A Contestant of Sorts
Posted on January 15, 2008
Filed Under writings, career, education, milestones, Anxiety, resolutions, challenges |
I begged for challenges and only one obliged. Ron over at R World has tempted me to reapply to that damn writing program that wrestled my heart from my chest and hurled it in a dumpster last Spring. And so it begins, my e-mails and phone calls to the same administrative assistant that put up with my queries and nervous bad jokes last time around.
As it turns out, I don’t need to submit an entirely new application. He said, “Just give us a new personal statement, some new writing samples, that’s all.
JUST? THAT’S ALL? Interesting word choice.
I’m not sure how he manages blase and flippant when talking about drafting ANOTHER brilliant and concise short essay that best represents me, a better one than the first time around (the flippancy and the need for better are implied. But I figure if I can’t do better than last time why bother? Apparently, my last attempt wasn’t good enough). And then there’s the task of twirling off three new short stories before the March deadline. It’s not that I haven’t been writing since last Spring, it’s just that I’ve been working on a novel and the fair admissions staff at this particular university discourage applicants from submitting long fiction. A fact I probably should have considered long before mid-January.
And with American Idol starting up again this week, I feel quite like one of the hopeful contestants that follows Randy and Simon and Paula from audition stop to audition stop though she is ridiculed and rejected at every location. She enters the room with her number pinned to her chest, sure that the audition in Seattle will be different from the one in Tampa, convinced that this time her talent will be heard and appreciated. She can see their name in lights. So alluring is the notion of someone important finally taking her seriously, that she is blind to one important fact - she is only marginally talented. In the pursuit of her dream she has become an earnest but laughable fool who has presented herself, once again, as a glutton for punishment.
The whole nation groans along with the three judges each and every time she throws her name in the ring. It’s just too painful to watch. The audience covers their eyes and holds their breath just waiting for the audition to be over, for her to finish her pitchy tune and be booted from the room; resolved to return to next year’s auditions with a new hair do and some kick-ass cowboy boots because she has convinced herself that it must have been the outfit.
I figure if I am resigned to the ridicule, if I fully expect rejection and just plain forget to go to the mailbox for all of April and May, then I just might survive the painful period of waiting. Unlike American Idol, the process of rejection from this esteemed Master’s program is a long one. Just long enough to allow all hopeful applicants to fully fashion the image of their acceptance, to imagine themselves attending titillating writing classes with accomplished professors before lowering the boom of denial.
As an adult, who is expected to have plans and goals and something always on the horizon, it’s so incredibly hard - the not knowing. So I’ll pretend I know already and just do it, fashion a personal essay that is passable and professional and maybe just the thing that moves them this time around. I’ll slip a few chapters of Habeas Corpus in the mail, ignoring the warning to avoid long fiction, I’ll shove it all in a manila envelope, not the fancy black leather binder of last year. It’s the equivalent of showing up to the American Idol auditions in a bathrobe. It’s the proof that I’m crazy jaded and not too worried about collecting another rejection letter. It is liberating to act as if I don’t want it that badly. It’s fuck if I care. It’s a lie.
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7 Responses to “A Contestant of Sorts”
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Ooh I feel the pain
But may I offer words of encouragement? As a floundering, self-loathing grad student constantly worried that someone is going to figure out any second now that I don’t belong here, I know it’s going to be totally worth it when you get in. I spend most of my waking hours in front of this monitor sitting with a numb ass in my broken swivel chair repeatedly pounding my head with a highlighter. This Masters degree is one of the hardest things I have ever done (haven’t given birth yet) but it has been such a great (if often terrible and epic struggle of an) experience. And I still have 90% of my thesis work to do and defend. So I say, go for it!
cce,
I feel terribly misunderstood. When I said start collecting rejection letters, I meant from the folks at The New Yorker and Random House - that kind of rejection letter. And it should be your goal to collect a great number of them - like your own personal contest. That way, you say, “Yes” every time you get another one. Then, one day, confident that you’re about to get yet another rejection letter out of the mailbox, you’ll feel this pang of failure - “They want to publish it?” before realizing that it was, indeed, this you were after. (And if you can actually figure out how to fool yourself with such a transparent scheme, let me know. Ha! Let everyone know. Publish a self-help book titled, “How to delude yourself.” That could be the best seller.)
You revived the whole thing about grad school. But really, would you rather be rejected by George Clooney or that fairly average guy in high school? You might as well get rejected by the best.
Moshizzle, thanks for the encouragment! I’ve actually already been through grad school, so this would be the second time around. Arghhh. Can you imagine wanting to do it all again?
Ron, now I see what you meant. But having been rejected once by the fairly average high school lad, I can’t even imagine going after Clooney. Clooney will expect a finished product, while h.s. guy is less critical, willing to work with the flaws to improve them. Perhaps h.s. guy is more starter marriage material?
Well, sometimes the h.s. guy’s judgement is just so poor he doesn’t understand what you offer - like an 11 year-old convinced that a Picasso is no good. But given you’re a novelist, maybe it’s less a starter marriage than the marriage for material.
You’ve been a grad student and you want to go back?? Good lord. Is this the same phenomenon as women wanting to have more than one baby? I joke. Speaking of which, Ron is very funny. Why can’t you pursue both Clooney and h.s. guy at the same time?
You’ve got my vote… and I’ve got my fingers crossed for things to work out the way you hope.
I applaud your motivation. As I acknowledge that I don’t share it. Not even the tiniest bit of it.