I took all of my rejection letters - there must have been thousands of them in a huge box - and I went out on the curb and burned them all, crying.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
These rejections hurt me terribly because I felt it was my life that was being rejected.
I had my share of rejections.
I've had way more rejections than I've had jobs.
I used to save all my rejection slips because I told myself, one day I'm going to autograph these and auction them. And then I lost the box.
I like to joke that I probably hold the world record for rejection letters. Yes, the truth is that I was fed up of being rejected repeatedly, and self-publication was an act of defiance at traditional publishing. But life works in strange ways.
It was the worst period of my life. I had all this gigantic acceptance as a kid, and all of a sudden there was this monumental rejection.
Through my illness I learned rejection. I was written off. That was the moment I thought, Okay, game on. No prisoners. Everybody's going down.
I kept sending out stories and getting rejected.
In my early career I was like a goldfish. Rejection didn't affect me; I'd just forget how bad it was and keep going back for more.
Knowing that you're the one who's been rejected, God it makes you feel isolated. I defy anybody not to be a bit upset. I felt as though I'd walked into the house trailing all this baggage.
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