Rejected reject.

When I approached my supervisor at work this morning, she said, "I heard you had something in the paper."

"Yes, actually I've had something in both editions published so far and something in each of the next few editions. I counted the other day and this is my 20th clip for The Temple News," I said with a smile.

"That's great, you know you could add that to your resume," she said, eyes wide and mouth pulled up and out in a wide grin.

If only she knew what my resume looked like. It would blow her mind. And yet, I'm faced with writerly rejection almost every day. Today I received an email from the head of Temple's Writing Center that read:

Hello Rosella,

Thank you for applying to be a tutor in the writing center. Our hiring committee has carefully reviewed all of your application materials, but I'm sorry to say that we will not be interviewing you for further consideration. As in every semester, we had many applicants for a very small number of positions. We must review these applications relative to one another, placing specific emphasis on papers that reflect the kind of carefully researched, problem-posing approach to writing that is most valuable to a tutor in this center. You might consider reapplying when you've had the opportunity to write more in-depth papers in your major, and review the guidelines for writing samples on the Writing Center's website. I apologize for having to deliver what I'm sure is unwelcome news; we wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors at Temple and beyond.

Not only did I receive that today, but I received what has to be the 20th rejection of my fiction (which pales in comparison to the 800 rejections Ray Bradbury got before publishing his first story, but it is no less painful). Furthermore, I queried 5 agents back in March or May and only heard back from one (clearly this was a rejection email).

Also, I've submitted my resume and clips for what is probably the fourth time to two.one.five magazine where I have wanted to intern since the summer before my senior year, and after the editor-in-chief reviewed these things, he said he needed to see more -- a 300-word review of something -- (this is pretty customary, actually) and I have yet to hear from him. This was last Thursday night that I sent my 330-word review of the 2006 movie Candy.

I don't know how much more rejection I can take without knowing what's wrong with me. Because that's the thing -- every rejection I receive is as uniform and vague as the email quoted above. I can see the tears welling up. Writing is the one thing I'm good at and which I love to do. If I can't make it in writing, I'll die.

I feel like part of me is dying.