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Link or Post Your Rejected Writing Here



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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Fri, Jan 20 2023, 1:49 pm
Post your rejections here! Bonus points if you'll tell me where it was rejected from.

Rejected from the NYT, now on my substack:
https://ishayirashashem.substack.com/p/putin

Ignored or rejected from every frum newspapers I sent it to, prior to being on Substack. The ones I remember are Yated, Hamodia, Mishpacha, 5TJT, Dialogue, Ami, and Binah.
https://ishayirashashem.substa.....-rosh

Post what you wrote and where it got rejected from! I would like to read it!
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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Fri, Jan 20 2023, 1:50 pm
I had something accepted by Neshamela magazine, but I didn't like the way they edited it so I didn't let them publish it.
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amother
Salmon


 

Post Tue, Jan 24 2023, 1:11 pm
This was rejected by Ami, Mishpacha and Binah

I think it's cute!

Instinctively I shrank back as the sound of screeching brakes reached me. This large, silver carriage with small windows seemed quite full, I could make out quite a number of excited heads bobbing up and down in what I assumed was shared chatter.

A few feet away, a tall graceful woman dressed in an understated elegant outfit was calmly striding towards the open carriage doors. With careful poise, she ascended the small metal steps and was swallowed up through the revolving doors.

A few more people ascended the train quickly, breathlessly. I recognized some of them as those who had been waiting before I had arrived here. Then they were sat on the long, narrow metal benches that wove a careful maze through the crowded platform. They had a large number of bags with them, even larger smiles and a never-ending supply of food. They were so engrossed in conversation that they barely seemed to notice when trains arrived. I had puzzled about that and wondered how they were able to do that. How they allowed train after train to pass by without ever appearing anxious or nervous about their own train. It seemed to be an incredible feat.

I felt as though I was the polar opposite. I spent my time gazing ahead, as though the force of my dark eyes would bring about my train faster. As soon as my ears picked up the faint rumble of a train approaching in the distance, my back would shoot up ramrod straight and my heart would beat a painful, gasping staccato. Dare I hope that this train would finally be the right one for me? But time and again my shoulders would slump back against the peeling, greying paint and pinpricks of fear would tug at me.

Maybe I had somehow missed my train? Maybe I was waiting at the wrong place? I would for the thousandth time, pull out the small shredding piece of cardboard from my sweater pocket and scan the words and numbers that by now I could recite backwards. I was in the right place. I had arrived on time. There was no mistake. Here my breathing would finally return to regular as I tried in vain to put myself at ease and remind myself that my turn would come.

With a small sigh I watched as the train slowly picked up speed and then disappeared from sight. My train had yet to arrive.

The day dragged on, minute by minute. When I got too tired of standing restlessly next to the shedding gray paint of the walls and the outdated posters, I rested my tired feet as I sat on a plastic chair that had at one point been some sickly shade of yellow
I tried not to look too much at the other people milling around the station. It hurt me to witness so much broken hearts and so many other people who seemed to be constantly rushing onto trains. But since I had ample time, it was hard not to.

There were those who kept to themselves. And who did not want to get too close to anyone else, and instead remained confined in their own small corner. They were probably hoping that their train would arrive soon and they’d be free to leave the stifling station with its stale air blowing through the dusty vents in the ceiling. They probably imagined that their stay here would be short lived and therefore it didn’t pay to get too comfortable.

After a while it gets too hard to watch their hopeful glint in their eyes begin to dim as each train passes by and it is not theirs. And sometimes it’s even harder to watch those who arrive breathlessly at the station, only to hop straight onto another train.

And then there are the others, who settle down on the smudged yellow chairs as though they were a comfortable sofa. Who lean back and smile. They smile in this cold and dank place. They even strike up a conversation with the others around them. I am constantly boggled by them. I wonder what strength it takes to be able to ignore the stale air and anticipation that hangs thickly overhead like an itchy blanket.

I picked myself up and stretched my sore joints from sitting for too long in one awkward position. As I began pacing in my small corner, I wondered just how long it would be til my train would finally arrive.

I remembered how I’d arrived at this platform, all starry-eyed and filled with optimism. I’d eagerly taken a place right at the front of the crowd, just inches away from the platform’s edge. The jostle of humanity and the faint smell of smoke that hung over the air didn’t bother me then. I was sure my train would arrive almost immediately.

My entire life until now had had no hitches. Not a single delay. Every time I arrived at a station and found my correct platform, almost instantly my train would pull up. I would casually ascend the carriage, with the sure steps of one who’s never had to wait for anything.

I was one of those for whom the train seemed to wait for. I was the one who always caught the first train. I was the one whom other’s eyes would glare at my back as I got onto the first train that came careering through the station. Sometimes it seemed as though they thought I was taking their coveted spot, but that wasn’t possible. Each seat had detailed name tags, and everyone always sat in the correct place. I doubt there’d ever been a single case of a person taking the wrong seat.
But now, for the first time in my life, it seemed as though everything had ground to a halt. Where was my train? Why now was it taking so long? This was new, unfamiliar and slightly terrifying territory for me.

With a long-suffering sigh, I hitched my grey monogramed bag further up my shoulder, but before I sank back onto the painful plastic chair, I had made up my mind. Ignoring the curious and mystified looks of the people around me, I allowed my feet to lead me to the source of the only sound in the large room.

Quietly I approached the group who leaned back on the scratchy chairs and smiled. I reached the group of people who sank into the yellow chairs as though they were a sofa. And then I did something I never imagined I’d do. I pulled up a faint yellow chair and I joined them.

This was life and I might as well enjoy the time.
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tigerwife




 
 
    
 

Post Tue, Jan 24 2023, 1:26 pm
I’ve written a few short stories; more than half were rejected from Ami, Binah and Mishpacha. However, I’m hesitant to let them loose into internet even though I’m not sure I’ll ever publish them myself.
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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Tue, Jan 24 2023, 2:14 pm
amother Salmon wrote:
This was rejected by Ami, Mishpacha and Binah

I think it's cute!

Instinctively I shrank back as the sound of screeching brakes reached me. This large, silver carriage with small windows seemed quite full, I could make out quite a number of excited heads bobbing up and down in what I assumed was shared chatter.

A few feet away, a tall graceful woman dressed in an understated elegant outfit was calmly striding towards the open carriage doors. With careful poise, she ascended the small metal steps and was swallowed up through the revolving doors.

A few more people ascended the train quickly, breathlessly. I recognized some of them as those who had been waiting before I had arrived here. Then they were sat on the long, narrow metal benches that wove a careful maze through the crowded platform. They had a large number of bags with them, even larger smiles and a never-ending supply of food. They were so engrossed in conversation that they barely seemed to notice when trains arrived. I had puzzled about that and wondered how they were able to do that. How they allowed train after train to pass by without ever appearing anxious or nervous about their own train. It seemed to be an incredible feat.

I felt as though I was the polar opposite. I spent my time gazing ahead, as though the force of my dark eyes would bring about my train faster. As soon as my ears picked up the faint rumble of a train approaching in the distance, my back would shoot up ramrod straight and my heart would beat a painful, gasping staccato. Dare I hope that this train would finally be the right one for me? But time and again my shoulders would slump back against the peeling, greying paint and pinpricks of fear would tug at me.

Maybe I had somehow missed my train? Maybe I was waiting at the wrong place? I would for the thousandth time, pull out the small shredding piece of cardboard from my sweater pocket and scan the words and numbers that by now I could recite backwards. I was in the right place. I had arrived on time. There was no mistake. Here my breathing would finally return to regular as I tried in vain to put myself at ease and remind myself that my turn would come.

With a small sigh I watched as the train slowly picked up speed and then disappeared from sight. My train had yet to arrive.

The day dragged on, minute by minute. When I got too tired of standing restlessly next to the shedding gray paint of the walls and the outdated posters, I rested my tired feet as I sat on a plastic chair that had at one point been some sickly shade of yellow
I tried not to look too much at the other people milling around the station. It hurt me to witness so much broken hearts and so many other people who seemed to be constantly rushing onto trains. But since I had ample time, it was hard not to.

There were those who kept to themselves. And who did not want to get too close to anyone else, and instead remained confined in their own small corner. They were probably hoping that their train would arrive soon and they’d be free to leave the stifling station with its stale air blowing through the dusty vents in the ceiling. They probably imagined that their stay here would be short lived and therefore it didn’t pay to get too comfortable.

After a while it gets too hard to watch their hopeful glint in their eyes begin to dim as each train passes by and it is not theirs. And sometimes it’s even harder to watch those who arrive breathlessly at the station, only to hop straight onto another train.

And then there are the others, who settle down on the smudged yellow chairs as though they were a comfortable sofa. Who lean back and smile. They smile in this cold and dank place. They even strike up a conversation with the others around them. I am constantly boggled by them. I wonder what strength it takes to be able to ignore the stale air and anticipation that hangs thickly overhead like an itchy blanket.

I picked myself up and stretched my sore joints from sitting for too long in one awkward position. As I began pacing in my small corner, I wondered just how long it would be til my train would finally arrive.

I remembered how I’d arrived at this platform, all starry-eyed and filled with optimism. I’d eagerly taken a place right at the front of the crowd, just inches away from the platform’s edge. The jostle of humanity and the faint smell of smoke that hung over the air didn’t bother me then. I was sure my train would arrive almost immediately.

My entire life until now had had no hitches. Not a single delay. Every time I arrived at a station and found my correct platform, almost instantly my train would pull up. I would casually ascend the carriage, with the sure steps of one who’s never had to wait for anything.

I was one of those for whom the train seemed to wait for. I was the one who always caught the first train. I was the one whom other’s eyes would glare at my back as I got onto the first train that came careering through the station. Sometimes it seemed as though they thought I was taking their coveted spot, but that wasn’t possible. Each seat had detailed name tags, and everyone always sat in the correct place. I doubt there’d ever been a single case of a person taking the wrong seat.
But now, for the first time in my life, it seemed as though everything had ground to a halt. Where was my train? Why now was it taking so long? This was new, unfamiliar and slightly terrifying territory for me.

With a long-suffering sigh, I hitched my grey monogramed bag further up my shoulder, but before I sank back onto the painful plastic chair, I had made up my mind. Ignoring the curious and mystified looks of the people around me, I allowed my feet to lead me to the source of the only sound in the large room.

Quietly I approached the group who leaned back on the scratchy chairs and smiled. I reached the group of people who sank into the yellow chairs as though they were a sofa. And then I did something I never imagined I’d do. I pulled up a faint yellow chair and I joined them.

This was life and I might as well enjoy the time.


Thank you! I really enjoyed reading that, and I laughed at the end!
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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Tue, Jan 24 2023, 2:19 pm
tigerwife wrote:
I’ve written a few short stories; more than half were rejected from Ami, Binah and Mishpacha. However, I’m hesitant to let them loose into internet even though I’m not sure I’ll ever publish them myself.

I understand. That's sort of why I started my substack - it remains my intellectual property, I can develop a style, and it's worth it for me to post even if only 1-5 people read it, because otherwise no one would read it, and I find that lonely.

Actually I just remembered I submitted this to Neshamela, but maybe they were annoyed at me for refusing their edits to the other one:
https://ishayirashashem.substa.....ds-an

The introduction is probably too long also.

But here on imamother there's people who will read and enjoy. It won't be as validating as publishing in Mishpacha, but it can be reassuring that there are people out there who will enjoy your writing.
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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Sat, Jan 28 2023, 10:22 pm
I'd rather update this one than the weird thread.
https://ishayirashashem.substa.....eople

Also, they had an automated thing about pledges, I requested only spiritual contributions.
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amother
Iris


 

Post Sat, Jan 28 2023, 11:54 pm
Question: If you wrote something here, and liked how it came out, would you think its wrong to submit it to a magazine?
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amother
Iris


 

Post Sat, Jan 28 2023, 11:59 pm
amother Salmon wrote:
This was rejected by Ami, Mishpacha and Binah

I think it's cute!

Instinctively I shrank back as the sound of screeching brakes reached me. This large, silver carriage with small windows seemed quite full, I could make out quite a number of excited heads bobbing up and down in what I assumed was shared chatter.

A few feet away, a tall graceful woman dressed in an understated elegant outfit was calmly striding towards the open carriage doors. With careful poise, she ascended the small metal steps and was swallowed up through the revolving doors.

A few more people ascended the train quickly, breathlessly. I recognized some of them as those who had been waiting before I had arrived here. Then they were sat on the long, narrow metal benches that wove a careful maze through the crowded platform. They had a large number of bags with them, even larger smiles and a never-ending supply of food. They were so engrossed in conversation that they barely seemed to notice when trains arrived. I had puzzled about that and wondered how they were able to do that. How they allowed train after train to pass by without ever appearing anxious or nervous about their own train. It seemed to be an incredible feat.

I felt as though I was the polar opposite. I spent my time gazing ahead, as though the force of my dark eyes would bring about my train faster. As soon as my ears picked up the faint rumble of a train approaching in the distance, my back would shoot up ramrod straight and my heart would beat a painful, gasping staccato. Dare I hope that this train would finally be the right one for me? But time and again my shoulders would slump back against the peeling, greying paint and pinpricks of fear would tug at me.

Maybe I had somehow missed my train? Maybe I was waiting at the wrong place? I would for the thousandth time, pull out the small shredding piece of cardboard from my sweater pocket and scan the words and numbers that by now I could recite backwards. I was in the right place. I had arrived on time. There was no mistake. Here my breathing would finally return to regular as I tried in vain to put myself at ease and remind myself that my turn would come.

With a small sigh I watched as the train slowly picked up speed and then disappeared from sight. My train had yet to arrive.

The day dragged on, minute by minute. When I got too tired of standing restlessly next to the shedding gray paint of the walls and the outdated posters, I rested my tired feet as I sat on a plastic chair that had at one point been some sickly shade of yellow
I tried not to look too much at the other people milling around the station. It hurt me to witness so much broken hearts and so many other people who seemed to be constantly rushing onto trains. But since I had ample time, it was hard not to.

There were those who kept to themselves. And who did not want to get too close to anyone else, and instead remained confined in their own small corner. They were probably hoping that their train would arrive soon and they’d be free to leave the stifling station with its stale air blowing through the dusty vents in the ceiling. They probably imagined that their stay here would be short lived and therefore it didn’t pay to get too comfortable.

After a while it gets too hard to watch their hopeful glint in their eyes begin to dim as each train passes by and it is not theirs. And sometimes it’s even harder to watch those who arrive breathlessly at the station, only to hop straight onto another train.

And then there are the others, who settle down on the smudged yellow chairs as though they were a comfortable sofa. Who lean back and smile. They smile in this cold and dank place. They even strike up a conversation with the others around them. I am constantly boggled by them. I wonder what strength it takes to be able to ignore the stale air and anticipation that hangs thickly overhead like an itchy blanket.

I picked myself up and stretched my sore joints from sitting for too long in one awkward position. As I began pacing in my small corner, I wondered just how long it would be til my train would finally arrive.

I remembered how I’d arrived at this platform, all starry-eyed and filled with optimism. I’d eagerly taken a place right at the front of the crowd, just inches away from the platform’s edge. The jostle of humanity and the faint smell of smoke that hung over the air didn’t bother me then. I was sure my train would arrive almost immediately.

My entire life until now had had no hitches. Not a single delay. Every time I arrived at a station and found my correct platform, almost instantly my train would pull up. I would casually ascend the carriage, with the sure steps of one who’s never had to wait for anything.

I was one of those for whom the train seemed to wait for. I was the one who always caught the first train. I was the one whom other’s eyes would glare at my back as I got onto the first train that came careering through the station. Sometimes it seemed as though they thought I was taking their coveted spot, but that wasn’t possible. Each seat had detailed name tags, and everyone always sat in the correct place. I doubt there’d ever been a single case of a person taking the wrong seat.
But now, for the first time in my life, it seemed as though everything had ground to a halt. Where was my train? Why now was it taking so long? This was new, unfamiliar and slightly terrifying territory for me.

With a long-suffering sigh, I hitched my grey monogramed bag further up my shoulder, but before I sank back onto the painful plastic chair, I had made up my mind. Ignoring the curious and mystified looks of the people around me, I allowed my feet to lead me to the source of the only sound in the large room.

Quietly I approached the group who leaned back on the scratchy chairs and smiled. I reached the group of people who sank into the yellow chairs as though they were a sofa. And then I did something I never imagined I’d do. I pulled up a faint yellow chair and I joined them.

This was life and I might as well enjoy the time.


I really liked this and am surprised it was rejected.
why dont you try hamodia?
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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Jan 29 2023, 12:56 am
amother Iris wrote:
Question: If you wrote something here, and liked how it came out, would you think its wrong to submit it to a magazine?

No. I think it is fine. You should disclose where you first wrote it.
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amother
Iris


 

Post Sun, Jan 29 2023, 1:12 am
ectomorph wrote:
No. I think it is fine. You should disclose where you first wrote it.


I once submitted to a magazine something I first wrote on imamother. They accepted it without any questions asked.
Even if they would have asked me if it was published anywhere, I wonder of this is considered published. How many people read imamother already?
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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Jan 29 2023, 10:12 am
amother Iris wrote:
I once submitted to a magazine something I first wrote on imamother. They accepted it without any questions asked.
Even if they would have asked me if it was published anywhere, I wonder of this is considered published. How many people read imamother already?


I get some views from here. People definitely read imamother. Obviously I haven't gone viral or anything, but that's not my goal anyway. I get more views from Facebook, but there's a lot more people on Facebook.

It definitely beats lecturing my children on the topic of Nebuchadnezzar. In terms of feedback.
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ectomorph




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Jan 29 2023, 10:13 am
I don't know the answer. I submitted this week's post somewhere, last week. I figured if it was accepted, I'd post something else. It wasn't. So I think this is a good outlet and it keeps it fun.
How about this: if you post here that you started a substack, I will subscribe.

(Provided your substack is Torah compatible)
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