Due to the volume rejection emails and letters I receive each year, it is sadly not always possible to give individual feedback to the administrators of the opportunities I apply to regarding the quality of their commiseratory communications.

However, towards the end of last year, I began to notice a steady uptick in the quality, care, and kindness of their phrasing. Though I was obviously disappointed to be rejected by some of the dream schemes I was sending my very carefully crafted pitches to – labours of love that I sweated tooth an nail over well into the small hours on many occasions.

Well, here are some of the killing me softly replies that enveloped my already self-aggrandised ego with authorial ether. I predict rejection reels will become all the rage as we move into the 21st and a ¼ Century:

Royal College of Art “We enjoyed reading your application and getting to know you a little more. While we were impressed with your qualifications, unfortunately, we’ve decided to move forward with other applicants”

Redacted “We genuinely felt as if we could work with every single applicant who applied! That said, we could only shortlist a limited number, and on this occasion we are not able to take your application forward. However, we really loved reading your cover letter and learning about your experiences”

A Veteran BBC Comedy Writer/Producer “Thanks for getting in touch and taking the trouble to write an entertaining email” This reply, though not containing the news I wanted to hear, followed by a bit of email tag (he seems to have at least three email addresses), eventually led to a virtual sit down with him. My allotted ½hr went to almost an hour, with him pitching an AI comedy concept to me! His AI idea was genuinely side splittingly funny AND much cleverer than mine (obviously).

Anyway with my confirmation bias primed, I was on the lookout for text that inflates ones dreams and then in the next sentence/paragraph swiftly but gently brings them back to down earth. I then read a lovingly phrased email from the charming head of a prestigious film and television school saying how much she enjoyed meeting me at interview. The problem was, by the time I reached the “yours sincerely” sign off, there didn’t seem to be any stock phrasing about not giving up and being encouraged to apply again next year.

Well, it seems I’m on the course. But the trouble is, even though I’ve had a couple of amazing workshops and tutorials already, and have met my classmates (or Seal Team Six, as I like to call them as they’re such good writers already), I don’t remember passing my own selection at Lympstone Commando, and I’m too scared to say anything about it out loud as it might be some sort of unsettling Inside No.9 type black comedy that I’m somehow an extra in, and on the way back from a toilet break the corridors will suddenly morph into an infinitely large labyrinth and I’ll never be heard of again.

Or perhaps it’s Black Mirror, and my readers have to decide what I do in the next scene by communicating plot twists or protagonist actions and motivations via the comments.

Oh no, I gotta run, the Dyson hand-dryer has just turned on really alarmingly loudly and there’s no one else in the gents.
What?
Well, I’m not going out that door. I can hear menacing footsteps getting louder and louder and something heavy and metallic being dragged along the corridor floor.
“Quentin? Is that you?”
[END]

Be sure to tune for next week’s episode where Dónal, surviving his run in with the spirits of Emmerdale past, stages a group photo of Seal Team Six and Sergeant Paul Fraser.

Good spot. Paul Fraser, yes that is indeed nominative determinism in action. He’s a fantastic teacher who pulls phrases out of us, and the rest of the team listen in awe at the quality of the words they are throwing down.