Got another rejection!!!

The New Yorker, 11/16/23

Hi! I bet you are absolutely not asking, “Where has she been??,” nor saying things like, “Boy oh boy, my inbox is really taking a hit due to the lack of insipid droolings written by that random person whose newsletter I signed up for on a generous whim!”

But even still, here I am, a near two full months after I sent my last email (forgive me Substack for I have sinned). In that email, where I shared my Survival Tips for Cuffing Season, I mentioned that I might takes some time off due to a few pitches being green-lit, so that I could “focus.” Well! Ask me if I wrote any of those stories yet.

The answer is obviously no! (Shout out #1234517 to my NYT editor, the Patron Saint of Patience. She’s very generous with me and knows I have a full time job.) (Shout out #1 to AYR! Home of my favorite cashmere polos, my favorite health care plan, and my favorite penpals on Slack. ←Don’t worry, I don’t get a commission on that AYR link. But for one cashmere polo a day, you are, in a way, helping to support my subsidized acne medication. AYR.com: tell ur brother tell ur friends tell ur mom.)

I have been working on MY BOOK, THOUGH. If anyone cares!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Perhaps most excitingly ←suck it, adverb narcs, I was a guest on NPR’s show A1 to talk about how much I love malls. It was an honor of the highest degree. I was blacked out from fear for the first part, so if you chose to listen, might I suggest starting at 18:42, where host & absolute legend Jenn White read aloud an excerpt from my 2017 Man Repeller “essay” (lol, essay) about malls.

Perhaps LEAST excitingly, but good news for the purpose of this newsletter, I received a New Yorker rejection on 11/16/23 for a Shouts & Murmurs thing I wrote & submitted while on some sort of manic procrastination sugar high and then deeply, deeply regretted. TNY Shouts has this strict rule that you can only submit once piece at a time, and I already worry about making them mad with this newsletter that I’m sure the entirety of THE NEW YORKER cares so very deeply about.

~~~***I’m just out here, TNY public enemy number one, my Substack on auto-refresh on all the public screens in the news pit, right next to news updates from CNN BBC Al Jazeera etc, everyone shaking their fists at me like “DAMN HER. SHE’S AT IT AGAIN. DEFILING EUSTICE’S ICONIC PRESENCE WITH HER BRILLIANT GRAPHIC DESIGN SKILLS. WE’LL NEVER PUBLISH HER WORK. NEVER!!!!”***~~~

So anyway, this dumbass thing I wrote about water bottles (inspiration is everwhere!!) just had to sit there, languishing in TNY’s Shouts & Murmurs submissions inbox until they rejected it, so that I could then submit, and they could then reject, something equally as dumb.

^ This is the thing I probably spent the most time on over the past two months. As you can see, I am a gifted graphic designer (hence TNY feeling threatened) whose energy is entirely wasted on anything that isn’t graphic design and font creation. A little sausage making for my DIY font fans: I made this really high quality font by repeatedly screen-shotting, then occasionally flipping and erasing parts of, the original New Yorker logo. Kind of like what I Am Voldemort did with his maiden name, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Most recent rejection below!

From: TNY Shouts
To: Me, Amelia

Hi Amelia,

We’re sorry to say that your piece wasn’t right for us. Thank you for allowing us to consider your work.

Best regards,
The Shouts Dept.
The New Yorker

What Your Giant Water Bottle Says About You
By Amelia Diamond
Words in The New York Times, Elle, The Cut. Co-author of Body Talk

If you carry around a Stanley: Inside is your co-dependent pet goldfish who you bring everywhere and use the straw to whisper “Hi baby!” in bubble language.

If you carry around a giant plastic Evian bottle: You’re in the process of repairing the 1980s pre-teen trauma of a parent refusing to buy you “designer water” at the grocery store and saying, out loud, in public, “We have perfectly good water at home.”

If you say things like “we have perfectly good water at home,” if don’t understand the need to carry around a security canteen, and when you do drink from a bottle, it’s one of those mini promotional plastic bottles with the corporate sponsor on the paper label that you’ve refilled with tap water at least three times: You’re my dad.

If you have a Nalgene: Should you and I ever find ourselves as opponents in one of those reality television shows where people compete in the remote wilderness to test their survival skills, fortitude, and detachment from the luxurious comforts of modern life, you would win.

If you’re holding one of those Voss water bottles: I think this means you are at an open house on Selling Sunset, either as a real estate agent in very tall shoes, a potential buyer, or an extra?

If your main contact with water bottles is the Poland Springs Water Cooler Jug in a Corporate Office + any drinking vessel: You’re thirsty. And you put money into an FSA account that you actually use before you lose it.

A tall glass carafe with one of those pop tops that they have on tables at nice restaurants with outdoor dining: You saw this in the organization aisle at Target and thought it would be fun. You will use this twice in your life. Or you’re at a restaurant.

A sippy cup: You’re a toddler who’s learning hydration independence while still being untrustworthy in the liquid spill department (same). You’re also a trendsetter. See: Stanley.

A hamster bottle with one of those little drippy lick-y bottles: You get overwhelmed easily, have tiny hands, eat your young, and prefer to consume water in droplet form.

A glass: These work surprisingly well, although no one knows how.