The agony of rejection

Everybody has those days sometimes when they want to throw up their hands in frustration and go lay on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn for a Star Trek: the Next Generation marathon. Today is one of those days.

I got another rejection letter today for a manuscript that's really good. This isn't bragging - it's objectively a very good manuscript, if the comments I've received from multiple editors are to be believed. And why would they lie to me? If anything, they'd be better off telling me it sucks so I'll go away and not bother them with anymore of my hideous stories. But instead, I've been told this is a very funny, clever, well-written manuscript. I've heard this repeatedly from multiple different people who I did not pay to say those kind words. And yet every single one of them has still rejected the manuscript. I know I should just be grateful for the compliments - and I am - but it's hard to read that glowing first paragraph of a letter and get your hopes up, then get to the second paragraph and see the word "Unfortunately." I've come to hate that word.

Why all the rejections for an enjoyable manuscript? A variety of reasons, none of which I can do anything about. For some, the manuscript is too different from other things on the market; in other words, it's too big a risk. Others say it's too similar to other things that are on the market. Still others say that while their publishing house wants to branch out into books like mine, the time isn't quite right yet. I've also been told that an editor loved it, but the marketing department said no.

In all of these cases, there's nothing I can do about the rejection. There's no suggestion of a re-write to make it more appealing. I'm just told "good luck with another publisher." But I'm running out of publishers that might be appropriate for this book. I've even put this thing on a shelf for a couple years to give the market a chance to change a bit. But when I dusted it off, updated it, and sent it off again, I got another round of "great book, not for us" letters.

So what to do? It looks like a night of licking my wounds over mindless TV and popcorn, then tomorrow I'll try again. The thought that keeps me going is that someday I'll get that letter that doesn't contain the dreaded word "unfortunately" in the second paragraph. Instead I'll just see the word "YES!"

What's a hobby?

Whenever you fill out the profile page at any of the online sites that I visit, like Blogger, Twitter, Facebook, etc., one of the questions is always about hobbies. This one leaves me scratching my head. What, exactly, qualifies as a hobby? Can I list my cats? I spend a lot of time feeding, caring for, cleaning up after, and sitting under my cats, but does that count as a hobby? It's not exactly the same as cross country skiing.

Speaking of cross country skiing, how much time every year does a person have to do something in order for it to count as a hobby? Here in Illinois, there are relatively few days every year when there's enough snow on the ground to cross country ski, and even fewer days when the temperature is above zero, the wind chill won't freeze your nose off your face, and there aren't chunks of ice falling from the sky. In other words, if you want to cross country ski here, you've got about 4.5 days per year when you can do it. Can that qualify as a hobby?

How about completely non-active pastimes that I enjoy and spend a lot of time doing? Like watching TV. Is that a hobby or a bad habit? Same thing with drinking wine or eating chocolate or oversleeping. At what point does one cross the line from being a wine connoisseur (hobby) to being a drunk (bad habit)? And how about comfy clothes? I actually spend time and money looking for comfortable clothing to wear, so shouldn't that count as a hobby?

Here's another one: What about writing? Sure, I spend a lot of time writing, but since the goal there is to make money, does that exclude it from hobby status? But what if I'm writing something that's not designed to make money? You know, like a blog. Or something that I wish would make money but doesn't sell. Does that make me a hobbyist or just a failure?

And how about people who call themselves "buffs" or "aficionados"? At what point does someone go from simply having a hobby of going to see foreign films to becoming a film buff? Is there some particular moment in a person's life when they wake up and realize they have achieved buff status? It reminds me of George Costanza from Seinfeld when he once lamented that he'd like to be a Civil War buff, but he had no concept how to go about it. As it so often happens, George speaks for a whole generation of people, including me.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, it's time to put on my sweatpants and kick back to watch a TV show about nothing.

Work clothes

As I write this, I'm watching a DVR of "So You Think You Can Dance." It's the results show where they decide who's going to be voted off for the week, and I've just noticed that everyone's dressed strangely. Like in loose pants and leotard-sort of things. Then it occurs to me that they all have to be ready to dance in case they're among the 3 couples who got the lowest vote totals. Duh! These people dance for a living, so they have to be dressed to dance.

This is the first season that I've watched the show, and I'm used to results shows for American Idol where everyone dresses up. After all, they're singers so I guess they can wear whatever as long as it doesn't keep them from breathing.

This made me think about work clothes for other jobs. These dancers look pretty comfortable, as long as they don't mind showing some skin on TV. But uncomfortable, impractical, or just plain ugly clothes can make the time spent at work so unpleasant. When I was in high school, I worked for a huge fast food chain. This was years ago when the uniforms were made out of 100% stretchy, nasty polyester and there were stupid little hats. Sure, the work itself was hard and I made minimum wage ($3.35 an hour, seriously), but wearing that goofy outfit made my job so much worse. I mean, just because you're at work, do you need to be uncomfortable and look like a goon?

I heartily approve of improvements in work clothes. Like nurses today often wear comfy scrubs rather than those starched white uniforms from decades ago. And how working in a lot of modern offices no longer means business suits and high heels.

I have two jobs, both of which feature good clothes. My day job is teaching at a college. I pretty much wear what I like there as long as I don't look like I just crawled out from under a Dumpster. And as for writing, the wardrobe is the best! Pajamas, sweats, jeans, underwear: anything goes because a lot of writers work in the privacy of their own homes. Sometimes I attend writing events like book signings or conferences, in which case I dress up a bit to show respect for the readers and other writers and the event's hosts. Plus it's fun to choose outfits that are a little different and creative for those events. It's an excuse to look like an artist.

When I was in school, I never really thought about choosing a career where I could wear clothes I'd like, but fortunately it worked out that way. Actually if I had been thinking along those lines, then when I was very young I probably would have pursued "princess" or "bridal gown model" as career options. So maybe it's a good thing that I didn't realize at the time how important work clothes would be.