Sometimes after sending a story out for publishing and getting a lot of rejections, I decide enough is enough. For my sake and the story.
I feel guilty when I stop sending out a short story. It is a strange ending to what I created. No one will ever read it except me.
I keep my stories printed out and in manila folders. Inside on the left are magazines I sent the story to along with date and when it was rejected (or when I never heard back from the magazine).
One folder has red wine stains, another splotches of strong coffee, and still another drips from black tea. Some are peppered with food stains while others are not so anointed (it didn’t take as long to write them).
When I run out of room on the inside cover, I write the rejections on the back. At some point, I stop and file the folder and story away before I run out of room on the back and there’s nowhere else to go.
These stories I file away don’t sit far from the stories that were accepted. Maybe I’ll bring the old stories out and try again one day.