Rejection slip to a Publisher?

Of course, it is part of your dues as a writer to get enough rejection slips to wallpaper an entire room.  But have you ever wanted to turn the tables?  Some years ago, a fellow writer sent me this:

Dear Publisher,

Thank you for your rejection of my short story “Rain” dated October 22.  After careful consideration, I regret to inform you that I am unable to accept your refusal to publish my short story at this time.

This year I have been particularly fortunate in receiving an unusually large number of rejection letters.  With such a varied and promising field of candidates it is impossible for me to accept all refusals.

Despite your literary magazines outstanding qualifications and previous experience in rejecting submissions, I find that your rejection isn’t quite right for my needs at this time.  Therefore, “Rain” will be published in your next edition.  Please keep in mind that this is a subjective process and that my opinion does not reflect the opinion of all writers.

Best of luck in rejecting future submissions.

Sincerely,

 Writer Extraordinaire

“Don’t start reading Leveille’s book at breakfast if you want to get to work on time.” -CBC Voyage North, Thunder Bay, Ontario

Poet or novel writer?

At writers’ workshops I always bemoan the fact that I’m too long winded as a writer to ever become a poet. I equate poetry to snapping a picture and novel writing to filming several wide pan shots.  I always want to explore the WHOLE story.  However, I was cleaning out my files and guess what?   Yep, I  found a poem I wrote.  This, however, does not in any way mean I won’t stop throwing a pity party when I have a word count to fullfill (as if poets have it any easier finding the right words to nail the creative vision onto the page). Ha!

Chicken Bone Fence

   Car tires

   humdrum humdrum

   rutted blacktop,

   drumhome drumhome

   dead dreams

    lost love. 

   Round the curve…                                                                             

   Chicken bone fence

   zig-zags

   a swollen breast

   of farmer’s field,                                                                        

   framing                                                                               

   the whipped butter tops

   of goldenrod,  

  snarling thistles

  onion sweet

  bales of hay,                                                                             

  reeling bees,                                                                               

  and daisies bowing

  their heads

  to pray. 

  All else is forgotten

  as we swell

  and ripen,

  bursting our skins

  beneath

  this living Monet

  hung on a hillside

  in Cambridge Narrows.

 Kathy-Diane  Leveille

“Leveille uses rural New Brunswick to explore characters who, in the midst of emotional change, find emotional memory tugging at their sleeves.” -ATLANTIC BOOKS  TODAY