I've sold two stories in the last week, and then today I got a personal rejection from The Missouri Review (on a realist story). And that's not necessarily a huge deal, except that I've never gotten a hint of encouragement from a literary magazine of that stature. It is really weird to send stuff out for years and get no evidence that you're anywhere close. And then whoosh, the dam begins to crack. I remember when this happened for speculative fiction markets. It was sometime around my fourth year of submitting that I finally: a) made my first professional sale; and b) started getting personal rejections from a number of markets.
Now it's happening for lit markets! Which is actually really exciting to me, since I'd always harbored the semi-secret suspicion that maybe I just wasn't a good enough writer (on a sentence level) to publish in literary journals.
But, at the same time, I'm not really able to enjoy it, because I'm so completely rootless right now. I'm just in the Bay Area, looking for housing. I don't even really know what I'm working on, writing-wise (although now I'm tempted to get in there and revise some of my MFA stories~!)
Everything feels so up in the air. And that makes it very hard to feel normal emotions. But I'll soldier through.