So, Author-friends, here's the deal: the Rejectionist isn't rejecting you any more. We did that thing, the thing you should never, ever, ever do. We quit our day job. We quit our day job to write a book. We are not going to lie to you: we are fucking terrified. We are not entirely sure how we will pay our rent past February. And it feels SO GOOD.
We tried, we really did: tried to cash in on our nice teeth and good education, tried to suck it up and get some shitty office job, the kind of office job upper-upper-middle-class-raised white ladies like us get. Whatever you do in an office, type things all day, who even knows, we have never had an office job before in our entire life. We meant to get health insurance and sell the hours of our day for good money, or at least decent money, or at least money that approached "a living wage." No more dishwashing, no more overnight shifts at the shelter talking people down from methamphetamines at three in the morning for ten dollars an hour, no more food service, no more mopping someone else's floor, no more cleaning someone else's toilet.
Except we moved here, and no one in an office would hire us. No one. They took one look at us and laughed. At--we are not exaggerating--every major publishing house in the city of New York, four literary agencies, several investment firms, two colleges, and the ad agency who writes copy for Shell Oil. It comes out of our pores: This bitch will not get the coffee. Or maybe it's just our résumé, the résumé of someone who is always on her way out from the first moment she steps in the door. We were lucky enough to find the job that we did, working for someone who was happy that we are smart and like good books. But even that person wanted us to get the coffee. And the thing is? A real job is not why we came to New York. We came to New York to be a writer, and our job got in the way.
New York is not an easy town. It is maybe the hardest town on earth, the town where everyone is richer than you and more beautiful than you and does everything you care about better than you do. New York is feeling broke, like really broke, like so broke we do not even have enough money to leave New York and go somewhere easier kind of broke. New York is a mercilessness that means nothing unless you have tried to live here with no money. New York is heartbreak. New York is fucking humbling, is what it is. These are not new things to say about the city of New York, we are well aware; but they were new things to us, when we came here from the balmy and ambitionless west, where our rent was two hundred dollars a month and our greatest worry was a flat tire bicycling to a party. When we first moved here and spent what felt like all our time riding the L between Brooklyn and Manhattan listening to Nebraska on an endless loop and crying--that is literally all we can remember about our first winter in New York, the flickering grey light of the subway and that album playing over and over and over--when we first moved here we were sure it was the biggest mistake we had ever made in a lifetime filled with burnt bridges and reckless decisions. Instead we have come to love this mean and glorious and messy city in the same way we have come to love our own mean and glorious and messy self, with a love that is hard-earned and deep-rooted and made out of iron. New York helps those who help themselves and we did not come here to be timid. And so we are doing it, we are jumping into that great and fantastical abyss, and we will make it work, because we have left ourself no other choice. Because we are a writer. It took us thirty-one years to be able to type those five words in a row but here you go: We. Are. A. Writer.
We aren't going anywhere, we promise. We might start writing in the first person! We might tell you about our Book! We might post more stills from a seminal, deeply-beloved-to-us 1993 Perry Farrell movie that probably only two people reading this blog have seen, and for good reason, because it is a terrible film! But we certainly shan't ever stop talking about ourself to this wondrously captive audience! Surely you know us better than that by now! There are many, many things for Rejectionists to Reject, even when they are no longer Rejecting YOU! Jonathan Franzen, for example, or displeasing fashions! Tedious manfictions! Jan Brewer! That TOTALLY FUCKING HEINOUS HR-3 bill, maybe you will do us a favor and call your representative to remind him or her nicely of how much you do not support it, thank you! At last we have removed this awkward barrier, dear ones, of the Rejectionist rejecting YOU PERSONALLY, a task which was fucking soul-crushing, to be honest, as much as we made jokes about it! NOW WE WILL ALL BE REJECTING THINGS TOGETHER. You must admit that that is a very PLEASING THOUGHT. Let us march ensemble into the People's Revolution!
Last but not least, ALTHOUGH WE ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE, we would like to take this moment to thank all of you magical, magical persons, lurkers and commenters alike, who continue to read and support the Rejectionist. You have no idea how much it charms us that you do. NOW GET OFF THE GODDAMN INTERNET AND GO WRITE YOUR GODDAMN BOOK.