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.
5 comments:
Sorry, old chap. I know that slings and arrows can hurt.
Ten years is a long time, and every day that passes I see a narowing of what is accepted. You don't fit their criteria. And that criteria has little to do with the quality of your work.
Must be an age thing.
Publishing is getting dumber and dumber. I see this a lot with the younger people in publishing. They don't know anything and don't care to know. It's horribly alarming.
I have a term for this phenomenon: the Britneyization of Literature.
I like your term.
Unfortunately it seems to be true.
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