There is a lot of pressure on authors to mask all of their post-rejection feelings with a sense of humor. I joke about wanting to have enough rejection letters to wallpaper my bathroom because lamenting another rejection in a public forum is poor form. So we all do it. We laugh off the ache. We state, with a hint of sarcasm, that we finished a recent story in perfect time, because we can’t wait to get the next letter that tells us "thank you, but we regret...".
I know other people feel this way when they are rejected, be it from a lit mag, a job, or asking someone out on a date. The outside world expects us to keep the Game Face on, make a funny joke from behind an obviously-broken nose that getting punched in the face doesn’t hurt a bit, dust ourselves off, and pick another fight. And we do. We are resilient. We temper our egos with humility (or is it the other way around?). We fight, and lose, and fight again.
But when we finally win
--when I finally win--
it will feel so fucking good.
May hope and hard work sustain me until then.
Amen.