Self-Writeousness

As a child, I was always in trouble for not paying attention in class. It wasn't because I was busy writing to my crush: "Do you like me? Circle Yes or No" or because I was picking my nose and daydreaming about the latest episode of Salute Your Shorts - I was too busy reading a book under my desk. Yup. I was that kid. And okay, I was doing all of the above when I wasn't reading.

When my nose wasn't buried between pages, I was trying to jump start my own writing career. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to be a published writer. I remember setting out to write my first story. I had all of the intentions of publishing it and becoming the first 8 year-old in history to have a number one book on the New York Times Bestsellers List. Yes, I knew the importance of this career-making list at age 8. That's how bad this was.

My first attempted story was titled, "Jackie's Life," the chronicles of a minority kid, growing up in a gang-riddled ghetto with step-brothers and step-sisters. I have no idea why I thought I was knowledgeable in such matters. I grew up one of the few minority students in an all-white, affluent city, with two younger biological sisters and my parents were still together. I think I wrote "Jackie's Life" the day after I watched Spike Lee's "Crooklyn." That made me an expert.

Now that I really do live in a neighborhood riddled with gang violence, it is not as romantic as I made it out to be in my story. I actually had a scene where Jackie gets a gun pointed in her face and then she suddenly forgets about it and goes inside to make cookies for her friends. No comment.

Proud of the first three chapters of my hit novel, which dealt with runaways and drug-use, I decided I was ready to give it shot- I wrote a handwritten letter to Scholastic Books, the company that published my all-time favorite series: the Baby-sitters Club. I asked them if they would be interested in publishing my first novel. If they were interested in publishing stories about babysitters, they had to be interested in publishing stories about drug-using family members, right?

I really wished I would have made a copy of my letter, as I can't recall exactly what it said. But I distinctly remember that I did not send my novel with my request. I only had one handwritten copy- no way was I parting with that cash cow. What if they didn't send it back? I'd be screwed! They would just have to be dazzled by my riveting summary. I kept my fingers crossed as I ended my letter with "P.S. Can you give me some tips on how to publish my first book?" I used my best cursive and signed my name with a star over the I in my last name.

And then I waited.

Three long, arduous months passed and my hopes were flying higher than Gary Busey (fun story). I had actually convinced myself that the publishing contract was coming back to me in the mailbox. I had collected an array of colorful pens, and I was deciding which color to sign the contract with, when my dad came up to my room with The Letter.

I snatched it out of his hands and slammed the door in his face. This was going to be my moment, and only mine! Why was this envelope so thin? Didn't contracts come in thick packages? Hmm...maybe this is just the first letter they send to let me know the contract is coming.

Then there it was:

"Dear Ms. Shipman,

We regret to inform you that we will not be able to publish your novel-"

A scream pierced through the air which was suddenly filled with tiny shreds of paper. I didn't even realize what had happened until it was over. I had a rage blackout. The Letter was no longer. I didn't even read the rest of it.

"What is going on?" my mom rushed in concerned.

I was crying now because I would never be able to share Jackie's Life with the world. She would forever stay in the closet.

My mom held me and said, "I didn't even know you wrote to Scholastic. Why didn't you share the letter with me? I wish I could have seen it."

I couldn't believe she wanted to see The Letter. Why would she want to revel in my rejection? I couldn't take it. My 8 year-old world was crashing down around me. What would I ever do?

I kept writing. And kept sticking my nose in a book.

Sadly, I didn't attempt to get Jackie's Life published again. I went through a journalism stint in high school but then my self-righteousness prevented me from majoring in it in college. "The laws of journalism are stifling my creative soul. I just can't be free," Fucking 19 year-old. I traded my dream in to work for The Man. Gotta love capitalism.

I am happy to say, that my dreams of being a writer are finally starting to come to fruition 16 years after I received The Letter from Scholastic. Thanks to the help of this blog and a good friend, I was offered the opportunity to contribute to a publication here in Seattle! Stay tuned for more adventures online and in print :)

Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but don't let rejection keep you from saying what you gotta say.