It’s official: I didn’t get in. So much for a nice way to try and get published, or to have fun over the summer. I feel unqualified as a writer and as a creative person in general.

At least I had one day of feeling great. Right? That’s all I need for three years.

EDIT: No, you know what? I’m not going to let it get me down. I have the utmost respect towards the people who got in: Those are the truly great writers. But what does that say about me? It does not say that I am inadequate, and I’m foolhardy to think that it means such an absurd prospect. There is no reason why I should be mustered by rejection. If rejection makes me foul, then I will end up a foul being for eternity.

If anything, all I must do is work harder, write more, and continue my creative endeavors. And keep having fun. A lot of it.