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Suite101 Turned Me Down
I am shocked
Probably all of us internet writers have applied to Suite101.com at some point in our careers. Once we figure out proper combinations of verbs, nouns, and gerunds that tickle the search engines, it's a logical step to submit samples to elite web sites. The worst they can say is 'no', right?
Obviously, Suite101.com represents the epitome of Internet writing. Mountain climbers dream of Everest. Online authors linger over steaming herbal tea anxiously scanning their email in search of welcoming letters from sites that actually verify an email address before permitting publication. It's not Oprah's Book Club, but we can work in our pajamas.
Recently I applied to this estimable site. Visions of online greatness danced in my head. Nothing would stand in my way. Acceptance by the bots, (oops, the editorial staff) at Suite101 would punch my ticket into the upper echelons of free online web sites that publish stuff from anonymous sources. Alas, they saw through my writing ruse and cleanly rejected my samples. Whither my Google ads?
What is Suite101.com?
I don' t know what it is: they won't let me play in their sandbox.
Let us assume that the site accepts original content from aspiring authors, mixes in a few advertisements, and serves up visually pleasing web pages. That's familiar territory.
The primary variance between Suite101 and 264 other writing-based web sites appears to be some level of exclusivity. Writers must submit to a relatively rigorous application process that includes providing an email address and waiting about 6 months.
Someday I applied
Long ago, in a cyberspace far away, I digitally suggested to Suite101.com that I might be qualified to write articles for them. Certainly this effort was expended in the last 12 months, but everything else is hazy. Evidently I visited the site, filled out a form, and submitted samples. The evaluation process must be extensive.
My rejection letter, depicted at right, appears rather generic. The nurturing editors were probably on vacation when my application landed on the boardroom table. Whomever was burdened with processing my paperwork saw so little potential in my scribblings that they couldn't be bothered to actually mail-merge a proper salutation into the missive.
Perhaps the letter wasn't even meant for me. I greedily clutch the abstract hope that somehow the evaluation process includes crucial operational errors causing misdirected rejection notices to periodically escape the Suite101 mail servers. Internet writers survive on this brand of faith. It's not as nutritious as Ramen noodles, but those little spice packets have way too much salt anyway.
Remember: when life gives you lemons, write a series of hubs about it.
My post-rejection plan includes survival. 'Push on' appears as the top of my to-do list. No plain vanilla rebuff will derail my authorship cravings. Someday I will appear on Oprah and I will wear my pajamas.