As soon as upon a time, on a wet day, I used to be handed my first rejection in lower than ten seconds. It was the most effective day of my author’s life.
“I can write about something beneath the solar.”
I stated it nonchalantly.
With out pausing.
I believed it was cool.
In any case, I used to be on a cellphone interview with an editor from the identical journal firm that I had all the time imagined myself working in — working round inside its well-known hallways, going out and in of places of work, cursing on the editors in silence, beating deadlines — similar to within the motion pictures.
Again then, I used to be solely 22, contemporary out of school, pondering the actual world was a cakewalk.
“I got here from a great college. It needs to be straightforward.”
That’s what I advised myself as I waited for a response.
I stared at my manicured arms in silence. There was no sound on the opposite finish of the road. I started to surprise if the editor on the opposite finish was actual and if I used to be simply waking up from a bizarre dream.
The sound of the rain outdoors the window subsequent to my desk was extra outstanding, beating on the glass panes with urgency as if telling me to undo what I had simply stated.
