Last Monday, I found out that one of my poems, Nebraska, had been nominated by Quartet Journal, for “Best of the Net.” I also got five rejections that day.

I’m totally used to those “not for us” notes. My rule for myself–and the advice I give to others–is to not to let rejections bother me for more than 10 minutes. But 5 times 10 is 50 minutes. Far too much time to be disappointed in a single day.

Besides, my average rate of rejections per month for 2024 is 9, so to get 5 of them in a single day is a bit much.

But, hey, I’m at 73 rejections for the year–so well on track to get to my goal of 100, especially with 38 submissions currently outstanding.

To tell the truth, I was more bemused by the barrage than upset by it. I didn’t waste my whole ten minutes per rejection feeling blue. Like life, you can look at the glass half-full or the glass half-empty, and I was really pleased that a journal liked one of my poems well enough to put it on their A-list.

I’d touched a few souls. That’s what really mattered to me.

And the volunteer tomato plant that had taken root in the flower bed between the bee balm and the day lilies was putting out bright red cherry tomatoes. So, how could I be unhappy after such an unexpected miracle?

It was a glorious day, hinging on that edge between summer and fall. I made a huge Indian-inspired dinner with all my harvested potatoes and kale (chana aloo saag) and took a walk in the woods.

Then I sent out more poems.