You know what I like about rejection letters?

That feeling of hopelessness and despair that comes over me when I read those rejection letters is like a sweet, sweet nectar. You know that feeling when you just were dumped? You thought things were going well, you know? And then the bottom falls out, you get the "look," that pitying look that says, "You're nice, and I like you, but I don't know if I'm in like with you." God, I remember those days with an odd nostalgia, oh, God, the plays and monologues that pit of emotional despair could instigate. Ah. Is it true that artists work best in fits of depression and hardship? Dunno. The "Renthead" in me says, "Yes." The side of me that's pretty content with life says, "Eh. I don't know. Get back to work."

What excites me about my recent rejection letters is the fact that they're not form letters; they actually have small bits about my plays and their strengths. So, that's a step in the right direction, but... A rejection is a rejection is a rejection.