I sent out my poetry manuscript the year after I graduated from my MFA program. I was not ready. Half my poems sucked. My order was in the toilet. I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. I got rejected.
But I knew all of that when I started. I wanted to get into the habit of sending out writing. Sending out writing is a good thing. We send it out, we get rejected, we send it out, we get rejected. You can’t take it personally, ever. Maybe the editor had indigestion. Maybe your poem was about love and your reader just got dumped. Maybe your reader is a grad student stopping in to read a few poems between class and her job, and she’s thinking about what she can get to eat that’s cheap and quick before work. (That was me; I think with my stomach.)
It was the year that I swore I’d send out three submissions a month that I started to get published. You may get published sending your work out to one journal at a time, but more likely you will just get gray hair. Sending out is business, it is not editing. It is not writing. You should be applauded for sending out your work. You should be applauded for being rejected. You are a real writer. Keep writing, keep sending it out, don’t let the bastards get you down.