So mister smarty pants sent off one of his short stories to a writing competition and guess what? He didn't win. Nothing. Not even a spot on the finalist list. He toiled over his little tale, cleaned it up (with mom's help, of course), gave it one final spit-shine, then submitted it.
He waited anxiously for the results. He paced all hours of the night, rambling incessantly, causing mom to tear her hair out (not really). He nervously chewed his nails raw, the bloody stumps just now starting to scab over (okay, maybe a little bit of an exaggeration). Finally, the judging day came, and with it the email dad feared he'd receive. "We appreciate your blah, blah, blah..... Unfortunately blah, blah, blah.... Please try again in the blah, blah, blah...
It's okay, big guy. There's always the next one. Get over it.
4 comments:
I am pretty sure what must have happened is they never actually got his submission. Because he should have won for sure!
Awwwww lovely Orbit!! You must tell dad to take a deep breath, exhale, another deep breath, exhale and to get back on the pc and fire up another story and send the other one to another competition! Go for it!! And good for dad for sending the story in the first place!! That alone deserves a great big cheer!! Yay! Take care
x
I think my mom still has the rejection letter from the New Yorker (one among several, I might add). Of course, that was way way way before my time.
Not that any of this helps your dad at all...
Congrats your right up there with Mark Twain. His first story got the same Thank you, But!
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