It really is a kind of loneliness, the constant run of rejections. The occasional high time, where an idea tickles me, and the story flows freely from my fingers. Then sending it in, waiting anywhere from three days to five months, and having it come back as a rejection. The steel heated red-hot, then quenched. A tempering for a writer's mind.
In general, rejection is like that. Anything you long for, and wait a long time to have. One does not usually wish for the loneliness to go away, or for the rejections to stop. Melancholy is often the foretaste of a great experience. If I stopped getting rejections altogether, I would have no evidence of my labor. It would mean no one was reading my work.
As it is, I look forward to the high country, barely visible through the sheltering cloud. I love the rainstorms, and I love the sun.
I just made a count. As far as I can see, I've written 46 short stories, and gotten 139 rejections.
Not nearly enough. Better get busy! See you!