The arts seem to be an industry built on hope. At the least, you probably need to believe “it” (whatever it is) can happen for you to commit to Art as a viable career option or time-consuming personal project. And when rejection comes, presumably the hope is dashed, and you must build it up until you yet again truly believe you can get There. Or, like… must you?

Look: I struggle to remain hopeful about things much more important than my career and, at a certain point, I had to decide hope isn’t what matters. What matters is doing the work: pulling at the threads in the ways I can as a consistent practice of trying to make another world, regardless of whether or not I believe it will happen. My job isn’t to hope. My job is to Do. My actions are my only true belongings.

And in a much less important way, I’ve been trying to take that energy into my artistic practice, which simply asks me to show up and Do, and my submission process, which is a Sisyphean hell. (I’m confident I’m not alone in feeling this way.) 

So I’ve started rethinking why submissions are important to me (for now) and how to lean in when it feels like I will only receive rejections. I don’t know, maybe this is helpful to someone else? 

I’m no longer trying to get the opportunity. In fact, fuck it, I won’t get the opportunity. So I won’t just send them my most polished or palatable play. Instead, I’m only submitting so they have to read my work, my name, my take on theatre, the play I want them to read. They don’t have to like it or choose it, but they do have to witness it.

After stumbling across this incredible image, I started thinking of hydras and my current practice after I get a rejection. Usually I feel numb or fine, though sometimes I cry and feel sorry for myself for a day or two. Then I mark the opportunity as red in my spreadsheet and move the information (website, open/close date, etc) down to my list of places to apply to next year. Because here’s the thing: I’m not failing unless I stop making people read my work. I spend countless hours brainstorming, drafting, putting bits on index cards, revising, copyediting, muttering lines out loud until they scan better. So dammit, they’re gonna receive the next play and (well, I guess I do hope) read it. 

If I didn’t give up after the first few years of rejection, I’m not stopping now. Maybe I take breaks for rest and care, for the fallow times. Maybe I change what I do or want to make or how I present it. Maybe I stop seeking any and all external validation (ha!) Maybe I change my life trajectory, but I won’t stop showing up.

So here’s a mantra for the artists, playwrights, auditioners, all the applicants – no matter the field:

They cannot stop me.
I am growing a new head.
I will continue until they say yes or I die.