The effects of rejection

So, let's get back to the writing stuff.  If I wanted a livejournal, I would have opened a livejournal.  No, this is Blogger, it's held to a higher standard.

Now, I've been rejected so many times from so many different magazines that I've started trying to guess what the rejection will say.  How will they start, with the bland sort of

"I hope this finds you well"

Or will they tell me how incredibly small my chances were of getting accepted in the first place

"We receive so many submissions"

Will they soften the blow?

"And while your submission is excellent"

Or will they just go at it

"This is not what we're looking for"

Will they wish me well?

"We wish you luck in your future endeavors?"

Or will they do something like

"Cheers!
- The Drabblecast Team"

Yeah, that last one was for real.  Cheers! You're rejected.  It's like breaking up with someone and nudging them going "Good knowin' ya, eh?"

Or nice while it lasted or something like that.

Anyway, one of the side effects of rejection is acceptance.

I got accepted to be published in Underground Voices Magazine, which is not so much a magazine as it is a website.  But it's something! It's $40 of something.  That's right, it's my first time getting paid for my writing.  I'm gonna go spend that money on booze and drugs.  Just like a real artist!

Another side effect of rejection is this:
"Dear Mixer Magazine,
  I'm not going to lie to you.  This story will be published someday by someone.  That someone could be you.  That's the opportunity I'm presenting today, the opportunity to publish this story.  Think about how you'd feel if later on in life you woke up, had your morning coffee and set about reading your daily intake of literary magazines and suddenly BAM! There's my story.  Printed in a magazine that is most definitely not yours.  How would you deal with the regret?

  So do yourself a favor.  Don't live a life filled with regret.  Publish this story."

A writer's apathy is a fearsome thing.

Aggressive impersonality

There is something aggressively impersonal about online classes.

The drop down box says I can laugh
Raise my hand
Applaud
Or agree.

The professor can deny my request to speak.

If this is where higher education is headed, count me out.

Actually, don't.  Now I want to be a professor even more.  I can give an hour of lecture from my couch and get paid six figures.  Cha-ching!

My stars and garters

That expression is peachy keen.  I just watched the last bit of X-Men 3, which is actually directly related to my travel blogging.  On the flight back, I watched "The Fighter", which I mistook for "The Wrestler", thinking I was watching a movie that everyone had recommended.  I also watched the first half of X-Men 3 and was thoroughly unimpressed.  But some latent masochism in me made me watch the rest of the movie.

Beast says, while flying into the final conflict with the big bad guy and almost certain death: "My stars and garters".

Sometimes I think the people who write these big budget movies are just constantly drunk.

Anyway, I wanted to post a quick update to show I am still breathing.  Grad school has started, and with it a dizzying amount of social interaction.  I never realized one could actually have trouble hearing themselves think.  But after 8 hours of telling people where I'm from, what do I do, what's my goals, I needed to flee the room just to have a few inane thoughts to myself.

More to come.