I have become pathetically desperate for any sign of approval from editors. Even the slightest bit of hope sends me into an ephemeral bout of glee. Two words, “evident merit,” can get me gaga, as in my latest rejection from the New Yorker:
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Dear [Wonderful Owl Who Laughs],
We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material, in spite of its evident merit. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider it.
Sincerely,
The Editors
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If I can’t get an acceptance, at least I can use “evident merit” as an excuse to do a little jig--then trot back to the drawing board. Or in my case, the writing board.
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