This kicks off a week of writing-related posts. Rejected, how could I not make this about writing? Here’s my picture:

You hear a lot about rejection from newbie and aspiring writers because to them it’s a big deal. There is no way to completely divide your emotions from your work. Yet the world demands that we suddenly stop caring about our work once we submit it. We can’t help thinking about how we’re going to spend that money or how good it will feel to have that credit, to see your name in print whether for the first time, or again. And we believe in our story with that shaky belief that we think it’s as good as the stuff we’ve read, so hopefully the editor will too.

So rejections are crushing, because we only see it from our side, from the point of view of what that sale would mean to us.

Now I’m going to ask you to see it from the other side with a nifty little analogy. Let’s say you have a fierce craving for a sweet snack, so you head out to the grocery store to pick something up. Now “sweet snack” does narrow what you’re looking for down some. You know you can skip the meat isle and the condiment aisle, and the cleaning supply and pet food aisles. But it’s still really vague when you get to the store. I mean, there’s candy, or fruit, or yogurt, or even breakfast cereal or granola bars, ice cream or bottles of juice.

So you browse, because you had narrowed what you were looking for, but there’s just so much in the slush pile I mean, grocery store. Something you know right off aren’t right for you. I don’t like nuts in my ice cream, and most candy makes me sick to my stomach after more than a “fun sized” portion. I can toss out anything the store has priced too high (though that part of the analogy doesn’t apply to markets, who usually put their pay rates out front and center), or that looks sketchy, is in packages too big, or that I know I won’t enjoy again later (let’s face it most packages and stories both should be good for multiple servings).

I still have way more options than I could possibly buy. And yeah, I don’t have to just buy one thing, but I can’t buy it all. The idea, when you’re on the end putting out the money–even if it isn’t your own–of feeling obligated to buy or guilty for not buying everything that fits the description of what they’re looking for is just silly. You don’t feel guilty when you grab the Oreos and not all the cookies on the shelf. You can’t. (Although, let’s face it there are some commercials and such that do operate on guilt and pressure.) And you certainly don’t feel guilty if you pass a nice thick T-bone that looks delicious, but doesn’t suit the purpose of your shopping trip. No matter how awesome it looks, it’s just not a sweet snack.

Yes, we start out with out hearts on our pages, desperately wanting that validation that we’re not wasting our time writing. But there comes a point where it just clicks and rejections are just like a consumer passing you up in your nifty packaging on the grocery shelf for something they want more. It doesn’t stop being a bit of a bummer, because you submit to places you want to be published by. But it’s not just not personal. It’s not just “a part of the game”.

Rejections usually mean nothing other than “Not this market at this time”. They don’t mean “This is shit” or “You suck” and lots of big magazine and major projects give form rejections. Notes and rewrite requests are a nice little bonus, but it’s not something everyone has time for. (Heck, sending rejections period isn’t something all markets or agents have the time for. Two books of mine queried two years apart showed a massive difference in nonresponses, even among agents who claim to answer every email on their website. And yes I sent follow up emails as well, which also went very unanswered.)

Rejections are nothing because they do not define your work, and unlike the snacks on the shelf your story isn’t going to go bad. A little spit shine can freshen up a story that’s been sitting around, even after years. Your product is done, and shelf stable, and even if no one wants to buy it now, a few years will change everything. Even if you aren’t in higher demand, tastes and markets change too.

Rejection is part of writing, part of life. Under the dazzling, squee-worthy strength of even one or two sales the rejections mean nothing but “Try again”.

I’m cheating. I took this picture last year (January 2009) but not only did I only find out this week’s concept about an hour ago, but I also can’t think of a better example of sharp, other than perhaps a bookstore or my house being the one in the picture.

Last year, on the the coldest day of the year, a 100 + year old church not far from my house burned down. This pretty much says everything about sharp. Cold, painful, uncaring. The thing to remember is that sometimes the old must be cut down to make room for the new. Sharp captures that too, decisive, neutral, necessary.

I am so tickled how well this turned out.

Last week Jason (who works 3rd shift) woke us all up for an impromptu breakfast. Driving back home, we noticed a veritable mass of birds. Since we’d only recently seen a presentation by Louisville Raptor Rehab we guessed, on pretty good evidence (that is, the fact that the birds were large, spiraling on eddies rather than flying and their wings were tipped in silver) we guessed they were turkey vultures.

Now I think this is a beautiful picture, made more so by the presence of birds considered gross at best and horrific at worst. Vultures in movies and books are often used to cast doubt on a character’s hopes of survival. But in a more metaphysical sense (since last week’s concept was faith) I think doubt, like the vulture, is vital part of life. Without it there’s no victory in faith. I also think we are supposed to doubt, it allows us to voice our fears and face our own darknesses and then chose to let them fall away (by believing anyway). There are also lessons to be learned in doubt and darkness. I believe strongly in self awareness and we are by nature flawed people. How can you achieve despite those flaws, or overcome them, if you don’t admit they’re there? We are all human and that’s why our accomplishments are so great, because we achieve despite.

And there’s that whole trope with the vultures and the people stuck in the desert.

For the full effect there’s more pictures below, and video where you can (hopefully) get a better idea of the creepiness of their pattern of movement.

Oh, and I guess I should note that we investigated the area. No bodies, but the park does have a slice of thickly treed area that they probably use as a nest.

Today’s game day at Case da Lee, so have some pictures.

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Most of the people who do popinjay are religious, beautifully religious as far as I’ve seen. I consider myself very religious as well, but I’m not Christian. But unlike the other pagans I know I can’t even put a name, or a face to my idea of God. My husband is Asatru, a follower of the Norse gods. I’ve know Jews and Muslims and Christians, Celtic pagans and Greek pagans, Satanists, and some very wise agnostics who don’t believe, but also say they aren’t egotistical to say absolutely that no god exists. I have faith, but I have no god. Again I loosely quote from Terry Pratchett (and again about Granny Weatherwax) “Believing in gods (for Granny) would be like believing in the milkman.” Gods must have perceptions outside the realm of human nature, yet most gods are made in our image, so we can relate to them.

I picked this picture (which I took earlier this year) for many reasons. Faith can be a beautiful thing, full of magic, life and beauty. But all too often people’s faith comes from a dark place, not a fertile, pure green place. Faith comes out of fear, or loneliness. Out of needing to belong, or elitism or the human desire to be special. A lot of darkness happens when faith comes from this dark place. People are hurt, scarred for life. The words of religions (which are not the same things as faith) are twisted to suit personal, political or even genocidal agendas. Faith is used to bring pain, foster hatred, and leave people quaking in fear.

But faith that comes from a good place, from a balanced, thoughtful, healthful place fosters growth, community, individualism, discussion, help and love.

So many people come to faith from a dark places and through their lives and the life of the people around them darkness grows. But some people come to faith through the other side of things and through their faith the world (even if only the world of the people around them) is made a better place.

I’ve been asked more than a few times how I feel about religion. It’s the same as faith in this case–I feel that both are deeply personal and there is no right and wrong. Faith should be a tool that allows you to lead a happy, fruitful life, and allow you to make a positive change in the world around you.

I’m trying to push myself with these challenges, away from taking pictures that inspire the feeling and themes and trying to capture the feelings in a visual way. It’s interesting because I’ve far more use to spinning visuals with words. This week’s concept is “Annoyed”.

Annoyed to me is a state of mind. It’s being agitated by something that you can’t get rid of, something that keeps coming up, never really gets resolved, largely because it is also at times vital to lives other than yours. Lately it’s been really hot, like oppressively hot, here. It’s the kind of heat that you can almost wear. But it’s also vital for all the plants I love to grow (not to mention all the veggies I’ll love to eat in a few weeks when they ripen.)

Ahem. You have to be awfully savvy to live with 6 people in the house full time when your primary bathroom (and the only one with a shower) currently looks like this:

Two more pictures for good measure.

‘Nuff said.

I knew what I wanted to take a picture of from the moment I saw this week’s theme. Reflective brings to mind mirrors and a state of thinking. Mirror bring to mind a story I read that perfectly encapsulates my idea of reflection. But first, my picture.

And now the story. In the Discworld books by Terry Pratchett there’s a character that I adore named Granny Weatherwax, who is the quintessential old wise crone/witch. She does astounding things all the time, most amazing of which is giving people exactly what they think they need to preserve their happiness, health and lifestyle. Logic goes a little funny around Granny Weatherwaxc, mostly because it finds her rather intimidating.

Anyway, in one book Granny faces down a very powerful witch, who amplifies her powers through mirrors. After the final showdown they both get trapped in a mirror world filled with mirrors. A gate keeper of sorts tells them both that when they find their true self they will be set free. The other witch runs off to find the mirror which contains her true self. Granny Weatherwax simply points down at her chest and says “This one’s real.” (or something similar, it’s been a while).

This so captures the idea of reflection to me, that reflections are powerful tools, but they aren’t the real us.

The photo captures this concept for me because the mirrors show twisted reflections (somehow I didn’t end up reflected in them either, which is amusing) and because they are surrounded by such glitz and glamor. Like I’ve been feeling lately, like I have to put forth this image of glam and perfection, or at least entertainment, but it’s not real. It’s barely even a small slice of my life that people even want to see. What they really want is the (to continue the metaphor, the mirrors are from a merry-go-round) ride and to lose their ownselves in it for just a few moments.

I think as a writer it’s easy to forget that the reflection is not really us and that the people around us, all of them, cannot help but to impress their own needs, emotions, experiences and fantasies on us. It’s very hard to hold onto your individualism in family life, and in life as a public artist (or a public person period).It’s very easy to try to live up to everyone else’s expectations and sacrifice your own, or to dwell too much on that moment of ride, or fantasy that you forget what the core of life really is.