Here is a rejection from MacDowell Colony, who's tagline is "Giving Artists Freedom to Create." The thing that stings about this rejection is that I'm a former fellow. About ten years ago, I had a delightful stay. I ate lunches delivered in a little charming basket to my cabin in the woods. I sat by the fire and thought. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I enjoyed a lovely fellowship with my fellow writers. However, now, I fear I have somehow become irrelevant, and this is embarrassing. Someone suggested to me that it's more difficult to get in during the summer session (last time I was there in a cooler season); summer is when all the academic artists apply and get in. I am told summer is when sexual affairs and other non-writing activities are pursued. In the fall, when I was there, we had no time for such matters; we were busy writing. But, anyway, I've always thought of MacDowell as my place, though clearly it does not always think of me as its writer.