Day 23

Day 23 – I’ve been waiting for months to hear back from a very excellent magazine about an essay I sent them. I had submitted once before, about a year and a half ago, and got a slip of paper in the mail 9 months later telling me thank you, but that they were going to pass.

This time, when the email popped up,  I held my breath. I’d submitted one of my favorite essays, the first one that finally clicked. I feel like a pretty accomplished poet, but the non-fiction thing is something I’ve had to teach myself how to do. And it’s taken a long time.

I’d struggled to write this particular essay for months, so long that I began to doubt whether it would ever be good. It went through 15 drafts. Then, the thing that I hope for, when all of the seemingly disparate elements come together informing the theme of the essay AND when the story itself finds its most clear, distinct shape, happens and I am the happiest woman alive. The funny thing is that I forget that I can get there. Something keeps me writing, though, and revising and brooding on why I’ve brought these ideas and people and events together in the first place. Every time I don’t think the essay will make it. But it always does, in the end.

Here’s the response I got from the magazine:

Dear Sophie,

Thanks for sending us “Wife to Myself.” We really liked this piece; I’m genuinely sorry to say that in the end we decided its not quite right [for us]…

We found the writing in your essay lovely – for example, when you talk about imagining the domestic dinner scenes behind softly lit windows: “I felt my own presence vulgar, dreaming myself into their windows, longing to be invited in.” And we were intrigued by the underlying themes of the essay: wanting your own family from a young age, the aversion to twilight, your transformation from a slovenly roommate to someone who pays attention to domestic matters.

But several readers read this, and we all felt that there was a missing piece here: we wanted to know more about the unravelling of your marriage…

The editor goes on to suggest that maybe I was reluctant to include such personal information. Her feedback is of immeasurable value to me. In fact, I didn’t even know this lapse in the story existed.  Now that I do, I can respond to it.

The editor’s personal response made me almost as happy as if the piece had been accepted. I know the essay is good and that the editor had enough faith in my writing to help me see what’s missing, heartens me.

In her closing comments, she said that they really liked my writing and hoped I would submit other essays. I am grateful for this reminder to go forward when it is hard, when I think an essay sucks and will never get better, and when I think it is good, but can improve it still.

Fail better; I suppose that’s the take-away!