An assignment I wanted went to someone else. Rejection is as reliable a companion to a writer as rain is to clouds. To be a writer you learn to deal with it. As dead plants become compost upon which the garden becomes greater for, rejection is something a writer uses to cultivate ever better results.
But this one hurt. As a writer, I am supposed to put all the emotion out there for everyone else to share in the pain. But to myself this course is not true.
Bottom line. I wish everyone on the project that rejected me God Speed. My disappointment is my own. Those dearest to me understand what and why. And to everyone else I would like to introduce a lost art. Discretion.
There is more healing value in the sunset reflected in the snow on the peaks of the San Gabriel Mountains than blathering blabbing.
It is more uplifting to be carried away on the wings of a Monarch found sunbathing on nearly bare rose branches.
More triumph at the sight of a gladiolus which weaved its tender stalk through a thorny thicket.
More delight in the discovery that this daylily- the color matches the sunset sky in the top image.