This is Rejection
“Dear Writer: We regret to inform you that your submission is not a good fit for our publication. This is a subjective business, and we hope you continue trying to find placement elsewhere.”
This is Your Blogger When Rejected
She opens the email with the expectation (instilled from its countless predecessors) that it is a rejection and, when reading the form letter, she thinks, “Yup, that sounds about right. Another one for the excel sheet.”
This is Acceptance
“I love this, I love you, and I’d love to publish your writing.”
This is Your Blogger When Accepted
She reads the email just out of the shower with a towel still wrapped around her. She yelps. She shrieks to Phil, “Funny Women. The Rumpus. Accepted me! The Rumpus is such a good placement! Shut the front door! The Rumpus! The Rumpus!” Her shrieks turn into a sort of “The Rumpus” chant, which is outwardly senseless, but so impassioned that Phil can’t help but join in. The enthusiasm builds until they are screaming “The Rumpus” like a literary battle cry. Because they are already shouting at the tops of their voices and therefore can no longer heighten enthusiasm through volume, she continues the chant and begins jumping around the apartment, still clutching the towel to her body (the windows are open and they are in a suburban neighborhood after all). Now that the two have both reached the point of full-out shouting and jumping, surely they cannot possibly elevate their fervor further. No, no they cannot…. at least not without the assistance of Freddie Mercury! Between leaps and blurts, Phil manages to enlist the help of all four members of British rock band Queen, to the tune of We Are the Champions. With the inspiration of the most motivating song to ever grace the ears of victors, their chant has morphed into an even more inexplicable version– We are The Rumpus. Fist pumps are involved, and their downstairs landlord is one electric guitar solo away from pounding a broom against his ceiling.