So I submit all my writing- pieces I’ve worked on for ages- and get roundly, soundly and utterly rejected. By everything from the Atlantic Monthly’s Student Writing competition (that’s right, kids, Stepen King won that. I’m lower than hack) to the “itty-bitty write a Jewish story and win a prize” competition. Even the University lit mag, which saw fit to award me a second place prose prize last year rejected me.
At the same time, I race around to get my first grad school application out on time. I have a very nice Chaucerian give me a reccomendation in a record two days because my history teacher neglected to tell me that he’d already sent my reccomendations off and then proceeded to ignore my e-mails asking him if he’d done it.
When I have a spare moment, I sit down and crank out a last-minute play for a scriptwriting competition.
My application does not get to the school in time. In fact, it doesn’t get there anywhere near the deadline. There will be no UCD this year for me, either. It’s looking more and more like I will be taking a third undergraduate degree, but at this point, I’m running out of degrees that interest me.
What I do find out today, however, is that while I have failed at everything I have attempted to put any amount of time into, I have won first place, a performance of my one act play and a hundred dollars. Because somehow, it turned out all right. Or everyone else’s was just bad enough.
I walk a fine, fine line.