March 2024 SOLC–Day 17
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
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For six or seven years now, I’ve submitted a few poems to a weekly column in the Maine Sunday Telegram. This column, entitled Deep Water, highlights poems about Maine or by Maine writers or publishers. Every year I’ve received my rejection letter encouraging me to try again. And I do.

Many years ago, after reading Stephen King’s “On Writing”, I began celebrating my rejections, as evidence of my effort and the tenacity of repeated submission. My husband has learned to say “Congratulations!” whenever I mention a rejection. My writing group does this, too. In fact, one of them just shared a great, related article this week.

As I was writing this post, it occurred to me that a rejected poem or piece of writing is a lot like a weed. It’s just a flower growing in the wrong place. Who said that anyway? It turns out that a lot of people have claimed this line, or a close variation of it, but most often it’s attributed to George Washington Carver. While checking that out on Google, I found another pertinent quote.

All of my rejected poems are rather like a bouquet of weeds. A rejection doesn’t fundamentally change them, or make them unworthy. It might simply mean they weren’t in the right place at the right time. It’s someone’s judgement at that moment and in that context. Just think of the “lowly” dandelion, that master of tenacity! Some people spend hours trying to obliterate them from their yard, yet, drooping and bedraggled in the generous fist of a child, they are transformed into a treasured gift. To a bee, a dandelion is manna. To a pristine lawn lover, a persistent invader. To a photographer, a fascinating subject. Same flower, different judgements.

So, last June, I received a letter informing me that one of my submitted poems to “Deep Water” had been accepted and would be published on March 17th. I was over the moon. But bear in mind, this poem had already been rejected as a weed elsewhere. This time, apparently it landed in the right place, at the right time. The same exact weed was suddenly deemed a flower.

I’m sharing this poem here, because I am delighted it was accepted. It is a heady pleasure to have someone else judge your work as worthy. Still, going forward, I’ve decided to combine my rejections and acceptances in a larger bouquet. I like the look of it. Truth be told, when they’re all gathered together, it’s hard to tell the flowers from the weeds.