By: Chisom Benedicta Nsiegbunam
I choose to write this now because I believe I have matured. Yes, I am mature enough to call this an apology because home training taught me to greet first and apologise first—doing these things makes you a more mature person.
If I had written this a few months ago, forget this apology and maturity thing. It would have been filled with my honest, esteem-shattered two cents because these magazines can cause serious depression. Heartbreaks worse than breakfasts. It doesn’t give room for tears many times; it just sits in the chest.
The one that is still paining me—not in a deep way because maturity does a lot— is the way they make rejection emails sound so sweet. If you won’t publish my work, simply say, “Sorry, we won’t publish this. Try again next time.” At least I’d get it straight up. But no, some magazines that love drama will first raise your heart rate with the arrival of the email. Then, in two lines, they deliver their ‘thank you’ speech about how much they appreciate the opportunity to read your work. Such an honour. Then, they state, with as much sincerity as they can muster, how carefully they have considered it. Just when your hopes peak, they drop it—their regrets for rejecting your submission. If you have this much regret, why not just accept it and stop pulling the brakes on somebody’s heart?
Let’s not even get started about magazines that send rejection emails five months later—even after stating in their guidelines, “We do not accept simultaneous submissions.” But they still have the audacity, the kind that can’t be bought in the market, to send their email first thing in the morning, on a day the Lord has made and we are supposed to be glad. As for the ones that don’t bother sending any mail, don’t mention.
Honestly, there are two types of rejections I still don’t understand: the ones that tell you how promising your piece is but they can’t publish it (interesting) and those ones that inform you that you made their shortlist but got knocked off by stronger competitions (intriguing). Is that so? What is the use of this information? To tell me how close I got but how I was still not good enough?
Ehnn, when they add, ‘I hope this piece finds home soon,’ please o (curiosity made me ask), is it out of courtesy or they just want end on a smooth note?
But as I stated earlier, all these are not why I am writing this. I am more mature now, and I definitely wouldn’t write these things anymore. I understand now: rejections are a push to try elsewhere, read more, and write better. After all, taste in literature, like in everything else, differs and evolves. Sometimes, who knows, it might actually mean you should trash the work, but having faith in one’s writing is important.
Lastly, I am here to apologise to some very particular magazines—I will not call names; they should know themselves. I am heartily sorry for using you to train my perseverance muscles. Truly, only you guys have earned my apology because I understand now why you no longer bother to send me any rejection emails. Don’t worry; I understand the silent treatment. This is my mature self saying sorry for bombarding you with half-baked stories out of desperation to be published or validated. This apology does not in any way mean you should not expect more entries from me because, as they say, go hard or go home. With strengthened muscles, maturity and learning, I intend to continue going hard.
Sincerely,
A Nigerian Writer.
Chisom Benedicta Nsiegbunam is a tea-loving writer and student at Nnamdi Azikiwe University. Her works have appeared in Afritondo, Brittle Paper, Kalahari Review, Aayo Magazine, Writers Space Africa and elsewhere. She was a fellow at the Inaugural Idembeka Creative Writing Workshop (2024) and the SprinNG Writing Fellowship (2023). Her short story was longlisted for the DKA Short Story Prize 2024.
