was half asleep when my inbox dinged me. I thrust my phone in the spouse’s face and made him yank off the band-aid. He paused for a moment and said-recited, “Well, the good news is that they appreciate the chance to read your piece, but it’s not for them. However, it’s not a reflection of the quality of your work.”
I smacked him on the arm and muttered incoherently about being sad before passing out. Today, I move on, though. To do so, I’ll share with you a story about Sean Penn:
Years ago, my brother and sister-in-law lived in LA, and one night they went out for a nice meal. Let’s assign my sister-in-law the name of Lena. Well, after dinner, my brother went to get the car while Lena waited out front. She was wearing a nice dress and heels and minding her own business. Suddenly, Sean Penn sauntered out of the same restaurant and stood on the same curb a few feet away.
Lena used to work in image sales for a prestigious company, so running into celebrities wasn’t unusual for her. Now, although Sean Penn has turned out to be a shitty person, Lena used to have a massive crush on him as a teen, so her brain ceased to operate properly. He started smoking a cigarette and they stood in silence for a while.
Finally, feeling self-conscious about standing in a nice dress on a curb next to a major childhood crush, she blurted:
“I’m waiting for my husband to get the car I swear I’m not a hooker.”
Sean Penn proceeded to rake his gaze over her from head to toe. After he finished his assessment, he took a drag from his cigarette and said:
“I wouldn’t have thought that.”
That fucking response! Is it an insult? A compliment? There’s no way to know! I wasn’t even there, but I still think about it sometimes and laugh.
Guess it’s time to send more submissions. Maybe the one about using my dead mom’s lipstick this time.