A while ago, my very generous boyfriend offered to help make order out of the chaos that were my bookcases. On a lazy Sunday afternoon, we pulled volumes off the shelves, organizing them into categories—fiction, non-fiction, Holocaust studies (Don't ask!), books by family members, plays, poetry, etc. etc.—until after several hours, the shelves made sense.
As we were on this journey, he came upon an enormous 3-ring orange binder that I kept neatly tucked on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. It's roughly 4-inches thick and contains every rejection letter I've received since I started saving them in the early 1990s. Each letter is protected by one of those clear plastic archiving sleeves, which are in turn held in the binder in chronological order by printed date.
Stunned by his discovery, he posed an interesting question which has been rattling around inside my head ever since.
"Why would a person meticulously archive all their rejections but not their successes?"
I had a quick reply. "Acceptance letters are rarely sent. Good news is generally delivered by phone. Someone calls to invite you to participate. I can't very well archive phone calls, now can I?"
But the more I think about it the more I wonder if there is something wrong with my saving these letters.
I got one more yesterday, which meant I had to climb a foot stool to retrieve the binder from its new spot on the highest shelf of all.
What do you all think? Is my behavior pathological? Does it indicate some deep dark addiction to rejection? What do you do with your rejection letters?
