Ego te rejecto

Ah, sweet rejection.

Just got news for the Canada Council that my grant application for a book-length poem got turned down. Of course, first thing I wonder is, who did get the grant?

Yesterday, Conan at Taddle Creek rejected the four poems he'd solicited from me. I think he was hoping for Funny Stuart, and instead he got Serious, Somewhat Difficult Stuart. But I thought those were four of strongest pieces I had kicking around. And one yearns to do something unpredictable in a mag that one has been in before. He asked to see other stuff, and I said OK, but I think maybe not.

And last week, or whenever it was, that I queried a publisher about my next poetry book, would they like to see it? Well, I addressed the query to an editor there who had given me Writers' Reserve money in the past. But what I got back, the same night, was a form letter, with a personalized intro, explaining their manuscript selection procedure. It was all too much bureaucracy for me. Had there been a "We'd love to see a manuscript from you, Stuart, but we can't promise anything," that would have been enough encouragement to go through the process. But instead I got the skinny on The Process, with an explanation that they receive 17 billion manuscripts a year and only publish seven of them. And it was up to me if I wanted to submit. So the editor I wrote to never got to know that I'd queried them, and presumably the person who answered my query isn't too hot on my stuff.

So it wasn't exactly a rejection. But I won't be sending my MS there, after all. My hope is to find a press that is genuinely interested in my work. Not looking for an automatic acceptance; just evidence of interest.

It's sorta fun, this thing of flailing in the wind.

Over and out.