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 perfect day of my author’s life.
“I can write about something beneath the solar.”
I mentioned it nonchalantly.
With out pausing.
I believed it was cool.
In spite of everything, I used to be on a telephone interview with an editor from the identical journal firm that I had all the time imagined myself working in — operating 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, recent out of school, considering the true world was a cakewalk.
“I got here from a superb college. It needs to be simple.”
That’s what I informed 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 exterior 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 mentioned.
