Words to Describe What Happened Yesterday

Embarrassing.

 

 

 

Depressing.

 

 

 

Demoralizing.

 

 

 

The suck.

 

Basically, a freelance project I wrote just got rejected by the people who own the product. Like really rejected. Like they know their product better than anyone else and so they’d rather totally redo it themselves. Makes sense, yes, but unfortunately the insults were passed on to me, too.

I was reeling. I’m still reeling. I’m mortified to be writing about it here even though I was told by the editor that it’s not me and there’s nothing I could have done and we love your writing and blahblahblah—I must have blanked out at this point—and then, later, the editorial director called me into his office to tell me I can’t take it personally and that this is what licensed publishing is like. All paraphrased because, again… reeling… unable to comprehend.

I thought taking these freelance projects would be easy money, little side trips while doing my “real” writing. But if this is what licensed publishing is like I’d rather work in a donut shop. And I say this not to knock anyone who works in a donut shop but because I despise the greasy-sweet scent of donuts and if stuck in an enclosed space with them over an extended period of time I would probably start retching. I was told not to take it personally, but I am taking it personally. How can I not?

I am trying to think of this as a symbolic strike of lightning from the fates telling me that whoring myself out as a writer is not what I should be doing. Just like our rent increase is a strike of lightning telling us to move somewhere else. And like inadvertently learning how underpaid I am is a strike of lightning to… I don’t know… find a job at a donut shop?

Either way, who ever said being a writer would be so hard?

Oh, right. Everyone says that.

Damn. Why do they have to be right?