Rejection #5

In April, Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love and Big Magic and host of the Magic Lessons podcast, asked listeners to submit a 100-word essay explaining why they should be featured on the second season of Magic Lessons.

My essay was one of thousands submitted. I'm happy to report that I was not selected. And for good reason. I've listened to Elizabeth's first three podcasts, and her selections were spot-on. The featured creatives posed multi-layered challenges for the reasons they felt blocked in their creativity.

Listening to Elizabeth peel back the layers of each of their issues was enlightening and helpful in my own creative life. 

My submission was genuine, but it was also boring--vanilla. Truthfully, I know the answer to the problem I posed: rest and pushing through. Those are the two things I need to achieve my creative pursuits, and so while I would love to speak with Elizabeth Gilbert and discuss the magic of the creative life, she was wise to pass up my submission.

There's really nothing else to say. I'm slowly making my way to 300 Rejections.

Screen shot of my submission

Rejection #4

When I started this blog, the plan was to chronicle my writing pursuits by celebrating my way to 300 rejected submissions. Submissions were few at the time because I hadn't convinced myself to own "writer" as a title. When I finally identified myself as such, I was so busy writing about the 40/40 list and working on my novel there wasn't time or energy to write pieces to submit.

Now I am motivated by the need for additional income as well as the desire to expand my comfort zone even broader (I've not yet written a query letter. It scares me, which means it's the next thing I must do), so I am newly motivated to prepare more pieces for submission.

Last fall I submitted the following essay for the 8th Annual Real Simple Essay Contest. This was my third crack at the contest over the years, and I am happy to announce it is the next rejection toward 300. I found the winning essay on the Real Simple web site today. It is a breathtaking essay and so deserving of the first prize ribbon. Congratulations to Diane Penney!

I have friends who insist that there's a book within my 40/40 list experience. I'm not ruling it out. There was at least an essay, which I present to you below.  Time will tell what other ways I will be inspired to write about how the 40/40 list shaped my life. Until then, here's my response to the magazine's question: What single decision has changed your life?

40/40 Vision: The Decision That Gave Me a New Outlook on Life

“You know, Julie, I'm creating a list of 27 things I want to do in celebration of my 27^th birthday. You should do the same to celebrate your 40^th.” My coworker's suggestion made me laugh and consider our age gap. My slender build, bone structure, and big eyes reminded her of Michelle Pfeiffer in One Fine Day—a movie we watched the same year. She was nine. I was a senior in college.

I didn't take her suggestion seriously at first, but over the next few days, the possibilities began to percolate in my imagination. Check off 40 activities in my 40^th year. I numbered a sheet of notebook paper and began filling in the blanks.

I posted a request on Facebook for suggestions. Friends offered ideas and their willingness to participate in some of them. Themes developed in an organic way. There were physical challenges: run a 5K with my brother-in-law; take tennis, ice skating, and trapeze lessons; do yoga daily—four sun salutations—to improve my forward bends; kayak at a local lake. A love of books and reading were represented: read four more presidential biographies; read a book off a high school reading list; re-read my favorite childhood series Anne of Green Gables. Writing four letters to state and federal legislators and attending a school board meeting rounded out the civic-minded category. Making bread pudding, making pie crust from scratch, and taking a cooking class at a local grocery store satisfied the cooking theme. 

 

I made sure that there were activities that my eight-year-old daughter could do with me: attend a symphony performance; get a pedicure with bright red polish; go to Meramec Caverns in rural Missouri; learn to fishtail braid her hair. 

Participating in a 31 day writing challenge in October and blogging about each of the completed activities represented my love of writing on the list. And then miscellaneous items that piqued my interest completed the list: singing a Sara Bareilles song at karaoke; staying in a hotel overnight solo; renting a MINI cooper; making a substantial donation to a charity; taking a train trip.

I kicked off the list on January 3—my 40^th birthday—by having lunch with girlfriends at the Boathouse in Forest Park in St. Louis. It's a restaurant I'd never been to in the dozen years I'd lived here. Being surrounded by such warm, inspiring, lovely women was the perfect start to a brand-new year and decade. We talked and laughed (and cried a little bit too) for hours. I marveled at how a group of women whose only known commonality was a mutual friend could bond and enjoy each others' company so much. 

 

My first 40 years were spent as a bookworm who lived predominantly in her heart and mind. The 40/40 list pushed me to question the narratives I had about who I was and what I believed about myself. Working my way through the list underscored just how much of life I had lived as a spectator, an observer. Take physical activity, for example. When my brother-in-law suggested I add running a 5K race to the list, I felt intimidated. “I’m not a runner!” I thought to myself. But he was suggesting a 5K, not a marathon, and so I agreed. I completed it successfully in just under 33 minutes. There were other labels that this list was challenging. Prior to turning forty, I also believed that “I'm terrible in the kitchen!” I repeated this belief often. It became a part of who I was. But then I baked the recipes on the list. No calamity occurred in the making of these desserts. In fact, they were delicious, and I had made them! I could no longer own the “bad cook/baker” label.

New mantras like “I can do everything” and “Right here, right now” developed in place of old labels. These mantras set a new tone throughout all aspects of life. “I can do everything” accompanied me on training runs for the 5K. It also came in handy before I launched myself off a three-story zipline platform or grasped the next handhold on the indoor rock climbing course. 

In January, I believed checking off items on the 40/40 list was simply a creative way to celebrate a milestone. What I know now with just a few activities left to cross off is that the 40/40 list initiated a spiritual journey. Always introspective, I evaluated myself in new contexts and under different circumstances. With emotional excavation I have grappled with the great role fear has played in my life. These activities have served as practice to end the cautious, play-it-safe ways I lived before. In my twenties and thirties, I was a serious woman who worried far too much about what other people thought of my decisions. Everything, real or imagined, scared me and so I backed away from anything that made me anxious. Now when I detect a sense of fear, I ask myself, “Are you scared?” If the answer is yes, I take the fear by the hand and proceed. In this way, I neutralize it and prove myself stronger. The fears of failure, physical pain, and not “doing something right,” have loosened their grips. 

The 40/40 list has created a fertile environment to take on other challenges that weren't outlined on the initial list. My new life is peppered with the questions “Why not?” and “What have I got to lose?” It turns out I have so much to gain: I started a daily writing habit and completed the first draft of a novel. I attended a writing retreat in Montana. I refinanced my house as a solo homeowner. And I did all of these things in the first seven months of my 40^th year.

As I celebrated my birthday all year, I witnessed others approach the milestone with trepidation, sadness, or dread. I cannot relate to these reactions. I love being 40! The first year of this new decade has ushered in new ways to live my best life. I take a stand for myself. I feel more energy, more happiness, and more zest for life than ever before. 

The reverberations from the list will last a lifetime. I didn't just run a 5K. I became a runner and have run another race since checking the first one off the list. And now I get a pedicure after every race. It's a new “be good to myself” ritual I've started. My daily yoga has taught the importance of consistent effort toward a goal. I can touch my toes without bending my knees. This was not possible in January. 

Nothing about life has changed, but everything about me has. Life is still hard and complicated, scary and unknown. The 40/40 list has taught me to take life as it comes. To delight in the good times, and to trust my instincts when the bad times appear. To keep one foot in front of the other, and to not look too far down the path. To just stay present and let tomorrow worry about itself. Best of all, I will be a better example of how to live a full and meaningful life for my daughter at 41 than I was at 40.

I can't wait to see the other ways my life transforms when this list is complete. I am grateful for my 27-year-old coworker's birthday suggestion to make that list. I hope she's had half the fun I have had.

Rejection #3

As you may or may not know, this blog was named 300 rejections as a chronicle of my writing pursuits. I figured the more rejections I got the better because it meant I was writing more.

I am writing the most I've ever written in my entire life, but have submitted very little work of late.

Last week I submitted a short piece to Huffington Post about my grandfather in honor of Grandparents Day, which is today.

My piece wasn't selected, so I get to add it to my list of rejections and share what I wrote here.

The maximum word count was 250, so it's short. I could go on and on about this man. But the following is what I wrote for HuffPost's call for submissions:

At 93, my grandfather, M.L. Rupard has redefined himself in his senior years. He inspires me to see aging as an adventure and full of possibility. In his late eighties, this man who retired from a facilities position at the local university, took up typing. He sat at his computer daily working his fingers closer to his 40 word per minute goal.

He faces adversity with grace. When he wakes up from a flashback from a difficult period in his life, he recites poetry to soothe him back to sleep.

Grandpa has had a life-long passion for horses. He visits his friends' stable every evening to feed their horses and serves as an advisor when issues arise.

Until my grandmother's recent death, Grandpa visited her three times a day to ensure that she was receiving the care he wanted her to have and feed her at meal times.

Grandpa demonstrates that age is simply a number. He teaches me that as long as you pursue your interests—at any age—your life can remain fulfilling and you can maintain your vitality.

His storytelling is my favorite of his qualities. He gets so tickled by the story he's trying to tell that he has to pause to collect himself. His eyes crinkle shut. He holds his breath. When he's ready to resume, his eyes open, his smile widens, and he exhales loudly. This pattern occurs repeatedly before he finishes the story. Watching him laugh so hard is one of my deepest joys.

Rejection #2

I meant it when I said it: submitting this brief reflection to Literary Mama Magazine online was a win-win proposition. I'd either be selected and would be able to add Literary Mama to my writer's bio, or I'd have something to blog about here.

Essay specs:
Write about your resistance to and need for rest as a mama writer
800-1200 words
Due February 3, 2014

A brief bio was also requested, so this is what I proffered:

Julie Mahoney is a Midwestern mama who carves out writing time in the midst of full-time work, motherhood, and restful episodes by writing at her blog www.300rejections.blogspot.com and filling her 18th journal.

I'm pleased to now present, Rejection #2:

The house I grew up in could have been featured in a magazine. My mother lovingly decorated with wallpaper and hardwood trim, and she made an art of keeping it organized and orderly. This home, the place she worked each day, helped to define her. Keeping it clean and ordered was her occupation. She was the queen of efficiency and multi-tasking. The bathroom counters were spotless. The kitchen sink was always empty. The beds were made daily. I cannot remember my mom doing the work. My own occupation was to play “school” and “grocery store” in the unfinished basement, so I had little appreciation for the hard work that it took to maintain the sparkle and order. What I remember is her always being busy. When her favorite soap opera was on television, she folded laundry as she watched. Her only down time came in the evenings. Snuggled under a blanket, drowsy as we watched Matlock and asleep by the mystery's conclusion.

I am a different mother. My work days are spent outside the home seated at a desk and writing words on behalf of a medical executive. My housekeeping is accomplished as my mood and energy levels allow. When an energetic spurt strikes, I knock out half a day's worth of house work in 90 minutes. I set the timer, and race against the clock. Or I catch up on DVR'd television, and make commercial breaks productive. But when another mood strikes, I sit and read and let the dishes wait until my mood shifts again. My daughter, Cadence, and I play “hotel” when the sheets need to be changed. We play “cooking show” when it's time to cook and clean the kitchen. Just the other day, she started playing “store” as she folded the family's laundry and sold the clothes to her customers. She bolted up the stairs weighed down with freshly folded towels, “Mama, my arms are full! Please open the closet door for me!” I met her at the door and helped her place her work on the shelves. The towels' corners didn't match, but I appreciated her efforts and put the towels in the closet just as they were. With more play and practice, her corners will come together one day.

The time I spend at home not making my house sparkle is dusted with guilt. If there is housework to be done, it must come before fun or rest. This is one of the unspoken messages I took with me into adulthood. But as a Gen X mother, I have also been introduced to the ideas of living in the moment, being present for my daughter, and balancing the needs of my child, my employer, and my washing machine. These messages resonate with me better than they likely do for my mother. This is why I seem to be a lazy undisciplined housekeeper. I convinced myself that good moms get their work done first. But then, when is a mom's work done? Unlike my mother, I am so easily overwhelmed by the fact that there's really never an end to the housework. The mental fatigue of a long day in the office coupled with the mess of daily life at home can render me paralyzed with exhaustion. And yet, the guilt doesn't keep me from doing the things I love: reading, journaling, and playing with my daughter. But it absolutely robs me of feeling relaxed as I do these leisurely activities. The voice quietly reprimands. “You know you should do the house work before you do anything else.” “Reading should come after the dishes, not before.” “What kind of example are you setting for your daughter?”

What I hope I am teaching my daughter is that living in a messy house is not ideal, but neither is all work and no play or no rest. I hope I'm teaching her that keeping house is important, but isn't the only thing. I hope she catches on that tidying up our living space can be a meditation, even a joy. I also want her to grasp that it takes energy to keep a house neat and tidy. I want the unspoken message she takes with her into her own adulthood to be that I trust her to do what she wants and needs on her own time line. I'm working really hard at showing her an example of a woman who spends her energy wisely and understands that burning a wick at both ends serves no one.

Rejection #1

In May, I submitted my essay, From Skinny Nanny to Well-Rounded Mama:A Journey to Acceptance, to Pregnancy and Newborn Magazine's Inaugural Reader Essay Contest.  I am excited to announce that I have my first REJECTION to celebrate!

Excerpt: "The once late-bloomer has emerged a confident, strong-willed woman content with who she is. I never thought I’d be as comfortable in my own body as I am now. I know who I am, what I want, and am satisfied with sailing through life in this slim vessel. The journey from awkward pre-teen to confident woman was expedited by the experience of pregnancy. For the first time in my life, my straight edges slowly began rounding, softening. At weeks seven or eight, my Gap size zero khaki work pants began tightening in my mid-section. This was a new sensation and one in which I reveled."

I am proud of this essay, and not being a contest winner does not diminish this.  I am motivated to keep delving into the themes and experiences in life.

One of the winner's essays can be found here and I encourage you to take a moment to read it.  Her essay is beautiful.