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 below 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 workplaces, cursing on the editors in silence, beating deadlines — identical to within the films.
Again then, I used to be solely 22, recent out of faculty, considering the actual world was a cakewalk.
“I got here from a great college. It ought to be simple.”
That’s what I instructed 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 distinguished, beating on the glass panes with urgency as if telling me to undo what I had simply mentioned.
