Dear Dr. ______________:
Thank you for your application for the advertised position in _________ at the University of _______________. The committee has completed its review of applications. The pool of applicants in general reflected a very high standard. The committee took considerable time and effort in rendering its short list. It is with regret that I inform you, we were not able to include you in our short list of applicants to be invited for campus interviews for this position. I wish to take this opportunity to wish you all the best in your continuing career path in the field.
Sincerely,
[Department Chair]
Now that's a well written letter. Courteous, respectful, straight-forward and honest, without condescension. When I receive a letter like that I feel encouraged and welcome in the field, even in the face of rejection, rather than discouraged or put-off as too often occurs.
5 comments:
God, I wish I could approach rejection in such a mature fashion. I can't. I look at that letter--which I've received many, many, *many* versions of--and all I can think about is how the writer just printed out 200 copies of the same damn thing with the names and addressed cut-and-pasted. I envy you your resilience and, as I say, maturity. Now, if you excuse me, I'll be over in the corner being biting my thumbnail in wounded vitriol.
Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?
[If you don't get the reference, go home!]
Dryden, I've come to be a connoiseur of these letters, you know. I figure, if I'm going to stay in the fight, for better or worse, I might as well make the best of it. Even though I'm stuck in a cellar full of cheap wine... hell, I can still learn to discern the bottles by taste.
Maybe I've got a little too much of that want-to ABMmom writes about. In any case, I look forward to cracking open a bottle of the good stuff (1985 Wyndham Estates Shiraz, anyone?) with you, to celebrate our ultimate mutual success.
"Is the law with us if I say aye?" "No." "I do not bite my thumb at *you*, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir." "Do you quarrel, sir?" "Quarrel, sir? No, sir." I could go on--and bear in mind this is all from memory. I can actually recite a ridiculous amount--not that that impresses them in interviews, but hey, if I ever run out of things to say in lecture, I can always launch into "O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I" and fill up a few minutes...
At 15, I played Romeo, at 25 I directed it. To prepare for the directing, I typed up the entire script (so I could print it out in a nice format for everyone to use). Those combined allowed me to not glance at the script again, except to jot down notes, sketch layouts, or write stage directions, for the entire rehearsal process. It was actually quite fun to simply call out from where I was standing: READ YOUR SCRIPT! Those aren't the lines!
oh... and by the way... I think the line is: ... but I do bite my thumb, sir...
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