Rejection | Your Delray Boca

Where it started for me and I’m sure others.

Memorial Day 2026…I found this story of a Civil War soldier that I thought was beautiful and sad. If you get a chance, look up Major Ballou’s letter. It’s remarkable.

Major Sullivan Ballou is remembered not only for his service in the Civil War, but for one of the most moving letters ever written by an American soldier. Just before the First Battle of Bull Run in 1861, Ballou wrote to his wife Sarah about his love for her and his willingness to sacrifice everything for the Union. He was killed in battle a week later at the age of 32.

On Memorial Day, Ballou’s words remind us that behind every flag and every ceremony is a human story — of love, duty, sacrifice, and the families forever changed by war. His letter endures because it speaks not only to patriotism, but to the cost of service borne by ordinary people asked to do extraordinary things.

You find out via email.
“Thank you for sending your play. We received a record 647 submissions for our festival and regrettably we can’t produce your work this year.”
They go on to say how brave you were for sending your work, how appreciative they are for your submission blah blah blah.
Yes, the theatre world is polite.
Yes, the competition really is that fierce.
But it does take a little out of you when you get that dreaded rejection.

It reminds me of junior high school when you would bravely cross the gym floor after spending two hours working up the courage to ask Regina from sixth period Earth Science if she would like to slow dance only to have her tell you no. Talk about crushing.

I once got so nervous asking a young woman for a date that I forgot her answer.
I walked away from her locker so fast I couldn’t remember a word she said.
It must have been yes, because a few days later she told me she had to cancel because her uncle was taking her fishing.
I never worked up the courage to ask her again.

My supportive friends, ever sensitive to my feelings, made t shirts memorializing the incident. I can’t complain though, I eagerly awaited any misstep to make fun of them. Yes, being a teenage boy in 1980 should have come with a suit of armor.

Playwriting feels a little like what I just described.
You walk across the imaginary room (by hitting send on your heartfelt work) and wait eagerly for acceptance or denial.
Denial stings—momentarily. You mean my play didn’t jump out among the hundreds of entries from across the globe to earn its place in your festival? Who are these judges anyway? Don’t they know talent when they see it?

Oh wait, maybe I don’t have what it takes, who am I kidding. I have no training and no business putting pen to paper. Who would want to see my plays anyway?
Sigh.

But you persist, because you know you must. Writing is fun so you keep typing.

And then lightning strikes. You get an acceptance —also via email from some theater you’ve never heard of in a town you’ve never visited and suddenly you are on top of the world.
Look out Neil Simon, here I come!

Just like that your confidence is restored and you Google the town and the theatre and you begin to imagine what it will be like to hear your words come to life in a distant locale.
A reason to persist, a reason to keep creating.

I’m just back from a trip to Maine, where my play “The Get” got a wonderful, staged reading at a beautiful synagogue as part of a Jewish play festival.
The acting was sublime. The director was fabulous. The other plays— four chosen from an international crop—were all terrific.

One other playwright, Michael Petshaft, a veteran writer and college professor from Connecticut was there. We were treated like VIPs, introduced to applause, approached afterwards by audience members who asked questions and wanted to talk about what they had just seen.

It’s very cool.

Magical. Inspiring.

It made me want to go home and write and write and write. And that’s what I did.

When my plays are selected I always like to connect with the director and actors. I like to thank them for their generosity, for putting in hours of time preparing and for having the courage to stand in front of a large crowd and perform.
I also like to get to know who they are.

In this case, our director Ann Tracy was a veteran of theater and a retired radio personality in Milwaukee, Denver and San Diego. She was lovely to work with.
The actors Hal Cohen and Claudia Hughes were also veterans and very talented. Claudia was a dancer, oil painter and well known local actress. Hal is a physician with an impressive background as an actor and playwright himself.

The event was a fundraiser for a local synagogue. I’m thrilled that they chose theater to gather their community to celebrate their mission which includes a heavy dose of community.
Live performance is one of the few things we have left that allows us to get together and share an experience in real time with our neighbors.

Many of us are stuck behind screens, doom scrolling, losing time on our apps—alone.
Theater, music, dance, comedy in a club or theatre or in this case a sanctuary allows us to mix and mingle.
A good play inspires us to think and talk to each other. Perhaps the story moves us in some way. I think it’s essential civic infrastructure and maybe more important than ever. We can’t let the algorithm win. We have to stay human.

In about a month, on June 27-28, people in our community have a chance to attend the 7th annual Playwrights Festival at the historic Delray Beach Playhouse. The festival features local playwrights, local actors and local directors working together to tell short 10- minute stories. If you come, I promise you will be swept away.

The level of talent here is amazing.

This is the third year I’ve participated.
My full- length play “The Cafe on Main” —the very first play I ever wrote —started at this festival as a short.
The Arts Garage helped me develop it into a full-length, which was also a great experience.
Thanks to festival directors Marianne Regan and Dan Bellante, I’ve gained a whole new hobby since turning 60.
I’ve made friends with the actors, directors and fellow playwrights.
I’m taken by their talent, warmth and dedication.

This year I wrote a play called “The Romeo’s” (retired old men eating out).
It’s a sweet little story written for older actors and their affection for their favorite server.
I hope you can make it. The other plays sound great. For tickets visit https://na01.safelinks.protection.outlook.com/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.delrayplayhouse.org%2F&data=05%7C02%7C%7C3a736bba24c64f8117e508deb9b1520e%7C84df9e7fe9f640afb435aaaaaaaaaaaa%7C1%7C0%7C639152368390894652%7CUnknown%7CTWFpbGZsb3d8eyJFbXB0eU1hcGkiOnRydWUsIlYiOiIwLjAuMDAwMCIsIlAiOiJXaW4zMiIsIkFOIjoiTWFpbCIsIldUIjoyfQ%3D%3D%7C0%7C%7C%7C&sdata=eBApUKEcAPP11s4lVE6pO1KxiYLioIJqqb5W29YdbhI%3D&reserved=0.
Please support local theatre. It’s important. I guarantee you’ll make new friends and enjoy the experience.

“I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.” -Sylvia Plath.

Whether you’re a writer, musician, artist or job applicant rejection can be soul crushing.

You can read all the case studies about famous people who overcame rejection and it helps. A little bit.

Yes, J.K. Rowling was rejected by 12 publishers for Harry Potter, Michael Jordan was cut from his high school team (that must have been some team), Walt Disney was fired from a job for a “lack of ideas” and Decca declined to sign The Beatles in 1962 because they thought guitar bands were on the way out. Those stories provide some comfort for the rest of us mortals.

Perhaps my favorite rejection saga is the story of Abraham Lincoln.

Before becoming the 16th President of the United States in 1860, Honest Abe faced decades of business failures, political defeats, and personal losses.

Consider this curriculum vitae.

1832: Defeated in his first run for the Illinois State Legislature and lost his job.

1833: Failed in a general store business venture, leaving him with a debt that took him 17 years to repay.

1836: Suffered a severe nervous breakdown.

1838: Defeated in his bid to become Speaker of the Illinois House of Representatives.

1843: Failed to secure the nomination for a seat in the U.S. Congress.

1848: Lost his bid for renomination to Congress.

1849: Rejected for the position of Commissioner of the General Land Office.

1854: Defeated in his first run for the U.S. Senate.

1856: Lost his bid for the Vice-Presidential nomination at his party’s national convention.

1858: Defeated by Stephen A. Douglas in a high-profile second run for the U.S. Senate, despite gaining national attention from their debates.

Lincoln was said to have a “slip not fall philosophy”. After a loss he once said: “My foot slipped from under me, knocking the other out of the way, but I recovered and said to myself, ‘It’s a slip and not a fall'”.

Despite these “slips” he ended up being a pretty good president. More than 160 years after his death, we quote him, glean lessons from his leadership style and long for a president who will unite us.

All the examples of rejection and failure mentioned above worked out in the end.

Rowling did OK. Michael Jordan had a pretty good career and Disney certainly proved that he had some enduring ideas.

I share this because as a writer, I experience a fair amount of rejection.

As a new playwright, I’m sending my work out into the world and …waiting. And waiting some more.

Most of the time you send your work to a theater or a festival and you hear nothing back. Crickets.

Other times you get a kind email encouraging you to try again—next year.

And sometimes you get a yes.

We celebrate those wins. We post them on social media, email our friends, share them in playwriting groups and we’re greeted with kind words and encouragement—all of it deeply appreciated because rejection stings. It just does.

My writing coach, Jack Canfora, tells me I have a good batting average.

Playwriting seems to be a little like baseball. If you’re a ball player and you fail 7 out of 10 times but get hits with your other three at bats, you’re an All Star.

By that measure, I suppose I’m doing OK.

I get a fair number of “acceptances”—meaning my plays get chosen for a festival, a reading, or a production of some sorts.

Still, those rejections hurt.

Again, I turn to my friend and coach Jack who describes himself as an “award winning and award losing playwright”.

I like that.

Truth be told, the rejections shouldn’t hurt because the stakes are low— at least for me.

I don’t rely on my writing to make a living. I used to, when I was a journalist in my younger years, but no longer. I’m also at a stage in life where I write for pleasure, no pressure, no expectations, just the joy of staring down the blank page and seeing if I can fill it with something that I can tolerate. If I like it, I might send it out into the world. If I don’t, it sits in a folder, which I may or may not ever look at again.

Like most people who write, I’m in service to the muse. For close to 40 years I’ve been thinking like a writer, looking at the world with the goal of finding something I can write about.
It’s a good way to live, I suppose. You learn to look closely at your surroundings, you notice things and you lean in. It’s a way of life.

There is no happier moment than when your work touches a nerve or elicits a positive reaction. And consequently, even though it shouldn’t hurt because it doesn’t really matter, it hurts when that work misses the mark. When someone reads your words and says “no thanks.”

I’ve been selected and rejected. I’ve been accepted and passed over. It’s our lot in life.

To quote The Godfather: “This is the life we have chosen.”

We just keep writing and hoping for a yes.

The Creative Life

Rejection, Acceptance & The Importance of Trying