An Inbox Full of Rejections

The past few years I’ve tried getting funding for a few films I would love to direct. Instead of funding, I’ve received a large number of rejection letters. Some letters are short and to the point, just stating in fancy wording that I won’t receive funding. Others explain why my screenplay is neither realistic nor artistically unique and inform me that I can apply next year with a different project if I want to. Then there are those letters that explain how the issue lies with my circumstances: if only the script was shorter, but with a longer ending, lighter, but with a more dramatic theme, fewer characters, but more locations - then the idea wouldn't be too bad. A couple of them have been thoughtful and kind, describing to me how they loved the script, begging me never to stop making movies, while discreetly conveying that they, unfortunately, can’t support this specific project at this particular time.               

Sometimes these rejection letters almost make me proud - like it’s a sign from the gods telling me that I’m just different - nobody normal would possibly understand how to fund something so unique. Those times I view each and every rejection letter like a receipt of my resilience, and I feel convinced that sooner or later it will all work out beautifully. Other days I analyze the situation realistically, conclude that I’m overqualified for smaller grants and under-qualified for the bigger ones and try to find new strategies. But…more often than not, these letters get under my skin. They make me wonder, not so much about the applications, but about myself as a person.

              

I start to reflect upon how hard it was for me to learn English, how I can’t sing in tune to save my life, how 80% of the people I know are better drivers than me, and I wonder if I can be good at anything if I’m bad at those things. I might have done well in school, and at every single job I’ve ever had, but that could always be just because I work hard. What if I’m mediocre, ordinary, and kind of stupid? These feelings make me create less, feel less and just worry about getting by. I start to think that I’ll be fine without having any type of artistic career and I try to push art out of my life like a needy ex-boyfriend who won’t stop calling me. It tends to work very well for a hot second or so. I cheer myself up by visiting nature, cooking more and saving money for trips instead of investing in projects that are doomed to fail anyway. I’d say it usually works successfully for a couple of weeks, although I tend to keep going for months - each time with the same result - I die a little, in one way or another.

Over and over again I realize about myself that if I’m not creative, I don’t feel alive. So I make a deal with art and creativity, and I say that I don’t care if I’m worthy or not, if I’m like other creative people or not, if anything I’ve done has ever counted or not, if anything I make ever will count in the future or not, but I know that life makes sense when I’m creative, and it doesn’t when I’m not. So I clean my wounds, find some courage that miraculously survived the war of art I’ve been battling, and I start reaching out to people again. I improve my treatments by making them more personal, beautifying the design and composing the text more precisely. I ship them off with a heart full of faith. I'm thinking that it’s going to be impossible to say no this time. Then there’s the waiting period - when it’s hard to know if I should prepare to shoot a movie or prepare to try to be happy even though won’t be able to finish this film either. Each time I open my inbox and see an email from a possible sponsor my heart stops. With an anxious combination of hope and doubt, I read the first few words of the personal pdf attachment, only to realize it’s yet another rejection letter.